“Why did she faint?” I glance down to see that Spike has followed us into the kitchen, pushing his way through the swinging door like he does, and he’s currently winding his lanky Siamese body around my legs.
“I’m not exactly sure. We were talking, and then all of a sudden I could tell she was kind of out of it. Reaching for me like she wasn’t quite sure where I was, almost as if she couldn’t see me. She didn’t acknowledge me when I said her name either, and the next thing I knew, she’s collapsed on the ground, the back of her head bouncing on the sidewalk,” Mom explains, chewing on her lower lip.
Well, shit. That sounds awful. “You didn’t try to catch her?”
“It happened so fast, Charlie. I didn’t have quick enough reflexes to grab her. Poor thing, I was afraid she really hurt herself. Though she might—” Mom pauses, flashing me a tentative smile. “You should go check on her. Make sure she’s not asleep.”
“You really think she’s going to fall asleep on your cat-hair-covered couch?” I doubt that. I’m surprised she’s not having a sneezing fit. You don’t have to be allergic to animals to start sneezing in this house. The dogs sleep on that couch too.
“I hope not. She’s not supposed to sleep since she has a concussion.”
“Wait a minute, she has a concussion?” Mom shushes me. Guess I got too loud. “I don’t get why she’s here.”
“Yes, they said she has a mild concussion. I couldn’t leave her alone, Charlie. She needed someone to watch over her for a couple of hours, so I said I would.”
I’m shaking my head. “This makes no sense.”
“Don’t forget she’s the woman who’s going to accompany you to those charity events you need to go to,” Mom says, her voice firm. I part my lips, ready to argue, when she wags her index finger at me again. “I don’t want to hear it. I know you’re a grown man, but you’re also extremely stubborn, just like your father. And you’re never going to agree to this unless I make you do it.”
Slumping against the chair, I heave out a sigh. She’s right. I’ll dodge and avoid her over and over again just so I don’t have to deal with it. “What about the farm?”
“What about it? You hired even more staff this season. Victoria is there at the store.”
“Vic doesn’t know how to run the day-to-day stuff,” I interrupt.
Mom sends me a look. “Come on. She’s worked there her entire life, just like you have. Of course she knows how to run the day-to-day stuff. You all do.”
Fuck. I hate trying to argue with my mother. She almost always wins.
“You have to be nice to Candice. She’s doing this, helping us, out of the kindness of her heart. You can’t go around being your usual awful self and expect her to want to continue helping you,” Mom says.
“My usual awful self?” I’m actually offended. “Thanks, Mom.”
I rise to my feet, about to exit the kitchen, when I feel her grab hold of my wrist, stopping me. “I’m sorry. It’s been…a rough week.”
“It’s only Monday,” I point out.
The kettle starts whistling and she goes to the stove to take it off the burner. She turns off the gas, sets the kettle on a cold burner, and goes to the cabinet to grab a couple of mugs.
“I thought I was getting bad news. I worried over the entire weekend and never told your father about any of it,” she says as she pulls out a container of tea bags and chooses two. “Do you want tea?”
“No thanks.” I shake my head. “What do you mean, bad news?”
“The doctor thought it could be—breast cancer. I didn’t even tell your father this, Charlie, so please keep it to yourself. I want to be the one to break the news to him.”
“Wait a minute? You have cancer?” What the hell? My heart feels like it dropped into my churning gut.
“No, I went to the follow up appointment this morning—they did another mammogram with a different machine, and it turns out I don’t. I was scared the entire weekend, and I didn’t know how to tell any of you.” Her expression is full of regret. “I was very emotional when I met with Candice at the café. So emotional. She probably thinks I’m a bit of a wreck.”
The relief that fills me is staggering. “God, Mom, you scared me. I’m so glad the results were good.”
“Thank you. I’m glad too. And I’m sorry I scared you.” She stops preparing the tea and comes to me, reaching up on her tiptoes to ruffle my hair like she used to do when I was little. “I didn’t mean to.”
The gesture makes me feel like a kid, and I embrace it, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. “So you definitely don’t have cancer.”
She shakes her head.
“And you want me to go to a few holiday fundraisers with this Candice woman and try to get us more involved in the community,” I continue.
Mom nods, her hazel eyes luminous, like there might be a sheen of tears covering them.
Shit. How can I say no when my mother just went through a cancer scare and never told anyone about it? She’s got me. And she knows it.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
But I’m not happy about it.
Seven
Candice
I’m dozing. Sleeping, really. I know I am because unbelievable things are happening to me right now. I can hear a man call my name. Repeatedly. And there’s a furry creature rubbing against my face. I can hear…purring? And the faintest meow. Logic tells me it’s a cat, but it seems awfully heavy.
“Candice. Wake up. You shouldn’t be sleeping.”
That’s a nice voice. Male. Deep and a little gravelly. Almost as if he doesn’t use it much, but that can’t be true. Everyone talks. Some more than others—me, I talk a lot—but our voices don’t turn rumbly because of lack of use.
Right?
Is he the one rumbling or is it the cat? I’m so confused.
Warm fingers curl around my shoulder and squeeze. Give it a little shake. “Hey. Wake up.”
I turn on my side, murmuring, “Don’t wanna.”
A frustrated sigh. The scent of pine. Something—someone—smells good. I think it might be him.
Cracking one eye open, I’m thrown for a second. Where am I? The room is old. The more polite term would be lived-in. It’s very cozy, with a fire burning in the fireplace, and there’s a thick, cozy throw blanket draped over me. There’s also a Siamese cat walking along my side. He’s kind of heavy.
I squirm a little bit, and the cat jumps off. I struggle to sit up, momentarily forgetting that I fell and bumped my head. The throbbing in my temples makes me wince, and I press my hand against my forehead, rubbing it with my fingers.
“You sat up too fast.”
“You kept telling me to wake up.” I keep my eyes closed, rubbing the tension out of my forehead before I finally take a peek at him. It’s Charlie, the guy I’m supposed to help, according to his mother.
The weird thing is, I don’t remember agreeing to this.
“You’re not supposed to sleep if you have a concussion,” he explains slowly, like I might not understand. “Didn’t they tell you that at the doctor’s office?”
“I went to urgent care.” I don’t know if that makes a difference, but yes. They did tell me since I have a concussion, I shouldn’t sleep.
He ignores what I said, which is probably a good thing. “My mother made you some tea.” He gestures to the coffee table in front of me.
“Oh. Thank you.” I grab the mug and bring it to my lips, blowing on the hot liquid before I take a tentative sip. I’m not big on tea—I’m a coffee drinker, remember?—but this particular tea tastes delicious. I think there might be honey in it too.
“Mom said you fell pretty hard,” he says.
Interesting. He’s trying to make conversation with me, when Eleanor said he doesn’t talk much. And when he does, he mostly snaps at her. “I fainted. I’ve done it before.”
“What usually makes it happen?” He raises his brows.
“I have low blood pressure.” Frowning, I try
to remember exactly what triggered me to faint in the first place. I vaguely remember having to meet with Isabel at the café. Going to Sweet Dreams and seeing Stella working behind the counter.
I don’t recall our conversation, though. I don’t even know how we ended up outside. Was our meeting over? What exactly was it about anyway?
“Low blood pressure makes you faint?” He’s looking at me like he doesn’t believe me. Whatever.
“Sometimes, along with a combination of other things.” I slowly shake my head. “What’s weird is, I don’t remember what happened.”
Now he’s the one frowning. “What do you mean, you don’t remember what happened?”
“I don’t remember the conversation with your mother. I don’t remember going outside, and that’s where I fainted.” Reaching behind me, I carefully touch the knot on the back of my head. “It’s so strange.”
“How do you feel right now?”
“The bump still hurts, but I’m okay.”
Isabel chooses that moment to walk into the living room, a bottle of ibuprofen in her hand. “You should take a couple of these. I should’ve given them to you right when we got here.”
“Thank you.” She opens the bottle and shakes two pills into the palm of my hand before I put them in my mouth and swallow them down with the tea.
“I hope you weren’t sleeping.” Isabel settles into a chair across from the couch.
“I was.” I make a little face. “But not for very long. I’m okay.”
Isabel and Charlie exchange glances before turning their attention on me. “You’re a sweetheart to help Charlie by accompanying him this holiday season. Our family truly wants to have a bigger presence in our community. Especially in a charitable way,” Isabel says.
“I’m happy to do this, but I’m also really busy this time of year. Though I’m sure I can manage to accompany him to a few events.” I can’t believe I agreed to this. I’m busy enough as it is. And why would I want to help out a grown man with something that’s really not that difficult?
“We don’t want to impose,” Isabel says with a calm smile. “But we won’t refuse your offer.”
“Uh huh.” I look around me, spotting my bag on the floor near the chair where Isabel’s sitting. “Could you hand me my purse, please?”
Charlie grabs it for me, handing it over with a grim expression on his face. He doesn’t look too thrilled with this. Well, guess what? I’m not too thrilled either.
I pull my phone out and check my notifications, pleased to see there’s a text from my stepmother with good news. “My stepmom is on her way home right now. She should be there within the next two hours.”
“Wonderful.” Isabel clasps her hands together.
“So maybe you could drive me home? One of you?” I look at both of them expectantly. I want out of here so I can be alone with my own thoughts.
Isabel turns to her son. “Charlie, will you drive Candice to her house? I have a few errands I need to take care of this afternoon.”
“Sure.” He sounds hesitant. His gaze meets mine, and I get a little lost in those green eyes for a moment. I remind myself to snap out of it. “When did you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible.” I send Isabel an apologetic smile. “I just want to rest in my own bed.”
“Totally understandable.” She rises to her feet. “Let me help you gather your things so you can be on your way.”
Within minutes I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Charlie’s truck, staring out the window as he drives us through Pacific Grove, my address punched into his maps app on his phone. I haven’t been over here in a long time, and I forgot how charming the area is.
“This is such a cute neighborhood,” I say idly, not really expecting him to answer. “And the view of the water is fantastic.”
“I grew up here,” Charlie says.
I turn to study him. He’s very relaxed in the driver’s seat. His long legs are kind of sprawled, and his right arm is resting on the steering wheel. He’s super tall, well over six feet, and I don’t know how else to describe it, but he has a big presence. As in, his presence is currently eating up all the air in the confined cab of his truck, and I’m having a hard time focusing on anything other than him.
So I give in and do just that—focus on him. It’s better than sitting around thinking about how my head hurts.
“You grew up in the house we just left?” I ask.
He nods. “Yep. The house originally belonged to my grandparents. When they retired, they gave it to my parents.”
“How sweet. Who started the tree farm? Your parents?”
“No, the same grandparents who left us the house. It’s been in my family for generations.”
“The house or the tree farm?”
“Both.”
“So the tree farm has been around a lot longer than I thought.”
“My parents are the ones who grew the business. They took out advertising, started putting Christmas tree lots out all over the peninsula as the years went on,” Charlie explains. “Until we became the number one provider for Christmas trees in the Monterey Bay.”
“So you and your family must really love Christmas.” I mean, really, who doesn’t love Christmas?
He sends me an incredulous look. “I hate it.”
My mouth pops open. Say what? “Are you serious? Why would you hate Christmas? It’s part of your business.”
“Yeah, but really it’s a phony holiday pushed by giant retailers to guilt us into spending too much money on things we don’t need for the people we love,” he explains logically, though I detect a faint bitter tone. “We even buy things for the people we don’t love. It’s a total waste of time and cash.”
His statement renders me silent for a moment as I absorb his words and more than anything, the emotion behind them. This man is serious. He hates Christmas. How am I supposed to help him?
Why would I want to help him?
“But Christmas is your livelihood,” I point out. “That’s how you and your family make their money. Through your business.” I pause for effect. “Selling Christmas trees.”
“Oh, I get it. We take full advantage of everyone’s holiday spirit. Trees aren’t cheap either.” He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping him. “And then they die, especially when most people don’t know how to properly take care of their tree. The entire season is bogus, built on a lie.”
“Built on a lie? What exactly is the lie?” I can’t believe what he’s saying. With every word he says, he makes it worse and worse. This man is pushing all of my buttons.
And not in a good way either. Yes, he’s very attractive. And for some odd reason, I want to reach out and touch him. To see how warm he is? Or maybe I just want to slap him upside the head for his boorish thoughts?
I’m not sure yet.
“The entirety of the Christmas season. From November 1st on, we’re go, go, go. Consume, consume, consume,” he says.
Well, he’s not wrong there. It is go, go, go, at least for me. Not that I mind. I enjoy the Christmas season. I love the busy-ness of it all. I think it’s fun. A great distraction.
How this man feels goes against everything I believe in.
“You didn’t like what I said.” It’s not a question. Charlie knows I didn’t like it.
“Not particularly.”
“My attitude probably makes it that much harder for you to take me around and introduce me to a bunch of rich folks, huh?”
“Ye—” I clamp my lips shut. Wait a minute. I give him major side eye, but the expression on his face is pure innocence. I think this man might have ulterior motives. “Are you saying you don’t want my help after all?”
“I’m saying I’ve never wanted to do this in the first place.” We stop at a light, and he turns to look at me. His gaze is intense, his expression serious, and I sit up a little straighter under his scrutiny. “I’ve told my mom—both my parents—exactly that from the start. But she’s not listening. Now she’s tr
ying to guilt me into doing this.”
The light turns green and we start to move again. I face the windshield, lost in thought, marveling at his vehemence over not wanting to do this. Now I’m left with one single question.
Why?
I could tell him I don’t remember agreeing to help him in the first place, but that would be evidence to back his reasoning. He would turn it against me somehow. He’s smart. He doesn’t want to deal. And he’s busy. Busy like me.
I remember how fun I thought it might be to help change him and make him presentable to society. My Fair Lady in reverse. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he drives. He’s not a total savage. He’s attractive, if a bit rough around the edges. Nothing an altered wardrobe and a haircut won’t solve.
“It won’t be so bad,” I tell him with a faint smile.
“Why did you agree to do this anyway? You don’t know me.” His mouth is set in a firm line, as is his jaw, which looks sharp enough to cut granite, I swear.
No way can I tell him the truth. But I will tell him my truth, so to speak. “Once I commit to someone or something, I don’t give up on it. I promised your mom I would help her—and you—so I will. I’m not a quitter.”
He sends me a look, and I see that devilish gleam again, though it’s not as rakish as the first time I caught a glimpse of it, back in front of Sweet Dreams. “I bet I can convince you to quit.”
“No way.” I shake my head. Cross my arms. “I’m stubborn when I want to be.”
“So am I.” He says it with the assuredness of someone who likes to win.
Well, guess what?
I like to win too.
Eight
“Here’s the deal. I need to come up with a plan.” After much consideration and a couple of days of recovery time after my fall and mild concussion—recovery time means you have a lot of hours to think—I decided to be brave and put my big girl panties on.
By being brave, I mean I texted Sarah and asked if she could round up a couple of her bravest, pushiest friends because I need people to push me to be brave.
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