by Jenny Hale
Charles greeted the barista kindly. “I’ll have two peppermint lattes, please.”
“You like peppermint lattes?” Scarlett asked, her mind in a fog of delight and confusion at his change in behavior. She couldn’t decide if she was more baffled now than she had been before when he’d been so cranky.
“I’ve never had one,” he said. “But I figured I’d try it. If you really do plan to talk for an hour, I’ll have plenty of time to finish it if I don’t like it. Tiny sips…” He allowed his teasing to show on his lips and Scarlett felt a little like Loretta had for a second.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, as he took their mugs from the barista and gestured for her to find a seat first.
“I can’t figure you out,” she said truthfully as she found a table. “You’re hot and cold.”
“I’m sorry.” He took off his coat and sat down across from her, wrapping his large hand around the handle of his cup. “Some people aren’t very happy with me…” he said in some sort of cryptic explanation, his thoughts obviously heavier than he was able to articulate in that instance. “I’m not very happy with myself either. I was defensive and I’m not usually like that.”
“Why?” she asked, indulging in the question. It wasn’t any of her business, but he’d been the one to mention it, and she was extremely curious.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said on an exhale, two deep lines forming between his eyes before he straightened out his expression. “Just work. But don’t worry. I don’t want to talk about work. In fact, I promise not to mention it again.”
“Well, I don’t mind talking about your work,” she said, taking this as her opportunity to say something about the inn. “In fact, I was wondering—”
He cut her off. “I do mind. The last thing I want to talk about is my job.” He scooted his mug forward and leaned his forearms on the table. “Somehow, you made me think of something other than my work for the first time in a very long time. And I’m not sure how, but you also managed to get me into this coffee shop when I haven’t wanted to go out since I got here. I bought a peppermint latte…” His eyes widened, playfully aghast. “So please, don’t mention work.”
“All right,” she said, feeling her chance to have a reasonable option for the inn to present to Gran by Christmas slipping away. “Why haven’t you wanted to come into town?” she asked, taking a sip of her latte and letting the smooth, minty flavor of it pull her back into the Christmas spirit.
He rolled his shoulders as if there were tension there. “I don’t really want to talk about that either.”
“Well, what do you want to talk about then?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” he said under his breath, suddenly looking as though he were annoyed with himself.
“Look, I know you don’t know me…”
He visibly regrouped. “I do know you, actually.” Oddly, there was a slight affection lingering in his eyes when he said it.
His comment took her by surprise. “You do?” She examined his face for something that she recognized, dissecting his features with this new lens. As she did, a flash of eyes like his flickered in her memory, but it was just fuzzy enough to make it difficult to place what she remembered.
“How do you know me?” she asked.
“I realized it back at the house. We met at the falls. Just the one day. We were young.”
For the first time since she’d gotten stuck in the snow, Charles gave her a soft but genuine smile that made her heart beat like a snare drum, and she remembered. Not only the smile, but the way her heart had pattered then too.
“Charlie,” she said, trying out his fifteen-year-old nickname on her lips after twenty years.
“Yes.”
“Do you still go by Charlie?”
“Only with people who know me well.” He fiddled with the edge of his mug.
She remembered that day at the falls. She was swimming in her new pink bikini, her long, wet hair dripping down her back. Charlie had jumped in from a rock above her, splashing her accidentally. He’d rushed over to apologize, meeting her in the water to the hoots of his friends, but he’d shooed them off. She told him it was really fine; she was soaking wet already. She asked his name and he just said, “Charlie.” He’d told Scarlett he was on a break from school, and she’d assumed that he was there visiting. So he must have been at Amos’s…
That day, they’d struck up a conversation, talking until evening about everything and nothing at the same time. Before they knew it, their friends had gone, and it was just the two of them in the water, the soft swish-washing sound of the falls behind them. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, it was clear that neither of them wanted to leave, but they both knew they couldn’t stay. She asked if he’d be back to the falls tomorrow, and he said he wouldn’t—it was his last day there—which had disappointed her. He reached through the water and gently put his hands on her waist, asking her permission with his gaze. She let him. She could still remember the way their skin touched as their bodies bumped against each other with the movement of the water rushing around them.
“Maybe we’ll meet again,” he’d said.
And then he’d kissed her. She still remembered that kiss because it had always seemed so much more mature and tender than the other boys her age. It hadn’t lasted long, however—the whooping of his friends on the bank tearing them apart. They’d come back to get him.
“So here we are again,” he said, breaking her from her moment of nostalgia.
He smiled at her and she tried not to focus on his lips, now wondering if the feel of them would be the same as they were in her memory.
“I’m going to call you Charlie,” she decided right then and there, and his smile widened.
Then he sobered. “I should never have treated you the way I did when I met you by the truck; I shouldn’t have treated anyone that way… I really just wanted to be alone and your showing up disrupted that. But I’m glad for it now.”
“Yeah, you definitely didn’t seem like the same person I met that day so long ago,” she said, wishing he would divulge whatever it was that was bothering him.
He looked into her eyes. “We were just kids,” he said, but it was almost as if he were stating that to see if she agreed, or if she felt the vibe of familiarity that seemed to float around them. Did he notice it too?
She didn’t know how to read him well enough to tell for sure, so, tentatively, she nodded.
“There you are!” Her father’s voice sliced through the moment. “I got your text, and I went out to Amos’s to get the truck unstuck, but I couldn’t get close enough, so I decided to see if I could get ahold of the snow plow.” His gaze fluttered to Charlie and then to Scarlett.
Charlie stood up. “Charles Bryant,” he introduced himself, causing Scarlett to shoot out of her chair just as her father’s eyebrows rose in interest, his mouth opening to speak.
“Blue Bailey,” he said before she could interject, reaching out a hand eagerly to shake Charlie’s. “I’m sure Scarlett has—”
“Dad!” she nearly screeched, not wanting him to mention the inn. She’d do it in her own way when she felt like it was right. Something was upsetting Charlie, and she had a strong feeling that it was why he was at Amos’s. Getting to the bottom of that was more important right at this minute because the boy she’d met all those years ago had had so much life in him, so much ahead of him—which was very different from the man he seemed to be at the moment. She just needed more time.
“I got stuck at Charlie’s and he gave me a ride into town,” she said, “but we’ll need to get the truck out of the snow, and he and I haven’t really had a chance to catch up too much…” Scarlett was babbling, none of her thoughts coming through in their entirety. She widened her eyes at her dad to let him know something was up, but he didn’t seem to catch it, so she kept going. “How about we get you a coffee to go? You can order it and sit with me, and then we can let Charlie get back home. I’ve bothered
him quite enough…” She tugged on Blue’s arm.
“Scarlett,” her father laughed. “You’re talking a mile a minute.” He slowly pulled free from her grasp. “I’m able to order my own coffee, and I’m sure if Charlie needs to get back, he’ll let us know—you will, won’t you, Charlie?”
Scarlett’s exchange with her father was clearly affecting Charlie. He was perceptive enough to sense her tension. He was visibly withdrawing right in front of her, his shoulders tensing as he eyed them both warily, clearly realizing Scarlett was attempting to cut her father’s visit short.
“If you’re able to get home safely, Scarlett, then I really should get going,” Charlie said, taking his coat from the back of his chair and slipping it on.
This wasn’t how she wanted things to go, but she couldn’t ask him to stay for fear her father would say something too soon. The last thing she wanted was for Charlie to think that she was being kind to him in an effort to convince him to buy the inn. He’d said that he didn’t want to talk about his work. She liked Charlie. It was Christmas, and the one thing she’d learned over the years was that the residents of Silver Falls came together at Christmastime. More so than any other time of the year. He didn’t need to be sitting out there all alone in that run-down cottage. Once she’d gotten him talking, being with him had been nice.
“Thank you for the coffee suggestion,” he said, nodding toward the cup on the table.
Scarlett picked it up. “It’s still full,” she said, remembering his comment about tiny sips. “Oh well, at least you gave it a chance. Every now and again, trying something new will surprise you.”
His eyes found hers. “Yes. Yes, it will.” But caution flooded him again as he regarded her father, noticeably recalling how Scarlett had tried to rush Blue away. “Enjoy your coffees,” he said. Then he headed for the door.
“Bye,” she called after him. He looked over his shoulder at her and raised his hand in farewell.
If they met up again, she was willing to bet that he would have questions for her about this moment, and she wasn’t quite sure how she would answer. But there was a lot that he hadn’t told her either—that was pretty clear.
None of that mattered, however, if she didn’t see him again. But she was going to make it her own Christmas mission to make sure she did.
Six
“Why did you hurry Charles off like that?” her father said after he’d gotten his coffee and sat down. He’d opted for black, no sugar, in a house mug—simple, the way he enjoyed his life.
The snow must have kept people away, because the coffee shop sat empty except for the barista behind the counter and Sue, the owner, who was in the corner, wiring fresh greenery to the windowsills and tugging on her pashmina between bouts of shivering. Scarlett hadn’t looked around to notice until now, her focus having been entirely on Charlie.
“Dad, there’s something going on with Charlie; I can tell,” she started. Then she launched into the last few hours she’d spent with him.
After her explanation, Blue clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them, mulling it all over. “Do you think it has anything to do with Amos?” he speculated.
Scarlett shrugged. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t talk about work, though. That was so strange, since he’d openly given Cappy his business card.”
“Could he be in some kind of financial trouble?”
“Maybe, but by the look of that snowmobile, I think he’s probably doing just fine.”
“Sorry to eavesdrop,” Sue said, poking her head into the conversation, her hands full of holly. “But if you’re referring to Charles Bryant, he’s definitely not in financial trouble. I head up the girls’ and boys’ home, you know, and he just donated twenty thousand dollars to it for Christmas gifts. But that wasn’t all. He gave me another fifteen thousand to give to any charity or Christmas need of my choice.” She waited dramatically for their reactions, her eyebrows raised.
“Wow,” Blue said, his interest satisfying Sue enough for her to resume decorating.
“That was incredibly generous of him,” Scarlett said, as she pondered their first meeting. “You know, he doesn’t have a Christmas tree.”
“Maybe he hasn’t had a chance to get one yet.”
Sue set a vanilla votive with a ring of red berries in the center of their table.
“When can we get the truck out from in front of his house?”
“It’s supposed to warm up slightly tomorrow. Maybe we can let the temperature do some work for us and try to get it out then.”
“Okay,” she said, eying Charlie’s cup that still sat, full, on the other side of the table. “When we get the truck out tomorrow, I want to run down and check on him.”
“Sure.”
“I thought you were shopping,” Gran said from her chair next to the Christmas tree when Scarlett and Blue came in. Her pen stilled on the crossword puzzle in her lap.
“I was, but I got stuck in the snow.”
Gran allowed a knowing smile. “You were doing some shopping at Amos’s?”
Scarlett felt the heat in her cheeks. Gran must have heard about her visit to Charlie when Scarlett had called her father to come get her. She went over and sat down next to the fire, her mind whirring with what to tell Gran as a reason for going over there. Scarlett hated that she’d put herself in the position of keeping things from Gran. It made her want to sit her grandmother down right now and tell her what was going on, but she knew her family would never forgive her.
“Amos always wanted to fix that place up,” Gran said. “He’d be happy to know someone was in the old cottage. I’ve wondered about the state of it over the last few years. How bad is it?”
“It’s pretty beat up,” Scarlett said, the fire popping, causing it to dance, sending a small burst of heat toward her.
“I hear his son Charles is easy on the eye.”
Scarlett let out a laugh, despite herself. “How do you know this kind of stuff?” she said, Gran’s comment surprising her. Gran always knew the gossip around town. She was never one to spread it herself, but she would definitely listen when someone had something to say.
“I spoke to Loretta today when she called to get the time for the Christmas party.”
“Of course.” Scarlett scooted a basket of glitter-covered pine cones to the side to give herself more legroom, and twisted toward Gran. “Did Amos ever mention having a son to you?”
“Only once,” she said, more seriously. “He said they were estranged. It was in passing; he didn’t elaborate, as if it were just a regular piece of his history, and I didn’t want to pry…”
“Estranged. Wow. So why do you think he’s here now when Amos is gone?”
Gran shook her head sadly. “I don’t know, dear. Did you speak to him?”
“Yeah. He seemed like something was bothering him.”
“I can imagine.”
Gran could always see some sort of bigger picture, making connections before anyone else. “What can you imagine?”
“He’s alone. At Christmas. And his father is gone. I’d imagine that he would, indeed, seem bothered.” She cleared her throat. “Not to mention he built that monstrosity down the road. That’s enough to bother anyone.” She rolled her eyes, folding her crossword around the back of the book to keep it open and setting it on the side table.
Scarlett reached down to stroke Stitches, who’d sauntered up to her from her perch on the piano bench to be nearer to the fire. “You mean Croft Ridge Resort and Suites?” she said.
“I suppose I do. That’s certainly a mouthful, which is fitting. The name is as big as the amount of countryside it ate up.” She pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Would you approve of it if it weren’t so large?” Scarlett said, being careful not to give away her motive for asking the question by keeping her gaze neutral. She didn’t like the way the conversation was going, considering Charlie Bryant was Scarlett’s only option for viable purchasers. She’d been hoping to get a better re
action from Gran when she finally mentioned his name.
“Any time our gorgeous views are obstructed by concrete of any size, it’s a tragedy.”
“The inn has concrete parking,” she challenged. “At one point, White Oaks was as new as these resorts popping up… It was a simple house before it was expanded to the size it is now.”
“True. But White Oaks feels like part of the mountains themselves. The resorts don’t have history,” Gran said, leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees for emphasis. “They don’t tell the stories that White Oaks does. The original family who owned the main house built the corridor leading to the west wing of the inn. Do you know why? Because it hid tunnels underneath that were part of the Underground Railroad. They led slaves to freedom. The back garden where we have the benches—that was originally planted when this was an orphanage. I cleared the area with your pappy and restored it, and would you know that some of the original annuals returned? Every single flower blooms for a child who lived here. I count them, and make sure that we always have exactly fifty-two flowers. No child is ever left behind. During the Civil War, this home was a hospital. The dining area still has deep grooves in the wooden floor, a reminder of the rows of iron beds that lined the walls. Those are only a few of the inn’s many stories. This house has always been about love, about helping others, and about togetherness, and it is in that spirit that I house my guests.”
Scarlett studied the room with new eyes and an appreciation for the type of businesswoman her grandmother was, feeling a loss because she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to find another owner to live up to that type of hospitality and loyalty to preserving the feeling and the history of the inn. No wonder she didn’t like the resorts. It all made sense now. Scarlett knew how much Gran enjoyed running White Oaks, but she’d never asked her why. In all those years, she’d just assumed that the only reason was that the place had a lot of memories from her life with Pappy.