A Winter's Kiss (A Winter's Tale Book 1)

by Tailor, Kristi

  “Charli, stir the stew will you?” Babet asked as she opened the rice steamer. “Ashh,” she cooed when moisture from the steam warmed her face. “Rapidement, avant qu'il ne brûle.” Quickly, before it burns.

  Charlotte sat stiffly on the bar stool adjacent to the breakfast bar. Regarding her mother intently she replied, “Depuis quand ne vous permettent cela? Je pensais que Babet était la seule femme qui pourrait toucher le ragoût?” Since when do you allow this? I thought Babet was the only woman that could touch the stew?

  Babet laughed at her daughter’s words. Shaking her head at her eldest child’s insistent need to be combative she mumbled words under her breath, words that Charlotte couldn’t quite catch. Babet blew on the rice before dropping her hand into the hot crock pot to scoop out a handful. “Try this,” she ordered still blowing on the rice as she made her way over to her husband. “Wet rice, just how you like it.”

  Manuel looked up from his paper long enough to taste the hot rice from his wife’s hand. “Perfect,” he complimented before taking another sip of his coffee.

  “You see Charli, learn the taste buds of that man upstairs, learn them quickly, a man loves when his woman knows his desired taste for things. Comprendre?” Understand?

  Charlotte slowly stirred the stew in silence. It amazed her how insensitive her mother could be. Did she not know that her advice was too little too late? Did she not care that every time she mentioned the do’s and don’ts of a relationship her heart sank further into her chest? How could she not have known what she was doing? Wasn’t maternal instinct a real concept?

  Nicholas inhaled the unfamiliar smells as he descended from upstairs. Stopping just outside the kitchen he paused watching the interaction between Charlotte and her parents in silence.

  Placing the wooden spoon back on the stove she turned to face her mother. “Why are you making so much food for just the three of you? Aren’t you making dinner for the next two nights as well, that’s a lot of food that’ll go to waste?”

  “There’ll be more than just the three of us,” Babet explained.

  “Oh?”

  Babet smiled broadly. “Turn on the news. Early this morning they announced that New York and New Jersey were going to get hit pretty hard with snow.”

  “The forecast says that all the time. It’s generally not that bad,” Charlotte snorted. “Regardless, whether it be snow, rain, or sleet I’m leaving as soon as Nicholas finishes getting ready.”

  “I doubt it,” Manuel scoffed pointing at the small television that set just beyond the kitchen table. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere anytime soon,” he mused raising his coffee mug in the air. “Salute.”

  Charlotte gawked at the television screen from afar striving to control her breathing as dread crept its way into her body leaving the feeling of trepidation in its wake. New York was covered in snow. It was like a nightmare that had come true. Staring at the small box in disbelief Charlotte listened as the charismatic news anchor bragged about the amount of snow that had fallen over night. “It’s definitely going to be a white Christmas here in the Big Apple. Manhattan has been hit with two and a half feet of snow, and it’s still early. The forecast clearly shows that this winter storm won’t be letting up anytime soon. A possible State of Emergency is in effect we will keep you updated as we find out more information, but until then folks stay off the roads, be safe, and stay warm,” he smiled waving goofily at his viewers.

  Charlotte laughed though there was no humor in it. “Unbelievable. This is truly unbelievable.” The thought of being stranded in Maryland for Christmas put a sour taste in her mouth. She prided herself on the fact that she had single handedly provided a place of solace away from the craziness that was the Toutant family, and yet when she yearned for it most it was inaccessible.

  “Good morning, Mr. Toutant . . . Ms. Toutant. How is everyone doing this morning?” Nicholas asked entering the kitchen with a wide smile on his face. “You look nice Dimple,” he smirked kissing her forehead before walking past her to sit at the table with her father.

  “Please, call me Mom,” Babet pressed a blush rising to her cheeks. “You must be hungry- Charli throw a few pieces of bread in the oven, and make the man some eg-”

  “Mom! Dad! We’re here! Where is everybody? Whose Chrysler is that in front of the house?” exclaimed a loud squeaky voice from the foyer.

  Charlotte’s brows furrowed causing wrinkles to form around her narrowed eyes. She recognized that voice from the first words Marguerite had spoken. Turning to face her mother she opted not to hide the look of anguish that commanded her features. “How could you not tell me that she was coming?” Charlotte demanded her hands trembling.

  “It’s the day before Christmas Eve, why wouldn’t she come? She’s family, she’s your sister- your younger sister so be good to her,” Babet replied unfazed by her daughter’s growing anger.

  Charlotte let out a strained breath. “Be good to her? Am I hearing you correctly?”

  “Mom?” Marguerite called from the hallway. The sound of muffled voices grew louder by the second.

  “We’re in the kitchen,” Babet shouted.

  Standing Nicholas made his way over to Charlotte pulling her tense body into the comfort of his arms. “Just breathe,” he whispered into her ear stroking the back of her head with soft hands. “Just breathe.”

  “Mom, Todd’s aunt baked you a carrot-” Marguerite stopped short at the sight of her sister. “Charlotte. I didn’t know you were coming home . . . .”

  Charlotte moved then gently pushing against Nicholas’ hard chest she turned to face her sister. Her gaze roamed from Marguerite to Todd who had been standing beside her, his arm wrapped through hers, his hand resting on her growing abdomen. She’s pregnant! Her subconscious screamed at her mockingly. The moment she had desperately tried to avoid was transpiring, unraveling in front of her like a ribbon expended beyond its means, yet the rage she had expected to feel was non- existent. While the pain, and hurt of knowing what her sister had done to her was still very apparent, the anger dissipated.

  “Charli, introduce Marguerite to your fiancé,” Babet urged drying her hands on her pants as she made her way over to her middle daughter.

  “Babet, rester en dehors de celui-ci.” Babet, stay out of it. Manuel muttered not bothering to look away from his paper.

  “Marguerite, your soeur is engaged! Charli introduce Nicholas to your sister, and her husband,” Babet cooed.

  “No,” Charlotte said flatly amazed by her mother’s nerve.

  “Charli-”

  Charlotte dismissed her mother’s chidings with a wave of her hand, holding her sister’s gaze she took her time walking past the two of them quickening her pace only after being assured that she was no longer in their sight. Be it pride or immaturity she wasn’t sure, nor did she care to justify or question her reasoning behind her actions. Making her way down the long hallway she allowed a brief smile to touch her lips. The man that she had hoped to spend the rest of her life with, the man who had brutally broken her heart had just been standing not five feet in front of her, and she could still breathe. Seeing him hadn’t brought her to her knees like she assumed it would- she was still standing . . . she was still breathing.

  Grabbing her coat from the wall rack she swung open the hunter green door allowing it to slam behind her. She needed to be anywhere but there. The frigid air worked as a healing agent numbing her body in all the right places.

  “You feel like company?” Nicholas called from behind her his smile sympathetic.

  Charlotte stopped abruptly allowing him to catch up to her. “Give me your keys,” she demanded averting eye contact. “I’ll drive.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Placing her small hands on either side of the hot coffee mug that sat on the table in front of her Charlotte closed her eyes as she inhaled the familiar aroma of Zeke’s coffee shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warmed desserts soothed her senses allowing her mind to sail awa
y from the abyss that was intent on holding her captive. The depth of her hurt while not surface deep was no longer the grave entity that it had once been, and for that she was elated- still, to climb out of the suffocating void of despair without a ladder . . . a rope . . . a crutch- even, left her feeling baffled about the past thirteen months of torture she had inflicted on herself. Was it all for nothing, she wondered as she stared into her mug, the blackness found there caused a frown to knot above her brow. “Do you know what’s funny?” she asked looking up to meet Nicholas’ gaze for the first time since they had arrived. Not waiting for a response she continued, her big brown eyes fixed on his grey ones. “The bitterness of black coffee is insulting . . . the fresher it is the more bitter it tastes . . . most people steer clear of it,” she laughed softly looking down once more. “As humans we have this innate need to desire the sweeter things in life . . . overly processed truths that aren’t real . . . that aren’t good for us . . . not natural . . . but still we prefer it because of that engrained belief that sweeter is better . . . more enjoyable . . . more satisfying . . . all the while we are foolishly poisoning ourselves . . . .” Diverting her eyes she turned her head away from him hating her inability to stop the moisture that fell shamelessly down her flushed cheeks. “Better to endure the bitterness of the unprocessed than the temporary satisfaction of forged sweetness,” she whispered.

  “Dimple-”

  “I’m sorry,” she smiled apologetically forcing a quiet laughter for emphasis. “I brought you here . . . into all of this madness. It’s the holidays- you should be with your family enjoying yourself, but instead you’re stuck here with me caught in a bogus lie. I’m so-”

  Nicholas moved then, reaching across the short round table he took her small hands into his large ones. “Look at me,” he implored her, his voice barely above an octave. Shaking her head Charlotte objected his command turning away from him to hide her humiliation. Allowing his hands to fall away from hers Nicholas lifted Charlotte’s chin with gentle fingers forcing her to meet his molten gaze. Ignoring all inhibitions he slowly drew in closer to her closing the space in between them. “There is nowhere else I would rather be than here with you,” he said sincerely.

  “You know about my sister and her husband?” she sighed. It was more of a statement than an actual question.

  Nicholas furrowed his brows at her sudden forwardness over the matter. He hadn’t thought that she would bring up the subject so boldly giving her knack for keeping things to herself. “Yes,” he answered after a short pause.

  Closing her eyes she smiled sadly against his hand fighting the urge to get up and run out of the crowded room. Her nightmares were coming to pass. “How do you know?” she asked opening her eyes to look at him once more.

  “That’s not important.”

  “Did my mother tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Nicholas frowned at her allegation. “Dimple, have I ever lied to you?” he demanded.

  “Then who told you?”

  Dropping his hand from her face he groaned aloud. Telling her that Adeline had filled him in about their family drama would only cause more drama, and causing more problems within their family was the last thing he wanted to do. Nevertheless, his loyalty was to Charlotte not to her sister . . . not to her family. Weighing his options under her heated gaze made for an interesting change in his mood. Picking up his coffee mug for the first time since they had arrived he took a sip of the cooled substance opting to remain silent.

  “Nicholas?”

  “Dimple,” he sighed wishing she’d drop the matter.

  “My family . . . the people who I should be able to depend on the most have proven that they cannot be trusted, I’ve lost all trust in them. Are you going to hide things from me, too? Are you just as untrustworthy?” she asked harshly, her voice strained. There was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel uneasy. Her almond brown eyes glared heatedly at him until he felt forced to respond.

  “Why does it matter who told me?”

  “It was no one’s place to tell you. If I wanted you to know I would have told you myself.”

  “One more thing I would never have heard,” he snorted indignantly bringing the mug to his lips for another sip.

  Charlotte huffed aloud. Leaning back in the wooden chair she asked, “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “You would have allowed me to stay clueless rather than being forthcoming about what took place between Marguerite and your ex.”

  “So what? Why does that have anything to do with you, or with our friendship? Do I have to tell you every part of my life?” she yelled. Nosey customers turned their heads in their direction silently observing them from across the small café.

  “No you don’t have to tell me every facet of your life Charlotte, but it would be nice if you did. You know everything about me, everything about my adulterous mother, and alcoholic father. You know about my nannies who were better caregivers to me and my siblings than our own parents. You know about my failed relationships, and my sexual conquests, about my insecurities and asshole tendencies. You know everything about me, and I hoped that over time you would feel comfortable enough to let me in . . . comfortable enough to open up to me the way that I have with you, but honestly, it feels like our relationship is a one sided thing and you don’t trust me enough to-”

  “To show my vulnerability?” she interrupted. “. . . . To be weak around you.”

  “To be honest about your weaknesses!” Nicholas snapped his tone harsher than what he’d intended. Sighing he leaned back closing his eyes briefly as he rubbed his fingers through his thick hair. Opening his eyes once more he met her gaze from across the table. “Look I’m sorry,” he offered, his greys peering at her anxiously. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

  Charlotte gaped at him in silence fighting to keep her tears at bay. The anger she’d felt toward her family was being directed at the wrong person. Nicholas was undeserving to bear the brunt of her emotions, it wasn’t fair to him. Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth Charlotte pouted at her predicament. Telling Nicholas the grotesque details about that surreal day seemed like a punishment for her heart forcing her to relive that event again and again. Fine, she thought. What’s one more humiliating moment opposed to all the others? “Todd and I met when we were ten years old. We were neighbors from the time we were in fifth grade until his parents moved to York Pennsylvania in the beginning of senior year of high school. On weekends he drove to Baltimore to see me, and on holidays my parents allowed him to stay with us. We were all really close. We applied to the same college in Virginia . . . graduated together, and then moved back to Maryland where we got an apartment that we lived in for four years. Best friends for fifteen years, dated for seven,” she laughed sadly. “Engaged for two . . . it was a Saturday morning, and I got up early to run out to the grocery store . . . he had mentioned the night before that he had been craving chicken and dumplings and so I thought why not surprise him by making it before he had woken up . . . I ran to the store . . . my morning runs have always been important to me . . . you know that,” she rambled, “I was gone for a little over an hour, and when I got back home I couldn’t find my key so I knocked . . . I knocked hard, hard and loud, but he never came . . . I had to be in the hallway for a good couple of minutes before I became super irritated- I turned the knob out of frustration, and low and behold it wasn’t locked. I clearly remembered locking the door, but being naïve and simple minded I paid that little detail no mind and proceeded into our home, put the groceries in the kitchen and stripped off my clothes . . . I was really sweaty, you know . . . I wanted to take a shower, and needed a towel so I walked into our bedroom-”

  “You don’t have to say anymore-”

  “I walked into our bedroom, and there they were-”

  “Dimple-”

  “Naked in the bed that we brought together. We slept on a blow up mattress for abou
t four months before we were able to pay off our bedroom set,” she smiled. Pausing for a moment she rubbed her index finger across her bottom lip. “We were just out of college, both working dead end jobs, but I was determined to make our home comfortable and so I worked over night at a loading factory for a little extra money . . . that was so long ago,” she mumbled.

  “Dimple, stop.”

  “All of that money saved all of those years ago for furniture that I wouldn’t dare look at let alone sit on now,” she giggled. The sound was labored, forced past her small lips. “My parents knew that they were sleeping together- they knew that he was engaged to the both of us at the same time, and that he was waiting for the right moment to end things with me. I was the fool blindly living a lie with no clue as to what was happening around me, and like wolves they all toyed with me . . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered not knowing what else to say. What was he supposed to say to something like that? He was at a lost.

  “You think that I opt to keep things from you because I’m not comfortable around you . . . because I don’t trust you . . . you . . . you’re the only person that I have in my life that I do trust. You’re the only person who I can count on to be honest with me. But the idea of you thinking of me as a pathetic woman whose kid sister stole her fiancé killed me. My family knowing that it happened was bad enough . . . I just didn’t want to be humiliated in front of you, too.”

  Her admission pulled at his heart. “Dimple, no one in their right mind would see you as being pathetic- especially not me. What took place between your sister and your ex was twisted.”

  “To say the least,” she laughed softly. “Still- I felt the need to save face in front of you.”

  “Why?” he asked a frown forming above his brow.

  “I have my reasons,” she whispered pressing her lips together and sighing softly under her breath.

  “Which are?”

  “Mine,” she giggled meeting his gaze squarely. “Let’s head back to my parents . . . I want to grab our things and go to a hotel.”