Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Charlie
I straighten my shoulders as Emily rings the doorbell of the Harper family home. The massive wooden door swings open, revealing Ethan's grinning face—a smile far too wide and cheerful for someone who's been a dick almost the whole trip.
"Ladies! And Sebastian. Welcome!" He steps aside with an exaggerated flourish that makes my skin crawl. Something about his demeanor feels off.
We step into the grand foyer with its soaring ceilings and antler chandelier.
The Harper’s mountain home is all rustic luxury—stone floors, exposed timber beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the snow-covered mountains just like ours.
A massive fireplace dominates one wall, crackling with flames that cast dancing shadows across the space.
Expensive art depicting Western landscapes hangs on every wall, and the air smells of pine, cinnamon, and something savory cooking.
Laughter echoes from another room—presumably the kitchen or dining area—and Ethan gestures for us to follow the sound.
"Let me take your coats, ladies." Ethan reaches for my jacket first, his fingers lingering on my shoulders a beat too long. He does the same for Emily, but when Bash moves to hand over his coat, Ethan simply points to a nearby rack.
"You can put it there."
The slight is unmistakable. I glance at Bash, whose jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Our eyes meet, and protectiveness flares inside me. Without hesitation, I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. The warmth of his palm against mine feels like a lifeline.
I squeeze his hand, trying to ease the muscle ticking in his jaw.
Look happy, be happy.
I heard Tyler's words through the bathroom door last night. The way he told Bash not to waste what was happening between us.
Bash looks down at our joined hands, then back at me, surprise evident on his face.
"Is this okay?" I whisper.
"Yes," he replies, but the smile that follows doesn't reach his eyes. It's tinged with something that looks too much like resignation for my comfort.
We follow Ethan into a great room that opens to a dining area, where both our families are gathered around a massive oak table.
Mrs. Harper is setting down a steaming dish of her delicious lasagna, while my mother tosses some fresh salad.
Mr. Harper and my dad are deep in conversation about something that's making them both laugh.
"Look who's here!" Ethan announces.
Everyone turns, offering greetings and smiles that range from genuine to something I can't quite read from Olivia. I'm still trying to interpret her expression when she springs from her chair and beelines toward me.
"Charlie!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me in a hug that forces me to drop Bash's hand. "I'm so glad to see you"
I freeze, stunned by this unexpected display of affection from a woman who's spent the entire trip making passive-aggressive comments about my relationship history. I awkwardly pat her back, meeting Emily's equally confused gaze over Olivia's shoulder.
"Come let's sit," she insists, pulling away and tugging me toward the table. "I saved you a spot."
Before I can protest, I'm being steered to a chair. The seating arrangement feels deliberate.
"So, Charlie," Olivia leans in close, her voice hushed with artificial intimacy. "I've been dying to ask about your marketing firm. Do you handle any beauty clients? Because I've been thinking about launching a skincare line."
I take a sip of wine, buying time. This sudden interest in my career after days of thinly veiled insults feels like walking into a trap.
"We have a few," I answer vaguely.
"Well, I'd love your professional opinion on my business plan sometime," she continues, her smile tight. "Maybe we could do lunch when we're back in the city?"
"Maybe," I reply.
My mother catches my eye and mouths ‘be nice,’ clearly thrilled at this apparent olive branch between us.
I force a smile that feels like a grimace, wondering what game she's playing—and how quickly I can extract myself from it.
"So anyway, I was thinking something organic and sustainable, but luxurious," she continues, gesturing with perfectly manicured nails. "Like Goop, but accessible. Does that make sense as a brand identity?"
I nod vaguely.
"I mean, I already have thousands of Instagram followers." She says, touching my arm to reclaim my attention. "That's organic reach, you know? No paid promotion."
"Impressive," I murmur, taking a generous sip of wine.
Mrs. Harper sweeps around the table with a bottle of cabernet, topping off glasses with practiced elegance. "More wine, Charlotte?"
"God, yes. Please," I reply with perhaps too much enthusiasm, earning a knowing chuckle from her.
"Olivia, dear?" She gestures with the bottle.
"Just a splash. I'm watching my macros this week," Olivia replies, covering her glass with her hand after barely a pour.
Mrs. Harper completes her circuit around the table, then clasps her hands together. "Everyone, please dig in! My special holiday lasagna."
Grateful for the interruption, I reach for the serving spoon just as Olivia does the same.
"Oh, sorry!" she trills, withdrawing her hand with a giggle. "You go first. You must be hungry after all the activities you've been doing with Sebastian."
The way she emphasizes his full name feels pointed, like she's reminding me of formalities.
"Thanks," I say, serving myself a generous portion before passing the dish to her. "And yes, we worked up quite an appetite."
She takes the lasagna, her smile tightening. "I bet. Ethan and I have been mostly sticking to the lodge. I find extreme sports so... unnecessary. The risk just isn't worth it, don't you think?"
Under the table, I feel a warm hand on my knee. Bash has managed to claim the seat beside me, and his touch grounds me instantly. He leans close, his breath tickling my ear.
"Hang in there, Shortcake. I brought emergency chocolate for later."
I bite back a smile, suddenly feeling like I can survive anything—even this dinner.
Emily makes an appreciative sound. "Yum! I've waited all year for this."
The salad bowl makes its way around the table, and soon everyone is eating and chatting. The collective conversation turns to tomorrow night's cookie decorating, another Harper-Whitaker tradition.
"We've got all new cookie cutter designs this year," Patricia says proudly. "And I found these edible glitter sprinkles that are just gorgeous."
I nod politely, taking a bite of lasagna, when I notice Ethan staring at me from across the table. Not a casual glance, he’s full-on staring, with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. I shift in my seat. What is his problem?
Bash leans closer. "So what's this cookie competition about? Sounds fun."
Grateful for the distraction, I turn toward him.
"Oh, it's actually really great. My mom has a sugar cookie and royal icing recipe.
We bake various holiday shaped cookies and make the icing and separate the icing batch into different colors and bag them.
Everyone decorates the cookies however they want, and then we judge each other's work at the end.
I take another bite of my lasagna.
"Last year, Emily made this awesome—"
A tickle starts in the back of my throat, interrupting my story. I cough once, twice, then take a sip of wine. But the tickle becomes an itch, then a burn all at once, spreading like wildfire across my throat.
I cough again, harder this time, my chest tightening with each hack. Something isn't right. The familiar, terrifying sensation creeps through me, one I haven't felt in years but recognize instantly.
"Charlie? You okay?" Bash asks, his hand landing on my shoulder as he studies my face.
I nod instinctively—my default response to avoid making a scene—I grab my napkin and put it over my mouth, but the coughing continues, growing more violent.
My lips start to tingle and then go numb, the sensation spreading across my cheeks like Novocaine.
I take a desperate gulp of water, but it slides down my increasingly constricted throat without offering any relief.
"Is there—" I cough harder, panic rising as reality dawns on me. I clutch at the tablecloth, knuckles whitening. "Is there shellfish in the lasagna?"
Patricia looks confused, her perfectly penciled eyebrows drawing together.
"No, of course not!" Her eyes widen. "I've known about your shellfish allergy since you were ten."
My hand flies to my throat as another coughing fit hits. The room tilts sideways.
Horror floods through me as I realize what's happening but have no idea why. My skin begins to itch furiously, like a thousand ants crawling beneath the surface, and I can feel hives breaking out along my neck and chest, angry and red. The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter.
"Charlie?" My mom's voice cuts through the rising commotion. "Oh my God, she's having a reaction!"
Chairs scrape against hardwood as everyone jumps to their feet—everyone except Ethan and Olivia, who remain seated, watching with wide eyes.
My dad rushes around the table toward me while Emily kneels beside my chair, her hand on my back.
"It's okay, breathe through it," she whispers, but her voice trembles. "Try to stay calm."
I want to tell her that's impossible when it feels like someone's tightening a belt around my windpipe, but all that comes out is another strangled cough.
"Where's your EpiPen?" Mom demands, her face pale with fear. "Charlotte, where is it?"
I try to speak, but the words won't come. My hands claw at my throat, and the room is spinning now.
"Her purse," Emily blurts. "She always keeps it in her purse!"
Bash is already moving, sprinting toward the foyer where our coats and bags were left. I hear him rummaging frantically through my things, tossing items aside.
"Come on, come on," my mom mutters, squeezing my hand so tightly it hurts.
Mr. Harper presses a cold, damp cloth to my forehead. "Stay with us, kiddo."