Chapter Eight
Eight
Charlie
“Okay, everybody on the bus!” Julian called, his breath fogging in the cold. “We are leaving now. Not in ten minutes. Not after you’ve tried to fix the bingo numbers. Not after you’ve stopped to discuss this morning’s episode of The Price Is Right.”
“Terrible episode,” Gram muttered as they wandered toward the bus. “How do you lose out on a car twice?”
Charlie rubbed her hands together, trying to get the feeling back in her fingers. “I think the woman panicked.” She caught Julian’s eye as she neared, glancing away quickly. Speaking of sweat-inducing, heart-thumping, lip-gloss-smeared panic…
“Maggie, Harriet, don’t think I won’t leave you here!” Julian continued.
Charlie glanced over her shoulder. Maggie and Harriet dawdled by the front entrance, whispering with an elderly gentleman before dashing toward the bus which was destined for the community center this morning.
Charlie should have been back at Gram’s house, sorting or packing or doing any number of moving-related things, but Gram had insisted on her company today.
After the way she stormed off yesterday during rehearsal, Charlie felt like she owed it to her. So she did her best to ignore the flutter in her gut as she raced past Julian and ducked into an empty seat near the back of the bus.
“We’re here, we’re here!” Maggie sang, climbing the stairs with Harriet right behind her. They squeezed past Julian.
“Way to rush a lady trying to organize her gingerbread team,” Harriet complained.
What the hell was a gingerbread team? Charlie didn’t want to know.
“If my hip acts up, I’m blaming you,” Harriet told Julian.
“I’ll get Warren on standby,” Julian joked. “All right, Walt, let’s hit the road.” He clapped the bus driver on the shoulder.
The bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb slowly.
Julian stood at the front, hanging onto a seat with one hand, the other holding a clipboard.
“Thank you to all those who have braved the cold to join us today. We have two exciting events on the agenda. A showing of Miracle on 34th Street and the annual community Christmas Market.”
“Which version?” Jim called.
“Of what?”
“The movie. Better be the 1947 version,” he said.
Julian smirked. “Probably the superior 1994 version.”
“Oh, absolutely not!” Jim complained. That was all it took.
Suddenly the bus erupted into a spirited debate about black-and-white versus color and the pros and cons of the Santas.
Charlie was partial to the original herself, probably because that was the one she’d watched with Tom and Gram growing up.
“I’ll tell you where you can stuff your Santa,” Harriet said.
“Keep it clean,” Julian warned. “Or I will turn this bus around.”
“No, you won’t!” came a chorus of voices.
Charlie used the distraction to spy down the aisle, taking in Julian as he laughed and gave Jim some good-natured ribbing. She hadn’t been eager to trap herself in an enclosed space with him so soon. Not after that kiss.
What had gotten into them?
Frankly, she’d been thinking too much about the entire thing since it happened: the softness of his lips, the warmth of him, the way her heart had raced.
All she could remember was how good he used to make her feel and how simple life once was.
Summer had been so easy, and falling for Julian during those long days had been even easier.
It hadn’t grown complicated until they both went back to school.
They’d given it a shot—the long-distance thing—but it had been too hard to hold onto with the demands of her future hurtling toward her.
It was no one’s fault, really, simply a case of not the right place at the right time.
Charlie had had a choice to make back then.
A career performing was all about making the right impressions on the right people, and she’d had to prioritize Juilliard.
Besides, it wasn’t like she and Julian had ever put a label on anything.
But even though it hadn’t worked out between them back then, there was something intoxicating about already knowing how good he could make her feel. She wanted that.
Wanted him.
But Julian was from a time before Tom’s loss, a time that she’d already packed away. She couldn’t reopen herself to those desires. To constant reminders of what her life had been. It would be like picking at wounds she was barely managing to keep closed.
And that was dangerous.
The image of Julian wrapping his arms around her, drawing her deeper into the kiss, burned at the forefront of her mind even as she wished it away.
She couldn’t be that version of herself. That Charlie—the driven optimist with her career plotted out perfectly—had been buried with her brother.
A blush prickled in her cheeks. The heat spread down her neck. She could feel it like a flame licking at her skin. Eager, demanding.
Consuming.
Pull yourself together. Julian didn’t want her like that anyway; he hadn’t even remembered her.
But he kissed you like he remembered you, her mind whispered.
Stop.
She wasn’t playing this game. She was here for a reason. Get Gram settled, get the house sorted, get this choir to the Christmas Eve finish line. Get the hell out of town. There wasn’t room in her life for anything else. Or anyone. Kisses be damned.
“You okay?” Gram asked, turning to her.
“Fine,” Charlie squeaked.
“You look a little flushed. Not getting sick, are you?”
“It’s just warm in here,” she said. “They probably have the heat cranked.”
Gram hummed. “I’m quite comfortable.”
Charlie swallowed hard. She needed to stop thinking about Julian and focus on the emails from Alicia that were piling up in her inbox instead. She needed to commit to work. Or, at the very least, to an audition.
She mulled that over as they made their way down the slushy streets through town, passing familiar storefronts and the diner where she’d first met Julian.
Elm Springs looked like something out of a holiday movie, with tourists flocked to the charming Christmas window displays, all of them dressed up with garlands and ribbons.
When they reached the community center, Julian hopped off the bus, welcoming the residents as they climbed down the stairs one by one. He offered a hand where necessary, though Charlie carefully kept hers tucked away in her coat pocket. She hurried off after Gram and into the center.
A cacophony of voices drifted from the large auditorium where a projector screen had been drawn across a stage.
There was a cute little booth dishing out popcorn and a series of tables set up around the perimeter of the space with various Christmas Market displays.
From the looks of it, vendors were selling everything from handmade clothing to ornaments to homemade honey and candles, crafts and desserts.
Charlie took a deep breath, overwhelmed by an intoxicating mix of melted butter and cinnamon and gingerbread.
“Have you tried Merla’s mincemeat tarts?” Maggie asked, coming up and looping her arm through Gram’s. She pointed out a vendor table. “She only sells them at Christmas. I’ve been trying to get the recipe for years, but she won’t part with it.”
“Because you can’t bake,” Harriet muttered.
Charlie chuckled under her breath.
“Says who?” Maggie complained.
“You made Jim that plate of cookies once, and he swears he got food poisoning.”
Maggie waved her off. “That was totally unrelated.” She toddled away with Gram in tow.
Charlie exchanged a look with Harriet, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“I’d advise against eating any Christmas baking she tries to give you,” Harriet said.
Charlie nodded. “Noted.”
They followed after Maggie and Gram as they secured mincemeat tarts and then moved on to the popcorn stand.
“Mm-hmm,” Maggie said. “Smells divine.”
“Smells like I’m gonna have to double up on my cholesterol medication,” Harriet said.
They joined the short line, waiting for buttery popcorn. Charlie spotted Julian near the front of the line, conversing with a young woman.
“That’s Heather,” Maggie said, leaning back to inform Charlie like it was a trade secret. “She’s the event coordinator here. Married five years. Two adorable children.”
“Just in case you were wondering,” Harriet said, giving Charlie a sly smile.
“I wasn’t.” They all took a step forward. “You know what,” Charlie said. “I think I’m going to wander around some of the vendor displays.”
Gram snatched her arm. “You’re supposed to be spending time with me.”
“I don’t think you need another escort to get popcorn. The three of you seem to have it under control.”
“Any particular reason you’re avoiding your codirector?” Harriet asked, inspecting her fingernails.
Charlie’s pulse skipped. “What?”
“Just an observation.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” she spluttered. God, was she that obvious?
“No, of course not,” Harriet said, taking Charlie’s other arm. They steered her toward the front of the line.
“Welcome, ladies,” Heather said, filling tiny red-and-white popcorn bags. “How are we liking things?”
“Excellent as always,” Maggie said. “Though it would be better if Merla would sell me her mincemeat recipe.”
Charlie stood there awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Julian, wondering how rude it would be if she simply slipped away.
But suddenly they were all tipping to the side as Gram staggered.
Her arms flailed, knocking Heather’s giant bowl of popcorn clear off the table.
It tumbled to the floor, kernels spilling free.
“Gram!” Charlie yelped as she and Julian simultaneously reached to steady her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, fine. Fine!” Gram said a little breathlessly. “It’s just this buggered hip. Has a mind of its own.” She apologized to Heather. “Let me tell you, never get old.”
“No one ever cried over spilled popcorn,” Heather said with a smile. “There’s more in the kitchen.”
“You didn’t mention that your hip was bothering you,” Charlie murmured, trying to get Gram’s attention.
“Didn’t I?”