Chapter 7
CHARLOTTE
The next morning, I wake up to a puddle of blankets and a pillow on the floor, but no Kez.
I don’t know what to do with that information, so I file it away and get up.
Luckily, the sunlight peeking through the curtains steals my attention before my mind wanders to what it would be like to share a bed with Kez again.
I gaze out the window and appreciate the snow falling gracefully from the sky. Perfect for an outdoor photo shoot. Mistletoe Mountain is as magical as a snow globe during the daytime. After hours on the phone yesterday, I was too exhausted to notice.
It’s leggings and an oversized sweater type of day.
I take my time getting dressed, pull my hair in a messy bun and dig through my suitcase for a pair of fuzzy socks.
Where are they? A minute later, still nothing.
I must have accidentally tossed them into the donation pile, which is long gone now.
I shrug and settle for crew socks, then leave to properly explore the cabin.
A spiral staircase winds up to an empty loft area, the banister smooth and honey-colored under my hand.
I ascend slowly, taking it all in. Vaulted ceilings with exposed log beams. Morning light flows through floor to ceiling windows that frame Mistletoe Mountain as the holiday card it is.
The pictures are nothing compared to standing here.
Rory will love it too. She may even appreciate the spiral staircase.
She once told me she finds them useless and impractical.
That’s the architect mindset coming through.
But this one’s spacious enough to fit furniture, unlike the others she’s commented on. Knowing Rory, she’d want her desk here.
My jaw drops in awe at the stone fireplace dominating one wall of the living room.
Red stockings and tiny lights hang from the mantel.
In the corner, the Christmas tree that seemed bare yesterday now stands tall and full.
White lights twinkle between frosted ornaments.
A silver star crowns the top. Garland drapes the windows.
A wreath hangs on the front door, tied with a red velvet bow.
Someone really put in the effort. My smile widens at the thought of Kez quietly decorating while I was asleep, her care written across every detail.
I remember the cabin was a luxury rental space before I bought it.
The space is only partially furnished. I can only imagine how it feels like home during the holiday.
There’s a fully stocked wine cellar next to a quaint library with a reading nook.
A clawfoot bathtub. Gourmet kitchen. The only thing missing is a sunroom with a hot tub and sauna.
I may not need as many renovations as I originally planned.
Bed & Boudoir is nearly complete as it is, and my clients deserve a space this beautiful sooner rather than later.
So do I. It’s a vast difference from the business I’ve been building across hotel rooms and rented studios.
My mouth waters at the smell of bacon. It’s another reminder that I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. It’s also a reminder about the clause.
“Good morning.” Kez is plating food when I enter the kitchen. “Perfect timing. Have a seat.”
She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a container of orange juice. No pulp, just like I remember.
“I made chocolate chip pancakes, eggs and bacon. I hope that’s okay,” she says with a tentative smile.
“It’s more than okay,” I say, stepping closer. My lips curl upward at the Santa’s Big Helper apron snug around her chest. How could I forget Kez’s favorite time of the year?
She nods toward a serving plate stacked with pancakes.
“Family recipe. We always had them Christmas morning when I was a kid at the house, but I thought I’d make them a little earlier this year.
” The bacon sizzles as she pulls the sheet pan out of the oven, careful to not spill the grease. “Here. At the cabin, I mean.”
“Smells yummy.” The urge to kiss the chef like we’re a happy couple washes over me. Instead, I sit at the island, taking the same stool as yesterday. “What’s the special occasion?”
“Do I need one to cook you breakfast?” She winks and wipes her hands on the towel dangling from the oven. “I figured we both are overdue for a good meal.”
On cue, my stomach growls. “Certainly can’t argue with that.” I can sense there’s something else she’s not saying.
Ember sits impatiently in the other room, eyes glued to every move Kez makes.
Kez opens the brand-new box of dog treats sitting on the counter and tosses one to the puppy.
Ember gobbles up the biscuit, like she hasn’t eaten already.
I glance at her empty bowl two feet from the mat and smile. I know she has.
“Food’s ready.” Kez beams in a way I haven’t seen before. “Let me just get you a plate from my—” She opens a cabinet. Closes it. Opens another. “Sorry. I rearranged a few things yesterday. Makes more sense to keep the plates near the stove. That’s how my mom always had it when we’d come here.”
I watch her move through the kitchen like she’s lived here for years. Because she has. Every Christmas since we were kids. My jaw tenses. This space is muscle memory to her.
“Coffee?” She pours without waiting for an answer. “I brought my own beans from a new local business on South Street. That grocery store stuff is basically hot water.”
“Thanks.” My gaze points to my plate of food.
Bright as the lights draped on the mantel, she glides a mug across the island impressively, not spilling a drop. “Sugar’s in my little snowman over—” A tiny ceramic jar slides in front of me—“here.”
“Actually, I think I remember this.” A small laugh escapes my lips at the lopsided glob, but the moment doesn’t last. “It’s adorably hideous.”
“I made it in third grade art class. I’m pretty sure it scares the hell out of my mom, but I can’t seem to throw it away.”
I see she’s feeling extra nostalgic this morning. I compress my lips and cut a triangle out of my stack of pancakes. “How’d you sleep?”
“My dad said it looked like a Christmas nightmare,” she continues, smiling at the memory. “But he used it every year, anyway.”
My chest tightens. I take another bite.
Kez keeps talking. “Oh, if you need more bath towels, they’re in my linen closet.
Third shelf. And the thermostat can be tricky.
Sometimes you have to hold it for a few seconds before it clicks on.
My dad figured that out after like ten years, so don’t feel bad if you don’t get it on the first try.
And don’t get me started on the air vents. ”
I stab a piece of scrambled egg. I know better than to argue with the chef cooking your food, but she’s grating my nerves.
“And if you need—”
“Kezia,” I finally snap.
She looks up in surprise. I hate to be the grinch who stole the Christmas cabin, but I can’t sit here and listen to her marking her territory. It’s excruciating. The tension in my shoulders fails to ease as I exhale slowly.
I fix my face. “This is my cabin, too.”
Her smile falters. “I know that. For now…”
“Do you?” I set down the mug. “Because you’ve said that everything in this kitchen is yours. Your grandmother’s recipe. Your coffee beans. Your precious sugar jar. Your linen closet. Even your dad’s thermostat trick.”
“I was just—”
“Being a good host?” I interject.
She hesitates, then crunches the bacon in her mouth. “Would that be so bad?”
I scoff and drop my fork in disbelief. “Yes.”
Our eyes lock. I can’t believe I have to spell it out for her. “Because I’m not a guest. I live here. At least I’m trying to. But every time you open your mouth, you remind me I’m an intruder in your space.”
I wait for a response, but one never comes.
“I’m going for a walk. Thank you for this.” I motion toward my empty plate and stand. I take the coffee with me. “Enjoy your breakfast. In your kitchen. With your mugs.”
At the cabinet, I dig my tumbler from the back, and pour the coffee in. I set Kez’s mug in the sink. A clink against the stainless steel is the only sound between us. Fingers balled into a tight fist, I exit the room. I’m thinking there’s something cursed about that kitchen.
An idea pops into my mind. When I reach the entryway, I pull out my phone and fire an overdue text message to Rory. Then, I slide my jacket on and pace out the door.
Charlotte
Now playing: 12 Sexy Nights of Christmas
Starring: Charlotte Fucking Harrington
(Technically eleven days, but you get the idea)
Rory responds immediately.
Rory
HELL YES.
Merry Titsmas bitches
Another text follows.
Rory
Sorry. That wasn’t my best work. I can do better.
My flight’s delayed and I’m stuck at the airport. Storm of the Century is rolling in I guess. They said that last year
She says that like she doesn’t love airports.
I picture Rory nestled near a window, frantically typing away, three empty coffee cups next to her, guarding an outlet with her life.
I text her safe travels and continue my walk.
Maybe I can actually photograph the local wildlife this time instead of nearly hitting it with my car.
I lift my camera and zoom in on a hawk perched high in a pine tree. Its dark wings spread wide against the pale sky. I frame the shot and click twice. I watch in awe as the bird soars into the distance. I’m glad I came outside.
Minutes later, my phone buzzes in my jean pocket. Again. Then again. Now, non-stop. Before checking, I already know Rory’s up to something.
Rory
UNLEASH FESTIVE FEMME RAGE. Jingle her nerves
Rory
Activate MISTLEHOE MODE. Every ass up pose is a lethal weapon
Rory
Punch her with the ole deadly combo of frostbite & femininity
Rory
This is your 40 & Feral Era Kez better hydrate
I glare playfully at my phone and fire off a response.
Charlotte
I’m 37
Rory
40 & Feral is a STATE OF MIND. Start practicing.
Seriously though. This needs to be our next offering. Draft loading.
On second thought, I don’t hate the idea. We’ll workshop this project together when she gets back. She’s the only friend I know who can hype me up, comfort me, and launch a new income stream all at once.
Another ping.
Rory
Posting these screenshots on socials btw.
Some of my best work
Charlotte
You better not!
Rory
That one too Merry Thirstmas. Now go make Kez regret waking up attractive.
Charlotte
Turning my phone off now
I let out a breathy laugh and send Rory a final picture of the snow-kissed mountain view outside of her future office.
She really is the sister I never had but always wanted.
My life wouldn’t be the same without her.
Before my phone dings again, I power it down, toss it into my camera bag and steady my footsteps for close-ups.
A male cardinal flashes in my peripheral. I lift the camera and zoom in on vivid red feathers against the snow-covered branch. The lens blinks. The cardinal cocks its head and darts away.
I’ve been walking for twenty minutes and have already lost sight of the cabin.
Beyond the pond, a thick brush of trees surrounds the property.
I trace my gaze along the nylon rope held high by wooden stakes until the string disappears in the forest. Ten acres of complete privacy and views that sell themselves.
The cold air nips at my cheeks. By the way I see my breath, I can tell my nose is probably bright red.
I haven’t acclimated to the weather in the slightest, but I need space and the calm of the outdoors.
I can’t sit in the kitchen, watching the way Kez’s eyes soften when she mentions her father.
How could I compete with the weight of grief and childhood memories?
It’s bad enough I wasn’t there when she needed me.
Then again, she was the one who fell from the face of the earth until my wedding day. I push the thought away. No point in ruminating over a past I can’t change. The camera clicks again, but I’m on autopilot, unsure of what I’m shooting anymore.
Snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk toward the cabin.
My mind vacillates between guilt and a viable solution to not lose my dreams. I’ll wait her out.
She’ll have to return to work, eventually.
Unlike me. Unlimited PTO is a perk of running a business you love that rarely feels like work.
But the thought of her leaving, slipping out of my life again is more painful than I care to admit.
The thought shouldn’t sting this much after everything that’s happened between us, but it does.
I won’t give in to her again. Timing has never been on our side. It wasn’t back then and isn’t now. Maybe it never will be. For years, she occupied my mind, even on my wedding day. A day I’ll never forget. Not only because I married Eli.
I’ve spent years healing from making myself small for a man who was good on paper, but wrong in every way that mattered. For my family and everyone who puts me in a neat little box for being a politician’s daughter. Here I am, shrinking again.
No more. Kez thinks she won. She made that abundantly clear this morning. Her mugs. Her chair. Her cabin. She sees me as a holiday guest to tolerate until I leave.
I rub my hands together, desperate for the heat simmering in my chest to reach my fingertips.
I took a hundred photos today, but my mind has wandered to Kez a thousand times.
I’m not the girl she left behind. I’m Charlotte Fucking Harrington.
A businesswoman who has traveled the world, helping women feel powerful in their own skin—their masculinity and femininity.
Rory’s right. I know how to walk into rooms and own them.
Bed & Boudoir is no different. And if Kez wants to play host, then I’ll be the guest she never forgets.
Once again, I’ll remind her—and myself—that I’m worth staying for.
I snap one last photo of the winter wonderland, the cabin glowing against the snow, and smile. I’m going to show Kez just how festive my “little picture book” business can be.