Chapter 25
With all the chaos of the Thanksgiving Throwdown and Pops’s accident, the next couple of days passed in a blur.
Before I knew it, the Thanksgiving event at the Hawthorne chalet was right around the corner.
They’d be entertaining friends, family, and clients flying in from all around the country, so I spent the afternoon gathering the final provisions.
When I called Megan to see about hiring extra help, she was excited to lend a hand, and even agreed to come up for that visit with Hannah, to make sure everything went off without a hitch.
If this event was a success, it would cement her relationship with the Hawthornes and mean future referrals for new business.
Now, I lumbered back to the Land Rover with my cart full of bags. I had finally picked up my own from Grover’s Hardware, one of those all-terrain wagons the nannies used to tow around the fancy dogs and exhausted children of the rich families on the mountain.
As I approached the SUV parked along the curb, I glanced over at The Snowdrift, where Charles was teetering on top of a ladder while putting up Christmas lights above the porch.
After I got everything in the trunk, I jogged across the street, just as Pops stepped out into the front yard to tinker with the lights blanketed over the shrubs.
“Careful up there,” I called as I approached. “Don’t want you ending up with a cast to match Pops.”
“Don’t worry.” He glanced down at me, holding a hammer in one hand and a clutch of nails in the other. “I’ve done this once or twice.”
“That I find hard to believe.”
“Oh, Elle!” Pops stepped back from the shrub lights, satisfied. He was sporting a red sweater to match his candy-cane cast. “Good to see you again.”
“Hi, Pops. I see you’ve enlisted some extra help.”
“Good sport, isn’t he?” he said, nodding. “Lots to do. Don’t want to get behind.”
“Want to come hold this ladder?” Charles called sheepishly.
I jogged up the steps and put both hands on the wobbly metal ladder.
“Dang these lights. Every year I say I’m not going to get them tangled,” Pops muttered to himself while he fished in a carboard box for the remaining decorations. “Then every year, here I am.”
“Why don’t you let someone else do that?” I told him. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“No way. I’ve been in bed for two days already. I’m going stir crazy.”
As Pops fought with the mess, determined to make himself useful, I looked up at Charles.
“Surprised to find you doing manual labor,” I said.
“Pops and my grandfather used to do this every year when I was a kid,” he said, his eyes softening as he peered down at me. “I remember sitting on that porch swing over there, drinking hot cocoa, and watching them argue about the best way to hang the lights.”
I smiled, imagining a younger version of Charles in this very spot. “Sounds like a nice tradition.”
“It was.” His gaze drifted to the inn’s weathered facade. “When my grandfather passed, I was in college. Pops kept the tradition going, though, and now I guess it’s my turn to help out.”
There was a wistfulness in his voice that made me climb up and reach for his hand. He squeezed it gently, his warmth seeping through our gloves.
Pops joined us, carrying a spool of lights one-handed. “Charles, your dad mentioned you’re gearing up to take over the company soon. How’s that going?”
Charles hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s . . . a lot. I like being more behind the scenes in Denver. Once Dad retires, I’ll have to be front and center. That’s going to change everything.”
Pops nodded thoughtfully. “Big shoes to fill, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Your grandfather would be proud.”
I realized then that Charles was very much woven into the fabric of this town. Not just a spectator from high above on the mountain. He had roots here. Connections.
“Hey,” I said, when Pops stepped back inside. “Can I ask you about something?”
“Sure. What’s up?” Charles climbed down from the ladder and we both leaned against the porch railing.
“A few people have mentioned that this is your first time back in Maplewood Creek in years. I was curious as to why.”
He was quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.
“My grandfather’s death hit me hard. Coming back here after that made me miss him too much.
So, I stayed away. Sort of in my grief, you know?
This is the first year in ages I haven’t wanted to just stay in bed and hide until the holidays are over.
” He took my hand and squeezed. “I think maybe you have a lot to do with that.”
The blush rose hot and bright over my cheeks as I ducked my head to smother a grin. “I’m not taking credit, but I’m glad you’re feeling a little better.”
“Is there anything else you want to know?” he said, examining my face.
“Well, I don’t want to pry, so you can tell me to shut up, but . . .” Ugh, this was awkward. “Well, I sort of heard something about a car accident?”
“Oh.” His eyes widened, then his face fell with embarrassment.
“Yeah. Not one of my finer moments. It was back in college. Just after my grandad died. I wasn’t, let’s say, coping well.
Drinking, partying. All that.” He glanced out across the snow-covered yard at the wooden Snowdrift Inn sign that sat among the shrubs near the road.
“Plowed a Land Rover straight into that sign. Absolutely demolished it.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yep. Spent the night in jail and everything.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Oh, no,” he said, with evident relief. “I mean, I was a little banged up from the air bag, but I got very lucky.”
“Came back after he slept it off and apologized, too,” Pops said, meeting us on the porch with a couple of coffee mugs held by the handle in his good hand. “Paid for that new sign there, and spent the rest of the season doing chores around the inn to make amends.”
“Pops was gracious enough to forgive me,” Charles admitted. “I’m grateful.”
“Everybody deserves a second chance,” Pops said cheerfully. “It’s what you do with it that matters.”
“Very true,” Charles agreed. “I’m just glad to be enjoying a Maplewood Creek holiday season again. There’s really nothing like it.”
Truthfully, I felt exactly the same. This was the first time in a long while the holidays felt like something to look forward to.
Usually, it just meant catering gigs and long hours.
Microwave meals at home alone. This year, it felt special.
Festive. And I couldn’t have picked a better backdrop, or better people to celebrate with.
Back at the chalet, Charles helped me unpack in the kitchen. Every inch of storage space was packed full with supplies for the big event.
“You’re really going to cook all this by yourself?” he asked, daunted by the prospect of everything we’d stuffed in the walk-in fridge.
“Kind of, yeah. Megan is bringing in a few sous chefs, but mostly they’ll be on prep and plating.”
He whistled, shaking his head. “I think I’d just curl up in a ball.”
“Oh, I’ve already done that a couple of times since I’ve been here. A good stress cry in the shower does wonders.”
“Seriously?” He grabbed me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “Now I feel awful.”
I shrugged in his arms. “Don’t. In kitchens we refer to the walk-in as the crying pod. It sort of comes with the territory. Cooking is a high-pressure gig.”
It was just about time to get started on tonight’s dinner prep as we finished packing away the groceries. I pulled out my knives and began sharpening them. Charles watched me, cracking open a beer as he leaned against the island.
“You know,” he said, fixing me with a mischievous grin. “You’re awfully sexy in your element.”
“Yeah? Knives are your kink, huh?”
He laughed to himself. “No, I think you’re my kink.”
I bit hard into my lip, shaking my head. He really did know how to lay it on thick. And it worked every time.
“You should probably go find something else to do,” I told him. “Not sure I can concentrate while you’re standing there.”
“Distracting you, am I?” He swigged his beer and waggled his eyebrows.
“We’ve been over this.”
Charles set aside his beer as I pulled a baking sheet from the shelf.
He caught me in his arms, dipping his fingers beneath the hem of my sweatshirt to graze bare skin.
That small touch sent lightning across my nerves, thoroughly erasing the careful order of tasks in my head.
He picked me up by my waist and sat me on the island.
“You know, I’m going to have to clean this now,” I told him, gazing at his soft lips that curved into a smile.
“Then might as well make it worth the effort.”
Charles stepped between my legs to lift my chin and press his mouth to mine.
He kissed me deeply, tongue gently caressing mine.
His body was always so impossibly warm. Outside in the snow, or here in the chilly marble kitchen.
It melted into me as I ran my hands down his back and pushed my hands beneath his shirt.
The faint clicking of stiletto heels on tiles echoed down the hallway. We shared a brief glance, then quickly broke apart as I jumped down from the counter.
Mrs. Hawthorne burst through the kitchen door to find us both a little red and flustered as I stood there with an empty sheet pan, floundering for something to do with my hands. She stopped short and leveled us both with a suspicious grimace.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” she asked Charles.
“Just grabbing a snack.”
“You’re not wearing that to dinner,” she said, thumbing her nose at his flannel shirt and faded jeans.
“Of course not. I was just leaving to change.”
“Well, take a shower while you’re at it. Your father has clients coming for drinks later, and I don’t want you walking in there with your hair looking like you’ve been chopping wood under a waterfall.”
Mrs. Hawthorne grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack. “I’m going to lie down. I have a terrible headache from the glare on the slopes.”
At that she curtly turned and left. Charles and I shared a contrite glance before bursting into smothered laughter.
“A delight, isn’t she?” he said. “I better bring her some aspirin and water.”
He kissed my forehead before he left, setting butterflies loose in my stomach that lasted all through the dinner service.