Chapter 2
“Preston!” Once out of the car, Charlotte ran up the brick walk, swept out her hands, and hugged her brother. Crushing comfort poured through her at Preston’s strong embrace. A sob pushed its way out of her throat.
“Whoa, hey.” He tugged her closer. “What’s wrong?”
She hadn’t really told him she’d started dating Westley last Christmas. She sneaked off to text him while Coco distracted Preston. Now admitting that Westley had dumped her seemed too much to bear. How could she admit her failure in relationships? Especially when he was so happy with Coco. She just clung to his shoulders and cried into his neck, smelling his scent.
Preston patted her back. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
Growing up, they’d moved all around; on average about every three years. Since holding onto friends proved difficult, they became close. In fact, other than Westley, Charlotte hadn’t had many close friends at all, and certainly not close girlfriends. Perhaps for this reason, she took the breakup so hard. Just feeling Preston’s arms around her, hearing his voice, and being around him comforted her.
“Why don’t you come inside? It’s chilly out here.”
Sniffing, she nodded and released him.
Preston opened the door for her.
She stepped inside to the warmth of a familiar place. Even though she hadn’t really grown up here, as her parents served in foreign countries as diplomats, the Laurent mansion had always been home. The giant swirling staircase rose to the third floor where an oval skylight crowned the ceiling. To the right of the black-and-white marble entryway was the library, two-story with wrought iron railing and thousands of books. To the left a sitting room which opened into the office. Down the hall was the kitchen, den, and the master wing.
Last Christmas Preston decided to defy Papa Roland and keep the place instead of selling it, but she knew it burdened him.
She wiped her tears with a handkerchief. “I love what you’ve done to the place.” Most of the furniture was gone. Only a few of the family heirlooms remained.
“You’re kidding, right?” Preston laughed, his voice echoing in the empty spacious rooms.
“What happened to all the stuff?” Only a few chairs and a small settee remained in the front salon.
“I’ve been selling antiques nobody wanted. Papa Roland let me keep the place, gave me the deed, but not the money for its upkeep. The taxes are so expensive, and keeping this place maintained is killing me financially. Until I get out of school—” He stopped and studied the marble floors. “Let’s be honest. Even on a physical therapist’s salary, I’m not sure I can keep the place unless we can claim it on the historical registry and open it for tours. The pawn shops in town said they’d keep the antiques until I can afford to buy them back. But I don’t see how that can happen.”
“How do we get it on the historical registry?”
“The problem is, we’re not in city limits.”
“So.” She shrugged.
“If we want to get the tax break of a historical home, renting out the venue, or hosting tours, we need the city tax break, or the county taxes will eat me alive on this huge beasty house.” He glanced up to the eleven-foot ceilings with ornate woodwork. “I thought I could make this work. But I can’t unless we’re included in the city limits and get that historical home tax break.” He exhaled loudly, sitting on the small settee in the salon. “I’ll have to sell.”
Charlotte followed him over, dropping the purse by the small feet. “What’s being done?”
“I petitioned city council to extend the city limits this far south. They’ve introduced it as Proposition 11, and we’re going to vote October 10th.”
“That’s in two weeks. Perfect! What’s the problem?”
His face remained strained, his lips drawn, a tight line across his brow. “Some residents don’t want to extend the city limits this far south—locals, who have a lot of clout in this town, don’t want to be included because they would have to pay both city and county taxes. I don’t blame them, either. They’re pretty stubborn, and they won’t back down. But if we don’t get this passed, I’ve run out of money, and we’ll lose the property.”
“Won’t Papa Roland lend you the money? What about the money from your trust fund?”
Preston pushed up his glasses with a snarky laugh. “Oh, yes, I have money waiting for me, thankfully. Papa Roland is very generous. But I can’t access the trust money until he dies. I don’t want him to die. And who knows how much longer he’ll live—probably at least another ten or so years. And besides, I want to be able to support the house on my own. I don’t want Papa Roland’s money. It should all go to his new bride.”
Last year, Papa Roland married his high school sweetheart Deb Poverly after a fifty-year misunderstanding. “What about getting loans?”
“I’ve already maxed my student loans, and I don’t want to put my future with Coco in jeopardy.”
Charlotte turned her head. “Are things serious between you two?”
“I hoped to ask her to marry me this fall for a spring wedding. But…” His voice trailed off. “How can I when I don’t have any money? When I’m in debt?”
“That’s rough.” Charlotte rubbed his back.
“I don’t know what to do. Between helping Coco at the bakery, driving to PT school in Burlington, and trying to manage this house, I’m just too stressed. I don’t have the bandwidth for one more thing.” Removing his glasses, he slumped over and placed his head into his hands.
Charlotte slipped her arm around him. She thought she came home for comfort. Now she’d need to give it. “Thankfully, I came at just the right time. I can help you drum up support. I’m really good at community organizing.”
With a problem to focus on other than her breakup, her chest lightened.
Preston raised his gaze, tension easing from his face. “You’d do that?”
“I took off a whole year before law school. I have nothing else to do. I love this place as much as you do.” She glanced up to the ornate dentil woodwork around the walls. “I’d hate for our family to lose it. And it would be wonderful as a venue. Opening it for tours as a historical building sounds like fun.”
“I just want people to see the beauty of this old home. Many of our ancestors worked on this home. Not just ours, Coco’s too.”
Coco’s family working on the house led to a hundred years of feuding.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell rang. Preston jumped up. “Speaking of Coco. She’s here for the hayride tonight. Want to come?”
“I’ll just stay at home tonight.” And nurse her broken heart. “I’m not really in the mood for going out.”
“If you feel like that’s what you need.” He opened the door.
Coco stepped in and kissed Preston. When she saw Charlotte, her eyes widened. “Charlotte!” She hurried over and gave her a hug. “You’re here! Preston said you were coming. Now you must come with us to the hayride tonight!” She grabbed Charlotte’s hand and pulled her up from the settee.
“Oh, I—”
“It’s going to be amazing! We’ll grab dinner in town, and then head out. Live music and games. You’ll have the best time.” She glanced up to Preston who put his arm around her. “And I promise it will be romantic.”
Charlotte melted. Probably the worst thing she could do would be to sit at home and feel sorry for herself. She caved. “All right.” But she rolled her eyes at the thought of romance. That was the last thing she needed. After what happened with Westley, she needed a break from guys!
Eric’s eyelids drooped. He had been up since before dawn, working on the dairy, but he had to attend the hayrides at the tree farm to sell the remaining donuts, creemees, and hot cider to tourists. He even set out jugs of cider from the Twelve Oaks Orchards to sell. The townsfolk and tourists alike loved the hayrides.
Standing outside the food truck, he watched people pass by the small pond to line up for hayrides. They’d return for hot cider and donuts once they finished. Eric hated being inside all day. He’d love to just be outside, feel the wind on his face, the sun on his back, and smell the scent of growing things.
Angie sat next to him, huddled in a quilt against the cold wind blowing across Lake Champlain to the east.
Brad, their delivery boy, waved across the field as he parked his car. He came up to the table. “Hey, Angie.”
Angie nodded toward him.
“Want to go for a hayride?”
“Can’t.” She stuck a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve got to sit here with Eric and sell hot cider and donuts.”
Eric cast her a sideways glance. “Why don’t you go, and I’ll watch the truck? Customers won’t be coming for a while.”
She shrugged, peeled off her quilt, and stood. “Okay.” She walked ahead of Brad away from the table.
Brad grinned and shot Eric a thankful glance over his shoulder.
Shaking his head, Eric let out a sigh. That girl was so clueless.
He sat down, nestled into the warm quilt and watched as passengers climbed into the wagon, smelling of sweet hay. Which reminded him he needed to order more hay for the cows.
“Falling asleep?”
Eric jumped up at the words, completely disoriented, blinking furiously. The wagon was across the field. He didn’t remember the last few minutes. He must’ve dozed. His heart galloped in his chest like a herd of wild animals charging. He looked toward the bearer of the voice.
Sweet angels of mercy! Charlie stood in front of his table with a huge grin on her face, her hands tucked into her pockets, swaying her hips back and forth. Was it really her?
Preston and Coco came up behind her.
“Eric.” Coco clung to Preston.
If those two don’t get married soon, they’ll just meld into one person. Eric wanted to say something to Charlie, but what could he ask her? “Hey, you going to the bonfire this Friday?” Eric asked Coco and Preston.
“Of course! You going?” Coco asked.
Eric grinned. “Who do you think will be starting the thing?” He turned to Charlie, lowering his voice. “You coming?” His hands shook.
Charlotte glanced to her brother who wouldn’t make eye contact with Eric. “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve heard about it.”
“You have to come then. We do cowboy fondue.”
Her eyebrows peaked. “What is that?”
Eric flashed her a grin, leaning forward. “You’ll have to come to find out.”
A slow smile crept across her face. “Ooh, I love a good mystery.” She glanced up at Preston. “We’ll come back for a creemee after the ride.”
“Perfect. Hope to see you Friday.”
Eric watched the trio go with a surge of energy. She might not return. People said nice things. He hoped she’d at least come to the bonfire on Friday.
Angie returned without Brad. “What are you doing talking to the enemy?”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed toward the trio now getting on the wagon. “Coco and Preston. They’re for the annexation of the southern route.”
“Charlie isn’t.”
“You’re not supposed to talk to any of them.”
He batted the air with his hand. “Big deal. It looks like it’s going to pass in our favor anyway.” He leaned back and stretched his hands behind his neck. “They’re not going to annex us.”
Angie kneed him in the shoulder. “Get out of my chair.”
“What if I don’t want to?” He grinned. “It’s nice and cozy.” Shifting, he situated himself deeper into the chair and quilt.
Angie kneed him again. “I’ll tell Charlotte you’re a brute.”
He rolled his eyes. “Like she’d care. You left.”
“But now I’m back.”
A flood of customers came off the hayride, ready for hot cider, creemees, and donuts. Eric hopped up, readying for the exchange. Jumping into the food truck, he opened the window and started taking orders and pouring apple cider. Tara Leigh of Twelve Oaks Orchards gave apples generously this year. He’d have to remember to thank her.
Pouring cups of hot cider alternated with creemee soft serve. The weather was just in between where he could serve both. The last of the donuts flew off the shelves.
The Sugar Mamas—in tiaras—showed up, standing in line for donuts. “Hello, Eric! Where’s your mom?” They dressed up for every community event—no matter how big or how small, formal or informal.
“She was too tired to come tonight.”
Annette, in a silvery-blue evening gown, stood by the window. “Too tired? Lauren hasn’t been to anything lately.”
“She needs intervention.” Rose, who had worked at the Laurent mansion, shook her head.
He handed over about a dozen donuts for the ladies. “You women are her best friends. If anyone can cheer her up, you can.”
Annette handed him a fistful of cash. “Thank you, Eric.”
He watched the older women trot around in their bling, shaking his head. Everyone else wore puffer vests, flannel, boots, and jeans.
“I’m back for a creemee.”
Eric turned. Charlie stood at the window. Without her brother. He grinned. “Perfect timing. We’re just about to close for the night. What flavor would you like?”
“Flavors?” She scrunched her face and studied the board.
He leaned out the window and tapped the plastic-coated menu. “We have maple, maple-blackberry-swirl and blackberry.”
“What’s your favorite?”
He inhaled. No one had ever asked him before. “Since I can never decide which is better between the maple and the blackberry, I always get the swirl.”
A delicious smile crossed her lips. “I’ll get the swirl, then.” She looked up. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks with every blink.
The cream barely came out. “You’re in luck, because this is the last one.” He glanced over his shoulder to where she waited at the window. “Where’re Preston and Coco?”
“Over there, enjoying the romantic evening.” She looked off into the distance. “I feel like an awkward third wheel. I shouldn’t have come.” Bowing her head, she brushed a stray lock of hair out of her lipgloss.
Her words sent his heart into his ribs. He handed the cone to her through the window. “On the house.”
Angie shot him a disgruntled stare. He didn’t care. “Here, I’ll come out and join you.”
“You’re gonna leave me here?” Angie protested with hands on hips.
He hastened to grab his jacket. “I’ll just be outside. I won’t be but a minute, and then I’ll come inside. And I’ll pay for her creemee.” He stepped down out of the food truck and jumped into the dirt. He came around the corner to where Charlie stood, licking her ice cream cone.
He wished he could freeze time. The world was perfect. The trees bent overhead, nearly brushing the food truck with their color. The breeze coming over the pond was the perfect temperature: not too hot, just a little chilly. Little lights surrounded the pond, giving a glow to the tree lot, lighting Charlie’s hair like a golden corona. How could he make this night memorable?