4. Carter
Chapter four
Carter
Damn it. That was not how he wanted their first interaction to go after all these years. Carter didn’t think it would be civil, but he definitely had hoped for something a little less… hostile. She had looked at him as if she wanted to throw him in a bonfire and douse him in gasoline.
Not that he could blame her. He’d been a total ass, then twisted the knife with that last line. “Eight years, Ash, and you’re still running.” As if she hadn’t begged him to go to New York with her. She hadn’t run. She moved on with her life, just as he had wanted her to.
The click of her heels against the marble floor echoed off the walls as she hurried away.
For eight years, he’d imagined what he would say if he ever saw her again.
A million forms of apologies and explanations were only the tip of the iceberg.
But the one thing that stayed consistent was the fact that, despite it all, he never stopped loving her.
Instead, he managed to piss her off in a record-breaking thirty seconds. Fanfuckintastic.
A door creaked behind him, and he turned as Ms. Porter’s voice cut through the quiet. “That went about as well as I expected.”
She stood on the threshold, sturdy and solid as a granite pillar, arms folded across her ample chest. Her silver-streaked hair was twisted into a no-nonsense bun, a few wisps escaping around her face.
Sharp blue eyes peered at him over half-moon glasses, and the faint smell of lemon polish clung to her starched uniform.
Carter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thanks for the boost of confidence, Ms. Porter.”
“Don’t mention it, dear.”
He sighed.
“But you have twelve days until Christmas,” she said. “Plenty of time to fix what’s broken.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough time in the world for that.”
“Have a little faith. It’s Christmas.” With that, she slipped into the service staircase and was probably making her way to the kitchen.
Ms. Porter had been head of housekeeping and a beloved member of the staff since 1984.
She saw things, knew things most of the staff would die to know, but she never gossiped.
Over the years, being the son of the estate manager, his mother having died when he was twelve, Ms. Porter had always felt like a mother figure to Carter. He appreciated her advice, and maybe she was right. Maybe twelve days was enough time to make things right.
He closed his eyes and about-faced it toward Mr. Wetherby’s office. He tapped his knuckles against the thick wood and waited for Mr. Wetherby to motion him in. Carter shut the door and took a seat across from the old man, who graciously gave him the estate manager job after his father had passed.
“Well, that went about as well as I could have hoped,” he said, steepling his fingers under his chin.
“They're all still here, sir, so I’d say it’s better than you hoped.” Carter had vehemently warned him against this charade. Death was something that should not be taken lightly or made a spectacle of. But Mr. Wetherby was as stubborn as the North Star was bright.
At least Mr. Wetherby didn’t task him with making the phone calls. Poor Hawthorne was left with that task. Ash was already furious with him; he could only imagine how much she’d despise him if he had broken the news that her grandfather was dead, only for her to find out he wasn’t.
“They’re angry,” Mr. Wetherby noted before pouring himself a splash of scotch.
“But they're all in one place—under the roof of Winterridge—which was the end goal, wasn’t it?”
“Exactly. They’ll get over it. Somebody had to blow things up for us to rebuild.”
“Now that they’re here, does that mean the plans are in motion?”
“Yes, and I expect you to make sure everything runs according to those plans. I want this place to be filled with so much Christmas spirit that Lily will smile down on me from heaven. I want the trees, the garland, the music. I want the sleigh rides with the horses, the matching pajamas. I want it all! No matter the cost. Make it happen.”
Christmas decorating wasn’t exactly Carter’s forte, but luckily, they had an entire staff willing to resurrect this family's Christmas spirit.
“Understood, sir,” Carter said, though his chest tightened. He could handle the staff; it was his job. He could even handle the chaos that was the Wetherby family.
But Ash… she was something else entirely.
Mr. Wetherby tossed back the scotch, eyes glinting over the rim of his glass. “Start with the grand hall. I want it finished by tomorrow night. And don’t forget the Winterridge Christmas Cake. It wouldn’t be Christmas without Lily’s cake.”
Carter’s jaw tightened. “Tiny’s been trying, sir, but she can’t get it right.”
Mr. Wetherby waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Then help her. Taste every damned version if you have to. You remember it. You’re the key.”
No pressure.
“And Carter?” Mr. Wetherby’s voice turned serious. “Make sure she stays.”
“She, sir?”
“Ashley!” he snapped, then his face softened, and he settled into his high-backed leather chair. “I love all my grandkids, of course, but Ash…”
“She’s the most like Lily,” Carter finished for him.
Tears shimmered in Mr. Wetherby’s eyes, but he blinked them away. “Now on with you. Christmas won’t just appear. Work needs to be done.”
Carter stood from his seat. “Yes, sir.” He bowed and hurried off, heading straight for the kitchen. He followed the scent of ginger and spice.
Destiny, or more lovingly known as Tiny, opened the oven door, taking out a tray of freshly baked gingerbread, spirals of steam rising into the air. Dark curls were piled on top of her head, flour dusting the bridge of her nose and the rich brown of her cheekbones.
She placed the tray on the island, nudging a well-worn copy of A Christmas Carol aside. Carter stopped on the opposite side, hands on the granite top.
“How’s the cake coming along?” Carter asked.
Tiny blew out a frustrated breath, floating the curls off her forehead for a brief moment. “It’s not.”
“Mr. Wetherby himself is requesting it, and it has to be perfect.”
Tiny’s eyes widened, lashes fluttering. “How the hell would you like me to manage that? I have never tasted it, so I have no idea what flavor profile I’m even aiming for.” She threw her dish towel at the counter for emphasis, scattering a cloud of powdered sugar into the air.
“I told you.” Carter leaned in. “It’s dark spice cake. Rum glaze. Rich, dense, almost boozy but not overpowering. There’s a subtle sweetness and something floral at the end. Lily said it was her secret ingredient.”
Tiny huffed. “That’s not helpful, Carter.
A bit of floral could be orange blossom, lavender, to freaking rose water.
I’ve tried them all, by the way. Baked twenty versions at least, and none of them have been the one.
If Mr. Wetherby wants it perfect, he’s going to have to perform a seance and ask his dead wife. ”
Carter met her eyes, his gaze softening. “You’re the best baker in the state. You got this. I know you do.”
Tiny worried her bottom lip, looking younger than her twenty-eight years. “Then why do I feel like I’m letting you down?”
“You’re not. It’s just this cake… it matters to a lot of people. I’ll help you. I’ll taste every cake.”
Tiny nodded, determination shining in her eyes. “Deal.”
Carter pointed at Tiny. “I have faith.”
“At least one of us does.”
Carter left Tiny to her baking and took the stairs two at a time. At the landing, he nearly collided with the last person he expected to see hanging out near the staff staircase. Her eyes crashed into his, and she jerked back.
“Seriously?” she muttered. “You again? This house has a hundred rooms, and I still can’t avoid you.”
He’d spent the last twenty minutes replaying every stupid word that had come out of his mouth, telling himself he’d apologize if he got another chance.
“Ash—”
“I smelled gingerbread.” She turned from him toward the kitchen. “After all the excitement of the day, I could use a treat.”
“Tiny can probably help you.” He nodded toward the kitchen, letting the apology die on his tongue. “She’s the best baker I’ve ever met and can whip up anything you’d like.”
Ashley’s brow pinched together. “Tiny?”
“Her name's Destiny, but she’s also five foot nothing, so the nickname fits. Anyway. I can have her make you some of her cookies. She makes a wonderful chocolate chip.”
Ashley lifted her chin. “I can do it. I’m perfectly capable of introducing myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure there are people here I haven’t met yet.”
“Yes, but a lot are the same, just older.”
“And you are doing what job now?”
“Estate manager.” He paused, swallowing hard. “When my dad passed, your grandfather offered me the position.”
“I heard about your father, and I’m sorry. He was a good man. Was always kind to me.”
“He adored you.”
Ash’s expression faltered, her gaze flickering away as if his words cut deeper than he meant them to. She shifted, hugging herself a little tighter.
“I assumed your dad was the reason you stayed at Winterridge. I didn’t know it was permanent.”
“A lot of things became permanent after you left.”
Ash’s brows drew together, and hurt flashed across her face before she buried it beneath an angry glare. “You say it like I didn’t ask you to come with me. Let’s not be mistaken here. I’m not the villain in this.”
“If you need me to be the villain, then fine. I’m the villain. But the truth is, you left, and it’s been eight damn years since you’ve returned.”
“You didn’t give me a reason to come back, and my family was a fucking disaster. I did what I had to do to protect my peace. You knew where I was. You could have called. You could have come to me. You didn’t.”
The accusation landed like a punch to the gut.
She wasn’t wrong. Every excuse he’d clung to for keeping his distance suddenly sounded hollow.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Faint sounds of Christmas music floated up from the great hall.
Carter’s pulse pounded in his ears as he took another step toward the woman he had never forgotten.
“I stayed away to protect you.” His voice was rough, filled with years of regret. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret it.”
Ash sucked in a breath. Her eyes flew wide and locked on his. He chanced it, reaching up and running his finger along her arm. A shiver broke her stoic facade.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me like that.”
His hand stilled against her skin. “Like what?”
“Like you care.”
“Does it remind you that I did?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. His eyes focused on the long curve of her neck. So many times he pressed his lips to the soft skin, inhaled her orange blossom scent. He thought she was about to close the slight gap between them, but instead of moving forward, she stepped back.
“Keyword. Did.” She recrossed her arms over her chest, closing him off. “And I question if that’s even true.”
Something cracked in Carter’s chest. His hand fell to his side, his fingers curling into a fist. “You don’t get to rewrite history just because you don’t like it. You know damn well what we had and what it meant.”
“I was convenient for you.” She tilted her nose up at him as if daring him to deny it. “Someone to play with your cock when I was here and someone you could forget when I wasn’t.”
Her words were like a knife, swiping and slicing with no mercy. He ate the distance between them, pushing into her personal space until she had to tip her head to look at him.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” His voice was a ragged whisper scraping through his throat. “Don’t you dare tell me what you meant to me.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes blazed, and she matched his intensity. Years of unspoken words and tension hung between them.
“What the hell is going on here?” Gabe’s voice shattered the silence, and Ash froze.
Ash moved away from him, smoothing a hand over the front of her sweater before forcing a smile.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just going to the kitchen to introduce myself to the new staff.
Apparently the new baker makes fantastic cookies.
I’m going to ask her to whip up a batch for the family since we’re stuck here. ”
“We’re already starting with the lies?” He looked at his Rolex. “We’ve been here for not even an hour. So let’s try this again. Why do you look like you want to rip his head off?” Gabe didn’t even bother to throw a glance in Carter’s direction.
Ash grabbed Gabe’s arm and smiled. “I appreciate the overprotective brother thing, but please stay out of it.”
There it was. Ashley softened Gabe’s sharp edges, wrapping his behavior in words like protective instead of controlling. Carter shook his head, and a perturbed laugh slipped past his lips.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Gabe demanded.
Carter met his icy glare. “Just that some things never change.”
Carter moved to walk away, but Gabe blocked his path. They stood eye to eye, close enough that neither had to look up or down. Gabe had always been ‘protective’ of his sister, even when it wasn’t warranted, which was most of the damn time. He never could mind his fucking business.
“Stay the hell away from her.”
“I have for eight years. Just like you wanted.” He turned to Ash, meeting her confused gaze, then continued on his way. After all, Christmas wasn’t going to build itself.