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It’s been too long, darling. I know you usually spend the holidays with your father, but now that he’s…
Dead.
Alessio’s eyes closed against that, harshly rejecting the reality of a life without Alessio Senior, the man who had shaped Alessio in so many ways.
We’d love to see you.
We.
He’d rejected her suggestion immediately before remembering the deathbed promise he’d made his father—foolishly, because he was bound to it now, to at least make some effort with the woman who’d rejected him as a young boy.
Against his better judgement, he’d come, but he was not relishing the visit.
Or, he hadn’t been.
With long, even strides, he crossed to the bar, his eyes fixating on the photos again, particularly those that featured Charlotte and his half-brother, Caleb. All of the dislike he felt for the younger man stirred through him, and seeing him with Charlotte only aggravated him more.
His phone buzzed and he lifted it out of his pocket to read the screen. Another text from his mother.
Darling? Where are you?
He ground his teeth together.
I’m in town. See you tomorrow.
He waited for a reply, but his mother’s dots indicated she was typing, deleting, typing and then finally, a simple,Goodnight,came through.
He wasn’t looking forward to anything about this visit but maybe Charlotte was just the distraction he needed? Maybe she could take his mind off his father’s death, his mother’s desertion, and his hatred for the younger half-brother who’d ruined his family? Just maybe, she’d be the Christmas fairy he needed…
* * *
“You look tired.”Melody Sampson swung her petite five-and-a-half-foot frame onto a stool in the commercial kitchen, propped her elbows on the solid stainless-steel counter and regarded her very best friend in the whole world with all the concentration she could muster at six in the morning. “Like you didn’t sleep.”
Charlotte’s smile was automatic, but she couldn’t deny the truth to Mel—she had never been able to.
“But you’re baking, so that makes up for it,” Melody said impishly, reaching for one of the just finished almond croissants.
“You could at least make me a coffee if you’re going to sit there and throw insults at me.”
“Did I not just tell you your baking is the work of the gods?”
Charlotte raised her brows then returned to the ingredients she was measuring out for the Christmas plum puddings.
“So? How is my favourite little human in the world?”
Charlotte smiled. “Dash is fine.”
“Sleeping okay?”
The little boy had nightmares at first, after his parents’ deaths. He’d been inconsolable. It had taken Charlotte time, patience, a lot of sleepless nights and reassurances before he’d finally managed to settle into a better rhythm.
“He’s fine,” she reiterated, but with a catch in her voice, and crossed fingers, because shehopedrather than knew that to be the case.
“Then…?”
“I worked late last night,” Charlotte said, turning towards the door almost guiltily, then startling when a ghost of Alessio’s image, so vivid and real she could have sworn he was standing right there, appeared before her eyes.
“How come?”
