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I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help watching Charity as she works. She moves around the tree in a dream, and when she pulls the step ladder over and climbs it, I find myself racing across the studio to hold it steady for her.We don’t need another trip to the ER today because she’s fallen and concussed herself.
Charity places a large star on the top of the tree, and within seconds, Luca has the actors out and everyone in place.She smiles at me as I fold away the steps and rush them from the stage. We make ourselves scarce, leaving the sound engineers, lighting technicians, camera operators, and actors to do their bit.
* * *
The next few days pass in shouts of “action” and “cut.” The second morning of shooting the movie, I discovered that Grace, one of the camera operators, was locked in the break room with Landon, the caterer, all night, and they were found early the next morning by the cleaner. Not the best start to my security stint. Working with Charity is a distraction.
Charity flits about the place like a real-life Christmas fairy, ensuring everything is perfect before the actors are called on set. From time to time, I find her with her head buried in a brief from Luca, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. I think about reaching out to Luca and asking him to provide Charity with colored paper for the briefs. Colored paper makes reading easier for Charity with her dyslexia as it reduces the stress on her eyes, but I don’t want to overstep. She looks relieved once she’s finished reading and dashes off to do another task. Pride fills my chest, knowing how much she struggles. I can almost see her confidence blossoming, and it’s great to see her doing what she loves and achieving her potential.
“Dude, you’re staring holes in the poor woman.”
Jackson appears beside me, and his opinion is unwelcome right now.“Shut up, asshole.”
Jackson grins and continues unabated. “What are you buying her for Christmas?”
My jaw flexes. “Who?”
“Don’t give me that shit. You know who.”
I turn to look at him. “We’re not together. We’re friends.”
Jackson shakes his head, tutting. “What about when you took her out after the hospital?”
“What about it?” I try not to be irritated by his line of questioning.
“You took her Christmas tree shopping and to Bevans,” he points out. “And everyone knows the Magic Beanstalk makes the most amazing Christmas-flavored cocoa.”
“It was to get props. Hardly date material. And how do you know we got cocoa?”
“Saw the take-out cups with their logo in your truck when we untied the tree. Seems like a date to me—"
“She’s Luke’s kid sister. I’m looking out for her, that’s all. You know why,” I grunt.Jackson is the only person who knows about my promise to Luke.
“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I don’t think Luke meant for you to put your goddamn life on hold. Ask her out already,” Jackson says bluntly.
I grit my teeth. I know what Luke meant. I was with him as he took his last breath, goddamnit.
I shake those dark thoughts from my head and focus on the task at hand. “I need to check the perimeter. Julianna is concerned some celebrity gossip types are trying to get a scoop since this is a last-minute project.”
Jackson releases a frustrated breath. “Okay. But take a piece of advice from someone who knows. Don’t do what I did. Don’t throw away the best thing that could happen to you because you think you’re doing the right thing. It’s not always that simple.”
His words hit me in the gut. Am I throwing away my chance at a future with Charity? Does she even see me as anything other than a brother figure? And then there’s Luke, still hovering between us like the ghost of Christmas past. I’ve seen action and survived. I carry baggage. I have scars—emotional and physical. Pretty damn sure I’m not the kind of man Luke envisioned for his sister.
I turn, leaving Jackson without another word.
* * *
Charity
It’s getting closer to Christmas, and work on the movie is moving along nicely. I’m not needed on set on the fourth afternoon of filming, so I take some downtime to shop for gifts for my family before I head home to Vermont for the holiday on Christmas Eve.
But when I climb behind the wheel of my car, it won’t start. The engine turns over repeatedly, but nothing happens beyond some unhealthy-sounding splutters.
“You need to stop doing that.” Ryder’s voice comes loud and clear through my closed window.
I open the driver’s door, climb out, and slam it shut. My breath comes out in puffs of condensation as the temperature drops. “I can’t believe it’s broken down this close to Christmas.” I glare at my little Chevy for a moment before shrugging. It’s too magical a time of year to get upset about stuff.
“I’ll call a garage and get it towed,” Ryder offers immediately. “In the meantime, consider me your personal driver.”
