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“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a long flight.”
Charlotte winced. “I try to do it once or twice a year. The girls are pretty young and don’t travel well. But every time I see them, they’re completely different. Because I’m not around so often, they obviously barely remember me. It breaks my heart. And gosh, it’s so different to how I was raised. I was constantly here at the Cherry Inn with my grandparents. My Grandma Dee was my hero. And my Grandpa Hank is still the only real voice of reason in my life. The man is eighty-eight, and he still teaches me a little bit more every day.”
Charlie had a strange instinct to touch her hand. What had gotten into him? Charlotte tugged her curls behind her ears and looked Charlie in the eye.
“Sorry. I’m blabbering.” Charlotte laughed at herself and rolled her eyes. “You came here to show me what you’ve been working on.”
“There’s no rush,” Charlie assured her as he reached for his designs.
“I have to confess. I went to your website. You’ve worked on some extraordinary projects,” Charlotte went on. “That orchestra rehearsal space for the Philharmonic? I stared at those photographs for so long.” Her face was rapt with attention; this was the same expression Charlie was accustomed to back in Manhattan. People so often gushed about his accomplishments, about his talents. He found it especially gorgeous on Charlotte’s face. He could have listened to her compliment him all day.
“That was a fun project,” Charlie admitted as he unfurled the designs out onto the coffee table. “Normally, people want to talk about the luxury hotels and apartment buildings.”
“They’re gorgeous, too, of course,” Charlotte said.
The first design Charlie showed Charlotte was of the foyer, with its fresh glass desk and its asymmetrical chandelier. “Imagine it,” he began. “People walk through the front door of this old, historical inn and find themselves in the twenty-first century. They’re greeted with a glass of champagne and led to their room…” He paused to flip to another design, which showed the upstairs suite. “Here, they find themselves in the lap of luxury. Out their window, they see a beautiful view of Main Street in small-town America. Their shower is straight from a spa, and there’s an in-suite jacuzzi made with stones.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow with concentration.
“I have a very exciting plan for the living area,” Charlie went on, bringing that design forward. “Of course, we’ll get rid of all this old furniture, rip down that wall over there, and completely revamp the fireplace situation. I’m imagining a skylight over there.” He pointed toward the far end of the living room. “That way, when you’re here by the fireplace, you can watch the snow.”
Charlie continued his presentation, pressing forward, as Charlotte remained rapt but silent. Every bit of Charlie was sure she adored his plan, his projections, and his outlook on future revenue streams. He could already imagine her leaping to her feet after he was finished, hugging him, and thanking him for his joyful commitment to the Cherry Inn. Would he invite her to go to dinner tonight? To celebrate? It had been ages since he’d actually set up a date himself. It had been Timothy who’d pushed him into the dating world, insisting it was better for business if Charlie had a romantic partner. “People don’t trust you right now. You’re a dark and brooding artist type. They want to be able to meet you and your wife for dinner!” Timothy had said. This had nearly shattered Charlie.
But all at once, Charlotte was on her feet. She’d jumped up so quickly that her mug of coffee fell to the ground, and a coffee stain bled out across the hardwood.
“Shoot! Shoot.” Charlotte fled the living room to fetch a towel, leaving Charlie alone. The living room continued to echo everything he’d just told her; with the dramatic plans he’d just pledged to do. He waited nervously, clutching his knees, until Charlotte returned to clean up the coffee stain.
“I’m sorry about that.” Charlie wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. He hadn’t been the one to spill the coffee.
Charlotte pressed the towel into the coffee stain and lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were no longer illuminated, and there was something twisted about her smile. Charlie was taken aback.
“Can I ask you a question?” Charlotte said.
“Of course. You can ask me anything you want to.”
Charlotte nodded toward the plans. “Did you happen to draw these at a diner called Jeez, Louise?”
Charlie’s heart thudded. “I was working there yesterday. Yes. Why?”
Charlotte rolled her shoulders back. After she mopped up the rest of the coffee, she stood and wrapped the towel in a tight ball. She turned around, looking at the living room, inspecting the cracks in the walls, the busted window and the dust-filled corners. Charlie couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking, but his stomach had begun to curdle with dread.
“What do you think used to happen here?” Charlotte asked suddenly.
Charlie stuttered. “I don’t know what you mean?”
“Picture Christmas morning here at the inn,” Charlotte ordered. “Imagine that heaps of grandchildren have just woken up, and they’re pouring down the staircase, eager for breakfast and presents. Can you see it?”
Charlie blinked several times. All he could sense in the old space were dust and shadows.
“Okay. Imagine you’re a little kid,” Charlotte continued. “And your grandmother has just made the most delicious mug of hot cocoa for you. And your grandfather is going to sit you down to tell you a story. It’s the same story he tells every year on Christmas Eve, but you will never get bored of it. Can you feel it?”
Charlie scrunched his face. He recognized he’d done something wrong and that Charlotte wasn’t going to let him off the hook easily. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it was. He felt the same way he had when he’d forgotten his and Sarah’s anniversary— a time that had been particularly marvelous for his career. He’d been yanked across the United States, from one meeting to the next, which had eventually resulted in his relationship with Baxter Bailey, which had changed everything. But when he’d returned home, Sarah had given him the cold shoulder, her eyes hard. When he’d figured out what he’d forgotten, he’d crumbled, blathered apologies, and taken her out to eat at some of the most divine restaurants in Chicago for months on-end. That was before they’d moved out east. That was ages ago.
Charlie blinked himself back to this reality. Why was Charlotte so angry?
“Oh my gosh. You can’t feel it, can you?” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and gaped at him.
Charlie stood and glared at her. “I can feel that this place is falling apart.” He hated when anyone insulted his intelligence. “I can feel that the walls are cracking, that the floors are giving way in spots. I can feel that nobody has cared a lick about this place in over a decade.”
