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“I just wanted to check in about our new project,” Baxter said. “I’ve told so many people about it. Little White Plains, New Jersey! Who would have ever thought we’d stake our claim there?”
Charlie blinked several times, trying to rid his mind’s eye of Charlotte’s gorgeous face. Their kiss had done a number on him.
“You’ve convinced the family to sell, haven’t you?” Baxter asked.
“I’m still working on it,” Charlie said.
“Small-town folks are about as stubborn as they come,” Baxter agreed. “Do everything in your power to push them out of there.”
“I will.”
“You’re the great Charlie Bryant,” Baxter assured him. “Nothing can get in your way.”
After the call, Charlie made himself a sandwich and considered what to do. His initial plan, which was to get to know Charlotte, pretend to be her friend, and then convince her to sell the inn, now seemed dead in the water. If he brought it up, that glimmer in her eyes would fade immediately. She’d see him as a cruel and manipulative Manhattanite— which was exactly the persona Charlie was trying to escape.
But what if he didn’t convince the Summers to sell? What would Baxter do with him? Would he see it as proof Charlie had lost his edge and abandon him?
He supposed that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But then again, if Charlie Bryant wasn’t Charlie Bryant, the sought-after developer, then who was he? Down to his bones, he was a sad widower. He was the man who’d killed his wife and only child in a horrible accident. He was evil.
Late that night, Charlie pulled up his text message conversation with Charlotte and stared at it, trying to decipher what they were to one another. They’d had some banter; they’d made some jokes. Charlie had even sent a photograph of himself in the woods, with a cardinal planted on the branch behind him, along with the caption:“Look! I made a friend.”He’d felt so foolish the moment he’d sent it off. But Charlotte had responded with a heart emoji. What did that mean?
As Charlie stared at his phone, aching to write her something, to remind her of the beautiful moment they’d shared, he received a text. It was from Charlotte. It felt as though she’d been staring at their text exchange, too, yearning for the same things.
CHARLOTTE: I never thought I’d see the Presbyterian Church like that.
CHARLOTTE: I’m wondering what else you can introduce to me in my own hometown.
Charlie’s heart banged against his ribs. He was suddenly and very painfully aware that when he’d done all his pre-marriage dating, cell phones and texting hadn’t been a part of the equation. What could he say? He was terrible at this.
CHARLIE: I’m falling in love with the details of this little town. That’s for sure.
Charlie winced. He’d used the word “love,” which was probably too earnest.
CHARLOTTE: It’s strange. I’ve hardly thought about Manhattan at all since Van and I got here. It’s like I completely abandoned my old life.
CHARLIE: I know what you mean. Now that I’m living the life of a hermit, I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to the Upper West Side.
CHARLOTTE: Maybe we can make the occasional trip to the city to get bagels.
CHARLIE: Ha! You’re right. That’s the one thing I miss.
CHARLOTTE: Have you been to Heaven’s Hot Bagels on the Lower East Side?
CHARLIE: Best bagel in the city!
CHARLOTTE: Right?!
Charlie was grinning from ear to ear, staring down into the bright light of the phone. He felt as though Charlotte was right in front of him; he could hear her voice in his head.
CHARLOTTE: This probably sounds crazy. But would you like to go to the Christmas tree farm with me tomorrow? I invited all of my cousins to the Cherry Inn for Christmas (for one last celebration before we decide what to do with the old place). And we need a Christmas tree desperately.
* * *
Charlie woke up early the next morning, did fifty push-ups on the floor by the fire, drank two cups of coffee, and got ready to meet Charlotte. The plan was to meet at the Christmas tree farm, take the tree back to the inn, set it up, and maybe grab lunch afterward. As Charlie walked through the woods, he watched the sunlight sparkling through the trees and across the heaps of snow, and he reminded himself to be grateful for all of it— for the sky and the wind and the animals. “Remember to live in the moment,” Sarah had said so often. “Remember to count your blessings.”
Charlie arrived ten minutes early to the Christmas tree farm and waited awkwardly by the entrance. A pick-up truck appeared down the end of the gravel road and crept toward him, and the driver waved, smiling. It was Charlotte.
“Whose truck is this?” Charlie asked with a laugh as she rolled open the front window.
