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Don’t worry about it. What did that mean? If she hated him, now, he understood. He’d proven himself to be lower than scum in the dating pool.
He’d spoken briefly to Rudy about this, telling him that he just wasn’t sure he was capable of loving anyone again— certainly not someone as wonderful as Charlotte. Rudy had said, “You’re worthy of love, you know. Even if you don’t know how to accept it.” To this, Charlie had said, “It doesn’t feel like I deserve anything. Not after what I did.”
He was forty-nine years old. But in many ways, he’d died three years ago, out on that country road with his wife and daughter.
There was a knock at the door. Charlie stood swiftly, his adrenaline spiking. He checked his phone to see if Rudy had texted about coming over. The bar closed at eleven tonight; it was possible he’d decided to drive by and say hello.
But when Charlie opened the door, he discovered Baxter Bailey and another man, similarly moneyed, in a suit jacket, a white t-shirt, and a pair of dark jeans. They were drunk, their cheeks red, and they smiled at Charlie like leering teenagers. Charlie checked to see Baxter’s driver had been the one to bring them. He couldn’t stand drunk drivers.
“Charlie, my boy!” Baxter leaped forward to hug him. “This is Dean Winston, my associate.”
“Hello?” Charlie backed into his cabin and closed the door behind them. Dean and Baxter surveyed the single room as though it was a cage at the zoo.
“It’s even better than you described it,” Dean said to Baxter, as though Charlie wasn’t there. “Downright adorable.”
“Charlie,” Baxter said, turning to catch his eye. “We’ve been scouring White Plains all day.”
“Up and down the streets,” Dean said. “Eating at as many establishments as we could.”
“And we’ve decided the Cherry Inn is just the beginning,” Baxter said.
“We’ve fallen in love,” Dean said. “And we want to make it a destination Christmas town.”
“Picture it,” Baxter continued. “Every quaint inn is just as luxurious as your plans for the Cherry Inn. Every restaurant is just as rustic as the ones they have— but with Michelin-star chefs. People will come from far and wide to enjoy the ‘traditions’ of this Christmas village.”
“But we’ll make up the traditions as we go along,” Dean affirmed. “Based on what’s selling at the moment.”
“It’s perfect,” Baxter babbled. “I’m so thrilled you discovered this little place, Charlie. I was getting so bored in Manhattan.”
Dean and Baxter smiled at him, showing too many of their very white teeth. Charlie remembered Timothy first forcing him to get his teeth bleached; it had hurt like heck, even though everyone had said it wasn’t supposed to.
“I want to see the plans, Charlie!” Dean rubbed his palms together. “Baxter has been talking about them all day. But I want to see the real deal.”
“We almost stormed into the Cherry Inn today,” Baxter said excitedly. “Just to see what it’s really like in there. But we saw a very old man on the front porch, gazing out into the distance.”
“He looked tragic,” Dean said, as though it were a joke.
“So, we decided to wait till after the sale goes through,” Baxter agreed.
Charlie sat back down by the fire. His thoughts were tying themselves into knots. Baxter and Dean grabbed his bottle of scotch and poured them each a glass, ready to bring Charlie into their celebration. But when Dean handed Charlie a glass, Charlie felt so outside of his body that he nearly dropped it.
“To our future!” Dean cried.
“To White Plains!” Baxter said.
Charlie didn’t drink with them. He stared into the fire for a long time as the pressure in his chest grew. All he could think about was Charlotte, talking about her gorgeous memories in the Cherry Inn or about the way she’d looked in the Presbyterian Church, captivated by the rafters and the stained glass. There was a purity to her love of the world, one that was completely alien to Baxter and Dean.
And Charlie would have no part in whatever terror they wanted to create here in White Plains.
“You can’t have the plans,” Charlie said, mostly to the fire.
“What was that?” Baxter still sounded celebratory.
Charlie stood up and faced them. He was reminded of fraternity brothers he’d met in passing a long time ago, all of whom had come from money and planned to drink themselves silly through college. Afterward, they were given whatever job they pleased. The world was their oyster. And Charlie had dismissed them as idiots. How had he gotten himself so involved with them?
“I said, I won’t give you the plans for the Cherry Inn. The Cherry Inn is not for sale. And White Plains folks won’t accept any money you throw at them. This place isn’t Manhattan. Your money isn’t as powerful here.”
Baxter’s smile had fallen. Dean shifted his weight and looked back and forth from Charlie to Baxter.
