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“I’m sure you’re kidding,” Baxter said.
“I wouldn’t joke about this,” Charlie said. He then stepped toward the door and touched the handle. “I’d like to ask you to leave. Immediately.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Charlie, my boy. Don’t you remember our history?”
“I don’t care about that.”
Baxter took a dramatic step toward him so that his nose was only a few inches from Charlie’s. He practically spit on him as he said, “I built you, Charlie Bryant. You’re nothing without me. The fact that I wanted to work with you on this was a gift I was giving you, not the other way around.”
Charlie’s jaw stiffened. “I’ve already asked you to leave, Baxter. Take your friend to whatever five-star hotel you found around here, and leave me alone.”
Baxter looked smacked. Charlie wondered if anyone had ever stood up to him before. It seemed unlikely.
“Very well,” Baxter said. “Let’s go, Dean.” He stormed toward the door and bucked into the night, with Dean directly behind him. He looked like a baby chicken following her mother. As drunk as they were, they left the door wide open and then jumped into Baxter’s car. The wheels squealed as they cut from the driveway and into the night. Charlie closed the door quietly, his head ringing.
“That’s it,” he muttered to no one. “That’s the end of that story.”
But even as he said it, he knew Baxter Bailey was the sort of man who sought revenge. Charlie just wasn’t sure when he would strike.
ChapterNineteen
Four days before Christmas, a navy blue rental car pulled up outside the Cherry Inn. Charlotte flung from the front door and threw herself onto her son, Collin, who’d brought her granddaughters, Brinlee and Elisa, all the way across the continent for their first Christmas in the Cherry Inn. It was almost too much to bear, seeing their little faces in the backseat, so different than they’d been more than eight months ago, the last time Charlotte had seen them.
Charlotte stepped back, her hands still on Collin’s shoulders, and took stock of him. Now that he was twenty-six, he looked completely like a man. He’d lost his baby cheeks, and he had a full beard. The little boy who’d held her hand when they crossed the street in the city was no more.
“Hi, Mom,” Collin said.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” Charlotte said, hating how earnest she sounded.
“Grandma!” Elisa and Brinlee burst from the rental car and hugged her legs. Charlotte felt doubled over with love for them.
“My girls!” she cried, waving hello to her daughter-in-law, Quinn, as she walked around the front of the car. “Let me show you the inn. You’re going to love it.”
Inside, Charlotte’s heart broke again when Van and her brother hugged tightly, and Van introduced Ethan to his uncle. Ethan was now nearly four weeks old, and he kept his eyes open a little bit more every day, staring up at Collin as though he understood their connection immediately.
“Van, he’s gorgeous,” Collin breathed, shaking his head. Privately, he’d once told Charlotte that he didn’t think Van would ever have children since she was dating “that horrible guy.” He’d wanted to be an uncle so badly. He’d gotten his wish.
“How has it been?” Quinn asked. “The first one is an adjustment.”
Van laughed. “He sleeps almost constantly! But wakes up every hour or so for a few minutes, needing me. I’m more in love than I’ve ever been, but I haven’t entered REM sleep in what feels like ages. I feel insane.”
“That sounds about right,” Quinn said.
“Mom’s been a huge help,” Van said, then added, “And Grandma.”
“Oh! Is Grandma here?” Collin eyed Charlotte nervously. He knew all about Charlotte and Louise’s multi-decade feud.
Van shook her head and gave Collin a look that meant she would explain everything later. Charlotte’s stomach flipped. Her and Louise’s argument last night had re-opened old wounds. Maybe they’d never fully healed in the first place.
Charlotte showed Collin’s family their suite upstairs, with its queen-sized bed and two trundle beds for Brinlee and Elisa. The girls were overjoyed with the inn, running through the halls, their dresses flying out behind them, just as Charlotte and her cousins once had. They were amazed by the library, with its mighty shelves, its thickly bound travel books and encyclopedia, and the maps hanging on every wall, and they begged to crawl into the attic, where, they presumed, a mystical creature was lurking. The Cherry Inn was always rife with stories. After just thirty minutes, Brinlee and Elisa had fallen into its fairy tale spell.
“When was the last time we came here?” Collin asked Van. “Must have been a summer fifteen or sixteen years ago?”
“Something like that,” Van agreed.
“Never at Christmas,” Collin said. “It was a great idea to bring everyone together again, Mom. Thank you.”
Charlotte floated back downstairs to check on dinner, which she’d been hard at work on for the past three hours. By nightfall, all the cousins, children, and spouses of the Summers family would be at the inn— and they’d be hungry. She imagined them seated in the dining room of the inn, candles flickering on tables, conversations a dull roar punctuated with spurts of laughter. She imagined hours of communion as a balm to heal their past.
