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Charlie winced and removed his phone from his pocket to reveal the text message he’d received that afternoon from Baxter Bailey. Charlotte read it. She didn’t look surprised. Perhaps, Charlie thought, in her heart of hearts, she’d already understood that Charlie didn’t want to hurt her. He hoped so, anyway.
“I’m so sorry I brought them into your life,” Charlie muttered.
Charlotte touched Charlie’s shoulder. “My grandpa wants to move on. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time.”
Charlie chewed his lower lip, at a loss. He considered his future— the grim blocks of Manhattan, potentially getting back into developing as a way to pay rent. It all felt soulless.
And then, he remembered something— his bank account.
It was a funny thing to think of now, seated in the tiny living room of the apartment attached to the Cherry Inn. He felt miles away from where money mattered. And yet, this place would be forever altered because of the power of Baxter’s money. But Charlie had money, too. Heaps of it. And he no longer wanted it anymore.
“I want to buy the Cherry Inn,” Charlie said.
Charlotte’s eyes swam with confusion. “What?”
“I want to buy it,” Charlie said, “for whatever price Baxter was willing to pay. If your grandfather wants to move on and have a nice life, that’s fine. But I want to own this place. I want to build it back up. And I want you to be by my side in bringing it into the twenty-first century. I’ll throw all my old plans out the window— and we can plan what we do together.”
Charlotte’s chin quivered. For a long time, she didn’t say anything. Charlie suspected he’d stepped on her toes yet again. That he’d upset her. She stood, then disappeared into the other room and returned with an illustrated children’s book. It was calledA Fairy Tale Christmas. Its front cover was a gorgeous illustration of the Cherry Inn, but far bigger than it actually was, so that it looked more like a castle than a Victorian home. Around it were mountains and thick woods. Beneath the house, the author’s name was written: Charlotte Summers.
“This was the first book I ever published,” Charlotte said, handing it over to him. “The first few pages of illustrations capture what the inn looked like back when I was a child.”
Charlie nodded as he studied each of the pages: the gleaming hardwood floors, crackling fire, sturdy mahogany front desk, grandfather clock, and old-world paintings.
“I want to bring this magic back to the old place,” Charlotte whispered. “I want the guests who come through here to be able to feel what I felt when I was a girl.”
Charlie understood what she meant. For the first time, in looking at the illustrations, he felt as though he fully dove through her memories and steeped in her nostalgia. It was gorgeous to have memories that mattered so much to you. He understood that more than most.
Finally, Charlie raised his head, took her hand in his, and said, “I promise, we’ll make the inn look just like this. Your Christmas dreams will come true.” His voice caught in his throat. “And mark my words. You’ll have the entire Summers family back here at the inn next year to celebrate the holidays.”
Charlotte leaped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Charlie was so overwhelmed that he nearly dropped the book. He couldn’t believe it; telling the truth had actually worked in his favor. Acknowledging his feelings hadn’t destroyed him. Charlotte was in his arms, shivering with tears, covering him with kisses. And for the first time in three years, he felt a path forming before him, one filled with light and hope. He would do everything in his power to stay on it.
ChapterTwenty-Two
One Year Later
It was Christmas Eve again. As was tradition, Charlotte had closed reservations for the week surrounding Christmas, clearing the guest rooms of city folks and preparing the Cherry Inn for the entire Summers family. From the state-of-the-art kitchen of the inn, Charlotte stood quietly with a glass of merlot, listening to her enormous family in the living room and dining room, digesting after a gorgeous feast of roasted lamb. Charlotte, Van, and her mother, Louise, had worked tirelessly on the meal all morning and afternoon. And now, Charlotte felt a wonderful relief.
The kitchen door sprung open to reveal Louise carrying little Ethan, who was now one year old. He rubbed his eye sleepily with his fist and babbled and squawked happily. “It’s time to give him a last bottle and take him to bed,” Louise announced.
Louise doted on the little boy, nearly always insisting on being the one to change him or feed him during family functions. Van was grateful for the help— especially now. She’d met someone, a firefighter here in White Plains, who’d swept her off her feet during the summertime. Jeremy was here tonight, cozied up with Van in the living room, laughing with Collin and Quinn. Since Ethan’s birth, Van hadn’t heard from Grant once— and the divorce had been finalized via lawyers. It was almost as though he’d never existed at all.
“He loves his great-grandma,” Charlotte said, playing with Ethan’s curls.
Louise reached for a clean bottle on a high shelf and then eyed Charlotte curiously. Charlotte now remembered their long-standing fights as though they’d been parts of dreams. They hadn’t bickered much at all since last Christmas.
“This place is really extraordinary, Charlotte,” Louise said finally. “I don’t know if I’ve said that enough.”
The previous year had been difficult. After Charlie had cleared the sale of the Cherry Inn with Grandpa Hank, Grandpa Hank immediately took a vacation to Florida to visit a few friends he hadn’t seen in decades. He’d stayed there until late spring, at which point Charlotte and Charlie were already deep in the chaos of the Cherry Inn’s refurbishment. Charlie hadn’t skimped on any details, not in the library, nor the upstairs sunroom, nor the kitchen, which now had enough counter space for a full cooking staff. After his return from Florida, Grandpa Hank walked slowly through the changing house, his eyes misting. When he’d returned downstairs, he’d hugged Charlotte and shaken Charlie’s hand. “Your grandmother would have loved this,” he said. “It’s got all the old magic.”
Charlotte and Charlie had re-opened the Cherry Inn in late October. Because of Charlie’s connections in the city, they’d been booked full since then, with city folks coming to enjoy the changing foliage and, later, the Christmas decorations. Due to Charlie’s excellent organizational skills and Charlotte’s creativity, they operated the inn like a tight ship but never hesitated to personalize someone’s experience. On top of that, they’d hired a world-class chef for the kitchen, which nobody in White Plains complained about. Locals dined at the restaurant frequently, then sat by the fire in the living room to catch up with Charlotte or Charlie. “You’ve really brought magic back to White Plains,” Louise had said once, watching people stream in and out. “People want to make their old homes look nicer again. They feel a sense of duty to the town.”
Charlotte left Louise in the kitchen with baby Ethan and wandered through the living room. Grandpa Hank was seated with Bethany, reading Charlotte’s first book,A Fairy Tale Christmas, pointing out the illustrations of Grandma Dee. “You’re going to tell your story tonight, aren’t you, Grandpa?” Bethany begged him. “We all need it.”
Grandpa Hank’s eyes sparkled. He planned to return to Florida in January— a tradition he’d chosen for himself and one he couldn’t have afforded without the sale to Charlie. It had done him good.
“I’ll do it,” he told Bethany. “I just hope I remember it.”
“You didn’t forget,” Bethany said.
