“Then he turned pale, shut the door and drove away. Just like that.” Charlie wiped dust off a snow globe from Gretchen’s collection with a cloth rag, careful not to take her frustration out on the delicate glass hosting a group of singing carolers. It wasn’t the first time in her life that Blake had walked away from her while she’d been upset, and at this rate, she wondered if it’d be the last.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have brought up wearing his old T-shirts.” Gretchen Jolie was short, slender and had long dark hair streaked with strands of gray that she usually wore in a no-nonsense low ponytail. Her eyes, bright and full of wisdom, shone with understanding and more than a little amusement as she handed Charlie another globe from the cardboard box—this one showcasing an ice-skating rink inside.
“I’m sure you’re right. But he was talking to me so formally—I couldn’t help but put him in his place.”
Gretchen smiled as she pulled several more globes free from their yearlong storage. “Men don’t usually like that.”
“Especially prideful ones.” After everything they’d been through together, Charlie still couldn’t believe he’d called her Ms. Bussey. It’d hurt more than it should. But maybe she’d just been overly sensitive from the shock of realizing his purpose in coming to Paradise Paws.
Gretchen stuffed the cardboard flaps back into the empty box. “You believe Blake is prideful now? Has he changed that much over the years?”
“You should have seen him, all stuffy and buttoned-up, acting like he barely knew me. He was all business.” And carefully corralled muscle. But that wasn’t the point.
Charlie set the clean globes on the coffee table, then arched her back in a stretch from her slumped position. She’d been sitting on the floor in the Jolies’ living room for the past half hour, venting in hushed tones while she helped Gretchen set out her traditional display. It wasn’t Christmas at the Jolie house if every square inch of the living room didn’t hold a snow globe of some size. It’d been one of her favorite traditions at Tulip House over the years. Hopefully the teen residents would draw the same comfort from them that she had.
And maybe that was what hurt the most. Blake had left her years ago, even knowing her history, knowing that everyone else in her life had left at some point...and then to stroll back into Tulip Mound like he’d barely even known her was the last heartless straw.
Gretchen scooted the cardboard box out of the way and stood. “Is professional all that bad? Blake was always a smart boy. I’m glad to hear he’s become successful.”
Sweet Gretchen. Always looking for the best in people. Unfortunately, she had Blake all wrong. “Successful maybe, but not at the right thing. He only came home to take away something I love.” Charlie shook her head, refusing to let the emotion threatening the back of her throat free. She reached for her phone to check her texts as a distraction, but her pockets were empty. She’d probably left it in her car.
“And what are you going to do about that threat?” Gretchen began arranging snow globes of various sizes on the mantel above the fireplace.
“I don’t know yet. But I can tell you I’m much more likely to turn into Mrs. Claus than I am to let him get away with it.” Steel strengthened Charlie’s voice—and her backbone. “He must not remember who he’s messing with.”
Blake had hurt her once, and she’d already grieved that loss. But she refused to let him mess with those animals—or the teens who loved them. Neither the dogs nor the girls had many people willing to fight for them.
Charlie was more than happy to go down swinging on their behalf.
“It’s okay to miss him, you know.” Gretchen’s voice was quiet but effective. The words slipped over and inside the cracked pieces of Charlie’s tired armor.
“Maybe. But I don’t miss whoever this new person is.” If she thought too long about the boy Blake used to be and what she’d lost, she’d probably let loose the tears still knocking around behind her eyes. And that wouldn’t do anyone any good.
The heater cranked on with a hum, giving them a little more white-noise cover. The teens—who this year were Nadia, Sabrina, Riley and now Tori—were supposed to be in bed for quiet time before lights-out, but Charlie knew that wasn’t a guarantee...especially if they knew she was still there, having a private conversation with the house mother.
Charlie had brought the girls back to Tulip House after they left Paradise Paws earlier that evening, and Art had convinced her to stay for dinner. At first, she’d resisted, since she needed to get home to Cooper—but the aroma of sizzling steaks had coerced her. With a belly full of loaded baked potatoes and beef, and the promise to herself that she’d bring Cooper home the leftovers, she’d waited around until she had Gretchen alone.
She was the closest thing Charlie had ever had to a mom.
“Holidays can be hard.” Gretchen came around the coffee table, extended her hands to Charlie and hauled her to her feet. She pressed her hands on either side of Charlie’s face, stared her straight in the eyes and smiled the same patient smile she’d given Charlie years ago when she’d come home from junior year with an F on her second-semester report card. “So, I want you to remember one word.”
“Revenge?” Charlie half joked, half hiccupped. The tears were coming, like it or not.
“No,” Gretchen scolded with a chuckle. “Emmanuel.”
“God with us.” Charlie finished the sentiment by heart as she dabbed at her eyes. It was a lesson Art and Gretchen had drilled into her from her first Christmas at their house, when she was almost fifteen, long before it’d been converted into Tulip House. Long before the dream to host multiple teen girls had been conceived in Gretchen’s heart and come to fruition.
“You’re never alone.” Gretchen pulled her into a quick hug. “And remember—sadness and anger are linked. You’re usually not feeling one without being too far from the other.”
“You’re right.” Charlie let out a long breath and then a reluctant grin. “As usual.”
“I wish you could get those teenagers up there to agree with you on that.” Gretchen winked. “Now, look, I happen to know Art stashed two leftover pieces of brownie from that tin the girls ate their way through after dinner. I’m pretty sure he could be convinced to let you have one of them.”
“Sounds good.” She squeezed Gretchen’s hand before following her into the kitchen. Blake’s sudden reappearance at this vulnerable time of year had thrown her off-kilter, that was all. She’d remain grounded in truth—the truth of Emmanuel—and keep a heart of gratitude that God had seen fit to put her in Art’s and Gretchen’s lives.
Blake couldn’t threaten any of her true securities.
“Look who I found!” Art’s big dad voice boomed from the foyer off the kitchen just as Gretchen pulled the leftover brownies free from their hiding place in the fridge. He poked his graying head around the door frame. “The prodigal son has returned!”
A figure stepped around the corner, wearing a formal coat and plaid scarf.
Blake.
Holding Charlie’s cell phone.
Blake hoped he never had reason to go to court, because the look Charlie pinned him with as she stared across the kitchen had the same effect as slamming a gavel.
He held out the phone like a peace offering, and she crossed the room in three quick strides to snatch it from his hands. “How did you get this?” Fire lit her voice, a reflection of that long red hair she tossed over her shoulder. Once upon a time, he’d had the right to sit close to her, inhale her coconut-scented shampoo and even brush those untamed strands off her face.
Not so much anymore.
“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean.” Riled up by the fact that she was riled up when he was the one doing her a favor, Blake attempted a steadying breath. “You must have dropped it inside my car door when we were...talking...earlier.” Talking, arguing, debating—whatever.
Her flame extinguished to a simmer. “Oh. Right.” She unlocked her phone and skimmed it, then looked up with a tight nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He shuffled his feet a little, unsure what to say next or how to make a graceful exit. He hadn’t wanted to come by this house full of memories in the first place, but he couldn’t exactly keep her phone once it’d rolled under his feet while driving back to his B&B after he’d eaten alone at the Sweet Briar Café.
He’d chatted with Tori’s caseworker, Anita Duncan, on the phone for twenty minutes while downing a bowl of chicken and dumplings. At his request, she’d given him a few days to get to know Tori before announcing his identity to her or her CASA volunteer. “It’d be best if you met with the CASA volunteer first,” Anita had urged. “She’ll be able to help you connect with Tori in ways that I’m not as familiar with. That’s the beauty of CASA—they’re assigned one child at a time, while I’m overseeing multiple.”
He’d promised he would take that step eventually—he just needed a few more days to adjust to the whole idea. Now he had to find a way to connect with Tori ASAP. Earlier, when he realized who Tori was and that she must be close to Charlie if she’d been hanging out with her all afternoon, he’d panicked. He didn’t know what to say—so many things he couldn’t say quite yet—and with the lingering argument between them, he’d decided driving away to regroup was his best option.
Until her phone demanded otherwise. How did Charlie manage to interfere with his plans even when she wasn’t there?
“It’s good to see you, Blake.” Gretchen’s warm voice filled the awkward spaces lingering in the kitchen. She held out her arms, and before he could decide if it was weird, she pulled him into a hug. As if the past eight years hadn’t happened at all.
It didn’t appear that Charlie would be offering that much grace.
He hugged Gretchen back, the tension melting from his shoulders. She’d always been a good woman—in fact, she and Art had unofficially taken him in as one of theirs, even as they officially took in foster kids. Charlie had lived with them since she was a freshman in high school, and he’d befriended her when he was a sophomore. He’d spent many afternoons eating cookies in this kitchen—which, judging by the brightly colored floral art on the walls and the faux tulips holding court in a milk jug on the table—hadn’t changed much in the past eight years.
And now, Tori was experiencing the same care. It blew his mind.
Art slapped him on the shoulder, as tall, jovial and bighearted as always. Though what exactly had he meant by the prodigal son comment? “Welcome home, my boy.”
“Thank you, sir.” Blake shook Art’s oversize hand. “But I’m just in town on business.” There he went again, defaulting to the same defensive statement he’d given Charlie when he first saw her in the coffee shop that afternoon. Or maybe he kept repeating it because it was the only answer he could supply.
“Would you like a brownie?” Gretchen went back to the kitchen island, where two generously portioned brownies perched atop a candy cane–striped plate. Gretchen had always gone all out for Christmas. Even as his own family had largely ignored the holiday, every time he stepped into the Jolies’ residence in high school, it was as if he’d entered a festive wonderland. As a teen, he’d been amused by the abundance of decorations, but now he appreciated it in a fresh way.
In the moment, he hadn’t realized what he’d missed. But now, as an adult, he could recognize all that he’d lost growing up.
Charlie shot him a look, and he started to decline, but Gretchen was already placing his brownie on a napkin and sliding it his way. It’d be rude to resist.
Besides, they smelled amazing.
He took the bar stool at the island and tentatively took a bite. An abundance of chocolate burst in his mouth, the chill from the fridge giving the brownies that crispy top shell he’d always liked. “These are amazing, Gretchen. As always.”
Charlie bristled as she took the stool next to him—pulling it several inches away first—and claimed the other brownie. “Art made those.”
Oops. Yet another strike. Mouth full, he toasted Art with his remaining portion of dessert.
“Just a box mix, but the teens around here don’t seem to mind.” Art slid a chair out from the table at the breakfast nook beside them while Gretchen turned on the coffeepot.
“You’ll have a cup. It’s half-caff.” Her calm, declarative statement left no room for argument. And surprisingly enough, Blake realized he didn’t want to argue. Lingering in a warm kitchen full of Christmas decorations and the scent of fresh coffee, with two out of three people who genuinely seemed happy to see him, was a far more appealing option than returning to his cold B&B room alone.
They chatted aimlessly about the December weather while Gretchen poured steaming mugs of dark roast and placed one before each of them.
Art leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table as he held his mug between both hands. “What business brings you to town?”
Charlie stiffened beside him as Gretchen glanced at them and then made a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject. “Art, honey, did you want creamer in your coffee?”
Blake drew a deep breath. Gretchen must know the answer, or she wouldn’t have interrupted that way. Charlie had already gotten to her.
“I’m fine, dear.” Art blew into his mug. “As I was saying, Blake...sounds like business is good if you’re traveling this far for it.” He watched Blake over the rim of his cup.
He knew about the shelter, too. He had to. This felt like a test. Blake took a small sip of the still-hot liquid to stall. Definitely needed hazelnut.
“Yeah, Blake, how’s business?” Charlie twisted to face him on her stool, a slight challenge in her eyes.
He carefully tugged his professional mask back into place. It’d been nice letting it down for a moment, at least. “It’s booming. We’re really busy with expansions.”
He rattled off a few stats about Jitter Mugs that might mean something to Art, depending on how much the older man kept up with various business magazines. Blake’s boss insisted he stay up-to-date on the facts of where their company stood in the daily rise and fall of the industry in case potential sellers needed to be impressed.
But it didn’t impress Blake anymore. Neither did his boss’s comments of “you need more teeth, Bryant” and “I employ sharks, not guppies.”
Gretchen laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, the same gently restraining motion he’d seen the woman do a hundred times over the years in an effort to curb Charlie’s redheaded temper. “It sounds like you’ve done really well for yourself.”
He nodded his thanks. He had. So why did he still feel so empty?
And why the sudden urge to justify his career choices?
He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He couldn’t go into the details of why he needed this deal to go through so badly. Not yet—maybe not ever. He lifted one shoulder in what he hoped was a casual shrug. “I have plans for more.” There. That was the truth.
If only they knew how much more.