Page 19 of Christmas Treasures (Sugarville Grove #6)

CHARLIE

W hen Max joined them, his purchases in hand, Camilla said she would sit by the bonfire instead of joining them for the tree hunt, complaining of aching feet. “I’ll watch from here.”

Bianca nodded solemnly, as if accepting a sacred mission. “Va bene. Troveremo il migliore.” Okay. We’ll find the best one.

The child took off down the first row of trees. Charlie stayed back with Max, smiling at the excited, bounding girl.

Bianca stopped at each tree. Studied them. Tipped her head thoughtfully, and then put her ear near a low-hanging branch.

“She’s listening to see if the tree will speak to her,” Max said.

“What Vermont lore did you tell her?” Charlie glanced up at him, laughing.

Max shook his head, chuckling. “She asked me if the tree would know her when she found it. I told her she’d have to be quiet. To listen. That nature speaks in its own way. I didn’t think she would take it so literally. I have to be careful what I tell her. ”

“I think it’s a beautiful thing to say to a child. We should listen to nature. It’s easier to hear what it has to teach us here. Not so much in the city.”

“Too many sounds to drown out their voices,” Max said.

They reached the end of the first row. Bianca frowned. “Nessuno di questi è giusto.” None of these are right.

“There are more,” Max said. “You will find the right one.”

They turned the corner into the second row.

Bianca ran ahead again—but this time she stopped short.

Her shoulders squared, mittened hands pressed to her thighs as she crouched down in front of a small, crooked fir that looked more like a question mark than a Christmas tree.

One side was thinner, the branches slightly uneven, its top leaning just slightly to the left.

Bianca reached out and brushed her fingers along one of the low branches.

“è questo,” she said. “è lui.” This is the one. It’s him.

Charlie stepped closer. “Sei sicura?” Are you sure?

Bianca nodded slowly. “Mi stava aspettando.” He was waiting for me.

She straightened to look up at them. “Nessun altro lo sceglierebbe. è troppo piccolo. Troppo diverso dagli altri.” No one else would pick him.

He’s too small. Too different from the others.

“Per questo devo sceglierlo io.” That’s why I have to choose him.

How amazing she was. She’d experienced too much loss for one little girl, but she’d remained soft and open to the possibilities of miracles.

Unlike Charlie, she hadn’t cut herself off from the world.

Especially during this time of year. Perhaps it was the child who could teach her how to love again?

Max stepped forward, kneeling beside the tree and running his glove along the base of the trunk. “Okay, well, let’s get him home, shall we? It won’t be hard to load him onto the top of my rig, that’s for sure. ”

Charlie blinked away tears. What was it with these two? They touched her heart like no one had in a long time. There was something so right about the two of them together. And maybe her too?

By the time the tree was tied on top of the SUV, Bianca’s nose was pink, and Charlie’s toes were starting to go numb. Max brushed the snow off his gloves and turned to her.

“Want to meet us at my place? You can help us decorate this dainty tree,” Max said. “Or scraggly, depending on your view.”

Charlie hesitated, then glanced toward Bianca, who stood beside the truck with her hands tucked under her arms, looking up at the crooked little tree as she would an old friend.

To her surprise, Charlie didn’t want to part ways. Not yet. “Maybe we could stop by the pizzeria on the way? Grab a pizza to take back to your place? Bianca might like to see how we make the pizzas.”

Bianca’s head whipped around at the sound of her name. “La tua pizzeria?” Your pizzeria?

Charlie nodded. “Sì. è proprio lì in città.” Yes. It’s right in town.

Bianca looked to Max for confirmation, then back at Charlie. “Possiamo vedere dove fai la pizza?” Can we see where you make the pizza?

Charlie smiled, brushing snow from her coat sleeve. “Certo.”

As they drove out of the farm, Camilla yawned. The jet lag was catching up to her, whereas Bianca seemed fine .

“Camilla, would you rather go home for a rest instead of coming with us?” Charlie asked.

The older woman nodded. “I’m sorry to say yes. I’m old, you know. The time difference is making my head hurt.”

“Jet lag’s the worst,” Max said. “It’s no problem to drop you back at my place. You can have a nap, and we’ll bring pizza home with us for our decorating party. The tree needs time to dry out before we decorate, so I’ll lug it upstairs and then we’ll go for pizza.”

“Pizza!” Bianca shouted gleefully.

“Pizza is good,” Max said, turning to look at Charlie. “So is this day.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Charlie said.

The Slice was nearly empty when they arrived. Nina was there, cleaning up tables from what must have been a lunch rush.

“Who have we here?” Nina asked, smiling at Bianca.

“This is Bianca,” Max said. “She’s come to live with me.”

“I see.” Nina nodded, cool as could be. “Welcome to Sugarville Grove, little one.”

After introductions, Nina scurried off to take a call in the office, leaving the three of them to explore.

Charlie led them through to the open kitchen area. The stainless steel counters gleamed, wiped clean but still bearing traces of the lunch rush. Flour dusted the edges of the prep table, and several tubs of dough rested under damp towels.

“This is where I roll the dough,” Charlie said in Italian. She lifted the towel from one to reveal the pillowy, pale mass beneath. Glancing over at Max, she caught him studying her, head tilted to the side. “What?” She switched from Italian to English to speak with Max .

“You look beautiful, that’s all.”

Charlie flushed and looked away, continuing in Italian.

“And over there is the oven.” She grabbed a long-handled metal tool and approached the brick oven, skillfully raking the orange embers.

Charlie added a few small logs from a stack nearby, and within moments, sparks jumped and new flames began to lick at the wood.

“It needs to be hot enough to cook our pizza.”

Bianca clapped her hands as the fire flamed.

“Want to make a pizza together?” Charlie asked in Italian.

“Yes, yes,” Bianca said in English. She was doing so well trying out English words. Charlie had no doubt the little one would be fluent before long. Children learned new skills so much more easily than adults.

“Let me get you an apron.” Charlie grabbed one from a hook and helped Bianca put it on, tying it at the back.

It was much too big for her, but it would keep her clean.

She then led the child over to the sink, holding her up so she could wash her hands.

Charlie set her down and scrubbed her own.

“We’re going to make something special—the Sugarville Supreme. It was my father’s recipe.”

Bianca asked something in Italian, and Charlie answered back.

“She asked if my papa made pizza,” Charlie told Max over her shoulder as she moved to retrieve a ball of dough. “I told her yes—he was Italian, just like she is. And he taught me everything.”

“And now we get to enjoy his recipe,” Max said, rubbing his hands together. “Lucky us.”

“He would love knowing I’m carrying on his tradition. I hope he can see us.” Charlie placed the dough on the floured counter and guided Bianca’s small hands. “Like this, gentle but firm. We stretch it, we don’t toss it—that’s just for movies. ”

“Hollywood lied to me?” Max gasped in mock horror, eliciting a giggle from Bianca.

“Hollywood. Is movies,” Bianca said in her thick accent.

“That’s right,” Max said.

Together they worked the dough into a circle, Charlie’s hands occasionally covering Bianca’s to guide her movements. The girl’s face was intent with concentration, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips.

“Now we add the sauce,” Charlie said, sliding a bowl of fragrant red sauce closer. “Not too much, not too little.”

Bianca dipped a ladle into the sauce, her movements careful as she spread it in concentric circles across the dough, leaving a border around the edge.

“Perfect. Now the cheese.” Charlie guided her to sprinkle handfuls of shredded mozzarella across the sauce. “This cheese is special—made right here in Vermont.”

“Special like the pizza maker,” Max said, his eyes meeting Charlie’s over Bianca’s head.

“Ah, so you do understand most of what we’re saying.” Charlie’s cheeks flamed. He knew how to look at her just right, with that flirtatious gleam in his eyes. Max Hayes knew how to charm a woman. Darn him.

“Not all, but a lot. So don’t say anything bad about me,” Max said.

“That would be impossible,” Charlie said. “There’s nothing to say.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you think so.”

Next came the toppings—thin slices of Italian sausage, colorful bell peppers, mushrooms, translucent rings of onion, and plump black olives. Bianca placed each with deliberate care, her small fingers arranging the ingredients into a colorful mosaic.

“My papa would be pleased,” Charlie said .

Bianca looked up, her eyes curious. “Dov’è il tuo papà?” Where is your papa?

“My papa’s in heaven.” Charlie pointed upward.

Bianca nodded solemnly, understanding in her young eyes. “Mamma and Nonna. Angeli.”

Charlie squeezed Bianca’s shoulder gently. “That’s right. And now it’s time to put this in the oven.”

Charlie slid the pizza into the glowing oven. The three of them stood together, watching as the edges began to rise and bubble, the cheese starting its lazy melt.

Her father used to say that the way to bond as a family was to cook together. What about found family, Papa? Do we bond that way too?

His answer seemed to come from the pizza itself, sizzling to perfection and filling the air with the heady scents of sausage, sauce, and yeasty dough. The smells of her childhood. Of her father.