Page 8 of Christmas Treasures (Sugarville Grove #6)

She followed Laney back down the stairs and into the living room.

It was even livelier than when she’d first arrived.

Everyone was mingling, talking, and laughing.

Nina was near the fire, deep in conversation with Abby Hayes.

She was probably asking the poor woman a thousand questions about dogs.

Nina wanted a dog but couldn’t bring herself to actually get one from the shelter or otherwise.

Laney excused herself to check on dinner but encouraged her to grab an appetizer and another drink. “I ordered some good wine from Max’s store,” she said. She gestured toward a table clearly set up for the party, containing food and beverages.

And who should be behind the table, opening a bottle of wine?

Max.

Of course.

He wore a soft navy Henley and jeans, sleeves pushed to the elbows. He looked at ease. Unlike her.

Before she could head in the other direction, he lifted his gaze to see her standing there, gawking like an idiot.

“Hey there,” Charlie said.

“Charlie, I didn’t know you were coming,” Max said.

“I was a last-minute invite. Someone to fill a chair.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is actually. Laney told me outright.”

“Well, regardless, it’s nice to see you. You look great.” Max hesitated for a moment, seeming to take her in anew. “I like your hair that way.”

“Thanks. I have to keep it pulled back for work, but I wear it down otherwise.”

“Does it ever give you headaches?”

“What?” Charlie asked.

“The ponytails. A woman I once knew told me her head ached after a long day with it pulled back. She worked in a restaurant too.”

Why were his eyes so sad suddenly ?

“I’ve not experienced that,” Charlie said, turning her attention to the charcuterie board, stretched across a long slab of reclaimed wood. Her mouth watered. This wasn’t just a pile of salami and cheese like most people slapped together for a dinner party.

Thin ribbons of prosciutto curled like flower petals beside peppered coppa and maple-glazed ham.

There were wedges of white and orange cheddar, triple-crème Brie, Robiola, Rogue River Blue, and a soft round of goat cheese dusted with herbes de Provence.

And so many crackers—fig-studded, rosemary-laced, sea salt flatbread crisps, seeded multigrain wafers.

Someone had taken the time to toast crostini to golden perfection and arrange them in a gentle fan.

Pickled vegetables nestled in a small stoneware bowl—carrot ribbons, pearl onions, maybe even fennel.

Dried apricots glowed like little suns between piles of Marcona almonds and green olives so plump and glossy she could smell the brine from five feet away.

There was honey, too—dark and viscous, pooling in a ramekin.

“This is a work of art,” Charlie murmured.

“Thanks. I did it myself.” Max grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“You?”

“Why not me?”

“Well, don’t look hurt. I just didn’t know you had this much attention to detail,” Charlie said.

“Only when it comes to food. My ADHD and dyslexia keep me from applying it to all aspects of my life.”

She had no idea what to say to that. Fortunately, Laney came bustling up, carrying several more bottles of wine. “Max, you were right about the wine. It’s a huge hit.”

“I have few talents, but picking wine is one of them.” Max poured a glass and handed it to Charlie.

“Do you like Italian wines? I brought a few from my own stash. This is a Super Tuscan. One of my favorites. I made it a mission while I was in Italy to learn as much as I could about the food and wine of the different regions.”

“How strange that you mention that.” Laney’s eyes sparkled. “Charlie was just telling me she spent some time in Italy. Right before she moved here.”

Max’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Someone caught Laney’s attention, and she excused herself again, leaving Charlie alone with a glass of red wine in her hand and Max Hayes for company. What should she say to him? Wine. They could talk about wine.

“Tell me about this?” Charlie asked, indicating the bottle he’d just poured from.

His eyes lit up. “It’s a Super Tuscan—Tignanello. Perfect balance of structure and soul. Dark fruit, a little leather, and that classic Tuscan dustiness. It’s bold, but not arrogant. Did you have time to check out any of the Italian wines while you were there?”

“Yes, I enjoyed my share of good wine while I was there,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t say I was an expert, but I enjoy learning.”

“How long were you in Italy?”

“About six months. My father was Italian,” Charlie said. “After I sold my company, I decided to travel to some of the places he’d been as a child. I grew up hearing stories.”

“Ah, so that’s part of the reason for the pizza restaurant, huh?” Max poured another glass of wine, this time for himself. He swirled it around the goblet, waiting for her to answer.

“That’s part of what factored into the decision, yes.” Charlie sipped from her glass. “This is really nice.”

“I’m glad you like it. Maybe I should hide the bottle so we don’t have to share. ”

“As long as it’s not my cheese.” She smiled to let him know she was kidding. “Cheese-gate has now been concluded.”

“Cheese-gate.” He threw back his head, laughing. “As long as you didn’t call the newspaper and have a full investigation launched against me.”

“I already told you I overreacted. And I feel bad.”

He lifted his glass. “Good. I’m glad we can make up and be friends. Happy holidays.”

She deflated. Christmas . “Right. Merry merry and all that.”

“You have a beef against Christmas?”

“No, not really. I just don’t particularly care for the month of December.” The drink she’d had earlier had already gone to her head. She felt lighter, wittier. And Max Hayes was much too handsome for anyone’s good. Mostly hers.

“May I ask why?” Max raised an eyebrow, his mouth curved upward into a sly smile.

“You can ask.”

He laughed again. “C’mon, Charlie Keene. Tell me something about yourself, and I’ll tell you something back. That’s how conversations are supposed to work.”

“Easy for you to say. Man of golden tongue.” Maybe she shouldn’t have had wine. She was feeling positively loopy.

“What made you move here?” Max asked. “Of all places? I’m assuming you could have chosen anywhere, so why here?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that tonight.

” She grinned. “It’s because of goat cheese.

During the best road trip ever.” She found herself telling him the story of the perfect sunny day and a roadside stand that had sold cheeses and soft sourdough bread.

“My dad bought us a loaf of bread and some goat cheese, and we went to Little Bear Lake and sat at a picnic table to eat it. Nothing before or since has ever tasted as good. Have you ever had one of those perfect moments? One so simple yet beautiful at the same time?”

“I have, yes.”

Charlie waited to see if he would elaborate, but instead, he asked if she remembered what farm the goat cheese came from.

“No, I don’t recall that.”

“And it wasn’t just the cheese and bread but the time you spent with your dad, right?” Max asked.

“Yes. I can remember the way the sun sparkled on the lake and the smell of freshly cut grass and evergreen trees. I’d been struggling since we’d lost my mother. My dad took me on the trip to try to cheer me up.”

“Did it work?”

“Depends on what you mean by cheered up,” Charlie said. “I still missed my mom and felt guilty about her death.”

Max looked as though he was going to say something further but instead he changed the subject.

She sighed with relief. This was something she could actually talk about without fear of revealing too much.

She told him about how she’d needed to get away from reality after she’d sold her company and decided to spend six months doing exactly as she pleased.

“I started in France, then Switzerland, and finally Italy. I ended up in Florence for much longer than I’d intended. ”

“It happens. It’s a magical place.”

“Isn’t it? What’s funny is that I didn’t even plan on going there.

But when I was in Rome, I met this older American couple who had just come from there, and they raved so much that I decided to go.

I ended up in the Oltrarno district in a tiny flat with crooked tile floors and a balcony covered in wisteria.

I walked everywhere. Mornings at the market, afternoons sitting at cafés.

There’s this one spot near Piazza della Signoria where I’d sit for hours, just watching people.

Listening. Thinking about my dad.” She paused for a moment.

“I lost him about the same time I sold the company. He and I had talked for years about going to Italy together. I’d planned on surprising him with the trip, but then… it was too late.”

“You said he was Italian?” Max asked.

“That’s right. Second-generation. His grandparents were from Naples. He used to read to me in Italian when I was little. He said it was the language of food and love. I’m fluent in the language, thanks to him.”

He suddenly seemed to drift away, lost in thought.

“Am I boring you?” Charlie asked drily.

He blinked and returned his focus to her. “Not at all. I was just thinking about the fact that you speak Italian.”

“Do you?”

“I’m okay. I knew nothing before I went there. The woman I…was with…that I met there—she taught me a lot. But I wouldn’t say I was fluent. She and I communicated well enough, considering her English and my Italian.”

“What happened? How come you broke up?”

He seemed to debate how much to say.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Charlie said. “I’m just being nosy.”

“No, it’s okay. Lucia died of cancer. She had a little daughter—five years old—Bianca. They both captured my heart from the first day I met them. We didn’t even get a year together.”

“I’m sorry. That’s awful.” So there was a lot more to this laid-back Max Hayes than she’d thought.

“It was three years ago. After she died, I came home and kind of dropped back into my old life as if my time there had been a dream. However, it was not. It was very real. And it’s about to become real again.”

She wasn’t following. “What do you mean? ”

He sighed, looking into his wineglass. “I guess there’s no reason to keep a secret.

When Lucia knew she was dying, she arranged for Bianca to live with her grandmother—Nonna Rosella.

But she wanted to make sure Bianca would be all right should anything happen to Rosella.

She asked if I would be Bianca’s legal guardian in the event of Rosella’s death.

She died last week. Rosella’s best friend is bringing her to me.

I’m legally bound to take Bianca.” He winced.

“Not bound. I mean, I am, but I wouldn’t shirk my responsibilities.

Regardless, it’s hard to wrap my head around.

An eight-year-old child is coming to live with me. We’re strangers.”

He must have gotten the news not long before she pounced on him about the cheese. Now she felt even worse. “That’s a lot,” Charlie said.

“Yes, it is. And I’m worried. She’ll be fragile and moving to a new country and new school and living with a man she barely knows. It’s beyond comprehension. For both of us. And I doubt she speaks much English. My Italian wasn’t good to begin with, and I’m rusty.”

“If you need any help with her—you know, since I speak the language, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am, though. I didn’t think you liked me.”

“Why would you think that?” Charlie asked.

“Let’s just say you seem blind to my charm.”

Quite the opposite. But she kept that thought to herself.

“Men like you are accustomed to the fairer sex falling at your feet. Simply put, I am not one of those women.”

“A pity.” His eyes twinkled at her.

Which caused an unfortunate flutter in her stomach.

He sobered. “If you’re serious about helping me speak with her, I would be very grateful. I should start studying Italian again, too. Frankly, I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed. ”

“My dad used to say nothing was impossible if you just took it one task at a time. What’s your first step?”

“Getting her room ready. My dad’s going to help me clean it out, and then I want to make it nice for Bianca.”

“You should meet with Ivy. She did my whole house,” Charlie said.

Their conversation halted when Nolan announced that dinner was ready. She and Max followed the rest of the guests into the dining room. And wouldn’t you know it, she was seated right next to Max.