Page 43 of The Hidden Daughter (The Lost Daughters #7)

She smiled into the phone. She’d known in her heart it was her dad, but she’d needed to hear him say it.

‘Thanks, Dad, it means a lot.’

‘I’ll see you Sunday for lunch?’ he asked.

‘You will. See you then.’

Charlotte slid her phone back into her pocket and tilted her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth on her skin.

The last few months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been worth it.

Reconnecting with her father, spending time with her grandmother and having the privilege of hearing Amalie’s story, and even the time she’d spent with Harrison; she wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Because as much as he’d hurt her, and as reluctant as she would be to ever let anyone close like that again, it had shown her that she could.

She could fall in love, she could open her heart, and she could mend relationships that she’d thought were well beyond repair.

She began walking back to her car, glancing back once and wishing she had somewhere to go to remember Amalie. But her grandmother hadn’t yet decided where they should bury or scatter Amalie’s ashes, so for now they were tucked safely away in a cupboard.

With that in mind, she hurried the rest of the way and drove as quickly as she could back to her grandmother’s house. She’d spent longer than she’d intended to at the cemetery, and now she would be late for work if she didn’t hurry.

Charlotte was in the kitchen working alongside her team later that night, on what had turned out to be a very busy Friday, when her sous chef nudged her with his elbow.

She glanced up, thinking he’d bumped her by accident.

But she could see from the creases on his forehead that it was intentional.

They were already under a lot of pressure with some of the kitchen staff having called in sick, so she knew that it must have been important for him to interrupt her.

‘Chef, I think you might know the guest at the table. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he arrived.’

Charlotte turned to look at the chef’s table, not having seen anyone being seated.

Usually, she greeted the guests and explained the menu to them, all part of the exclusive experience she’d created by having the table in the kitchen, but with her having to help with service, she simply hadn’t had the chance yet.

It had been a real night, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.

But her heart almost stopped when her eyes landed on the table, and she was thankful she wasn’t holding a knife, as she might have sliced her hand.

Because there at the table she’d once shared with him, was Harrison; sitting on his own, positioned to face into the kitchen.

And her sous chef had been right—he was most definitely staring at her, and it took all her willpower not to stare straight back at him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, nodding to the younger chef. ‘Can you take over here, please?’

‘If he’s making you feel uncomfortable—’

‘It’s fine, thank you for being so thoughtful. You were right about us knowing each other. I’ll only be a minute.’

Charlotte wiped her hands clean and took a deep breath. She didn’t have time to check her appearance and her skin was slick with sweat from the heat in the kitchen, and she hoped she looked presentable. This was certainly not how she’d imagined a reunion between them might go.

The short walk from her station to the table felt unbearable, especially when she could feel Harrison’s eyes on her, but she held her head high, trying her best to look far more confident than she felt.

‘Chef,’ one of the servers said, dashing into her path and leaning close. It was their job to tell her the names of the guests at her table before she introduced herself. ‘One guest tonight, his name is—’

‘Harrison,’ she said for her, their voices low given how close they were to the table. ‘We’re already acquainted. Did he book the table for one, or is he expecting company?’

‘Yes, he booked it for one. He’s the architect of the hotel, so maybe he wanted to see what it was like dining here? We should have had him flagged in our booking system as a VIP, I don’t know how—’

‘Please don’t worry, I’m almost certain he wouldn’t have said anything when he booked the table,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

The cost of booking the chef’s table was enormous; a hefty price tag befitting the personalised service and carefully curated menu, and certainly too expensive for one person.

When she’d seen him sitting there, Charlotte had imagined he might be here with friends, that Louisa and Luke might have convinced him to come back for a holiday with them since she’d known how much they loved Norway.

But clearly that wasn’t the case—the table was only set for one.

‘Harrison,’ Charlotte said as she approached the table. ‘Welcome to our chef’s table.’

She knew she sounded too formal, but what was she supposed to do?

Bend down and hug him? Kiss his cheek? None of those options seemed appropriate, either, so she gritted her teeth and continued with the professional approach, hoping that she was able to hold her nerve, especially given her staff were in such close proximity behind her.

‘I know I should have just called, but it’s been so long, so I thought…’ He groaned. ‘This seemed like a great idea when I booked it, but now that I’m here, and I’m trying to explain it, I can see it might not have been my best decision.’

‘Did you actually book our most expensive table in the restaurant for one just to say hello?’

‘Honestly?’ His voice was deeper than usual, husky almost. ‘It felt like the only guaranteed way to see you.’

Charlotte met his gaze, wanting to know why he was here; why, after so many months of silence, he’d chosen to come into her space and surprise her like this.

She crossed her arms and stared at him. She’d wondered what it would be like to see him one day, how she’d react, what they would say, how awkward it would be; but seeing him was harder than she could have imagined. Especially caught off-guard like this.

‘Are you in Oslo for work?’ she asked.

‘No, Lotte,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I’m here to see you.’