A big part of me expected her to deflect. Or tell me outright to get lost. Whatever had happened, she was holding on to that grudge pretty tight. And by now, she probably had some inkling that Charles and I were together. So, it was conceivable I wouldn’t be her favorite person right now.
“Believe it or not, we used to be close friends,” she began after a while, looking out over the bustling parking lot and kids running around in the snow, while their parents chatted with other adults going in and out of the marketplace. “His grandparents and mine had known each other for years. We sort of grew up together.”
I braced myself for the worst. A revelation that might shake the foundation of whatever I thought was growing between Charles and me.
“Anyway. I told you about my idea for culinary-inspired vacations to Maplewood Creek.”
“Yeah . . .” That came from left field. Not at all where I thought this conversation was headed.
“Well, one year when he was up here on vacation from business school, I approached Charlie about the idea. To invest in the business, you know. Be partners. We were going to bring Pops and the Snowdrift in on it, as well as some of the other local businesses. I put together this whole presentation. He seemed excited about it. Said he’d bring it up to his dad and get us the funding to get started.”
“So, what happened?”
She scoffed. “He blew me off. Was more interested in getting wasted and partying with his douchebag friends. Then he plowed his car into the Snowdrift sign one night. Got hauled off to the drunk tank. That was the last time he showed his face in town. Never heard from him again. Just left me hanging with all these promises I’d made to people. Got my hopes up and vanished.”
“Oh, Mia. I’m so sorry.”
“Whatever,” she said bitterly. “Probably better off, right? To figure out who he really was, before it was too late.”
I had prepared myself to hear that they were exes. That he’d cheated on her. Broken her heart. Somehow, this was almost worse. Not because I thought it made Charles a bad guy, but because it was such an enormous misunderstanding.
“He told me about the sign at The Snowdrift,” I said. “And the drinking. His grandfather had just died and it really messed him up for a while. I know it’s no excuse, but I think he was so wrapped up in his own grief, he wasn’t thinking about anyone else. Still, I know if he understood how much he hurt you, he’d feel awful about it.”
Mia shrugged. “I don’t even care anymore. It was forever ago, right?”
She wasn’t convincing anyone. Least of all herself. And I didn’t blame her. I’d be pretty sore about it too, if someone blew up my dreams. I felt for Mia. I wanted so badly to make it right.
“Maybe you two could talk. Get it all out in the open and reconcile.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” she said, standing. “Anyway. I’ve got to get back to my stall. See you around, okay?”
Mia was a proud person. It wasn’t in her nature to ask for help. I understood how she felt. But I’d grown to care about them both. If it was in my power to help, I had to try. In the spirit of the holidays.
Chapter 28
Back at the chalet, I texted Charles to ask if he had a few minutes to chat. He invited me to one of the twin outbuildings on the property, used as guest suites, where he and Amelia stayed. I hadn’t been out here before, since the waitstaff were typically in charge of running any incidental orders out of the kitchen. His suite was at least three times the size of the staff cottages; a smaller version of the main house, with the same rustic yet elevated architecture. There were huge, overstuffed sofas, lantern-style lighting fixtures, and antique skis and snow shoes on the walls.
“I’m up here,” he called when he heard me arrive.
I followed his voice upstairs, past several framed nature sketches on the walls. Each one was an intricate, detailed depiction of local foliage and wildlife, including exquisitely rendered feathers and pinecones. I was mesmerized, examining each one until Charles poked his head out of his bedroom door to look for me.
“Hey, I’m in here,” he said.
“I love these drawings. Are you a collector?”
“What? Oh, no. Um . . .” His eyes turned bashful as he ducked his head and smothered a sheepish grin. “I did those. Years ago. Grandad and I used to draw when I was in high school. It was one of our things. A bunch of his sketches are framed in the main house.”
“You did these?” I took a closer look, admiring the linework. “Wow. I’m impressed. You really have talent.”
Charles shrugged. “It was a hobby. I did a minor in art at college.”
Though the compliment embarrassed him, I could tell his art still held a great deal of meaning for Charles.
“So, what’d you need to talk to me about?” he asked, inviting me into the spacious bedroom with a huge four-poster bed and fireplace.
One whole wall of glass looked out on the mountain range, with a balcony where periodic snowflakes were beginning to accumulate.
“Mia, actually.”
