Page 45 of Christmas Treasures

“What did she say?” Max asked, his eyes darting between them.

Charlie cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “She said, ‘Nonna says when two people kiss, it means there will soon be a party.’” She bit her lip, fighting another smile. “She’s planning our wedding already.”

Max’s startled laugh filled the room as Bianca nodded enthusiastically, clearly pleased with herself for bringing such happiness to the adults.

“I think it’s time to string those lights,” Charlie said.

Camilla was still asleep in Bianca’s room. Max had seen her feet dangling over the twin bed. The poor woman had traveled by herself with a child from so far away, but she would want to go home soon. He’d have thought the idea of losing her would fill him with anxiety. Instead, he felt a sense of tranquility and maybe even inevitability. She was meant to go home to her family. He was meant to stay here with his.

Would it include Charlie? Despite some of the challenges she seemed to have with accepting love, he was open to the possibilities of what a life together would mean to them both.

“Let’s eat.” Max crossed the room to turn on Christmasmusic. “I don’t know if I can tackle those lights without some food in my belly.”

The three of them settled onto the couch with plates of warm pizza. Bianca nestled in between as though it was her natural place in the world. She took small, satisfied bites, humming softly, her feet swinging above the rug. The domestic scene twisted something deep in his chest—a longing so acute it was almost painful. This was what he wanted, he realized. Not just for tonight, but for all his nights.

“Questa è la pizza più buona di sempre.” Bianca reached for another piece.

“She says it’s the best pizza she’s ever had,” Charlie said. “But she might be biased.”

“She helped make it.” Max caught Charlie’s gaze over Bianca’s head. “That’s a valid bias.” He wanted to say much more.You made this happen. You made us feel like a family.Instead, he asked her, “How does all this feel?”

“Like Christmas,” Charlie said. “But it’s okay.”

“I hope I’m not forcing all this on you.”

“I chose to meet you at the Christmas tree farm,” Charlie said, looking into his eyes. “I want to be here.”

No better words had ever been uttered in his presence. “Thank you. For being here. And for saying that.”

“You’re welcome.”

He wanted so badly to kiss her again, but it would not be right with little Bianca sitting between them. Regardless, the soft way she was looking at him gave him enough of what he needed from her.

When they finished eating, Max pulled a large plastic tub from the top shelf of his storage closet. Memories of past Christmases—some joyful, some bittersweet—were sealed inside.

“All right, ladies, bear with me while I figure out the lightsituation.” Max untangled the strands, fingers working through knots formed from hasty packing the previous January. He really should be better organized. His mother’s Christmas decorations were stacked neatly and labeled in plastic bins. Maybe this year he would do the same. If he were going to be Bianca’s father then he had to step up and be a full adult instead of the nomadic, fun-seeking man he’d been before he met Lucia in Italy.

He strung the lights all through the branches as evenly as possible. When the feeble tree had as many lights as it could handle, he stood back, ready to turn them on, but paused for a dramatic moment. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, yes,” Bianca said in English, bouncing on her toes.

He flipped the switch, hoping there were no bulbs that needed replacing. They were in luck. The lights shimmered in the dim room.

Bianca clapped. “Guarda come brilla!”Look how it sparkles!

Charlie had started to pull ornaments from the tub, exclaiming over a glass icon he’d picked up during his travel to Greece. “Max, you have some gorgeous pieces in here.” She held up a glass candy ornament he’d gotten when he visited Murano.

“That’s from my time in Venice,” Max said.

“Murano?” Charlie asked. “Where they make all the hand-blown glass?”

“That’s right. Every city I went to, I chose an ornament to come home with.”

He told them where each of his precious trinkets had come from. There was a ceramic windmill from the Netherlands and a small Eiffel Tower from Paris. A cuckoo clock from Switzerland and a miniature matryoshka, or nesting doll as it was known here, from Eastern Europe. Bianca loved the woolen sheep ornament from Ireland, holding it against her cheek before putting it on the tree.

When the bin was empty, Bianca pulled out her two new ornaments from their little brown bag. She held them up to admire them before asking if she could add them to the tree.

Max nodded and swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat, fighting the familiar burn behind his eyes. “Please do.”

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