Page 48 of Christmas Treasures

Charlie lit the last of the candles just as headlights swept across the front windows. Her stomach fluttered—more nerves than excitement—but she didn’t have time to dissect it. She’d invited Max and Bianca for dinner before she could talk herself out of it. She hadn’t seen them since the cookie party two days before, and she found she missed them more than she’d thought possible.

She’d dressed comfortably in a red cashmere sweater and loose jeans and left her hair down. Max had mentioned how much he liked it down, and for some dumb reason, that had been forefront in her mind as she dried her hair and put on her makeup.

Her father’s baked ziti was in the oven. Garlic knots were rising on the counter. A winter salad waited in the refrigerator. The house smelled good. Like home. Why did it always smell better when one cooked for someone else?

She opened the door before Max could knock. And there he was, grinning at her, looking like a hero in a country song. Bianca stood beside him, bundled in her coat and hat, smiling shyly at her.

“Hey, guys.” She backed out of the way to let them inside her foyer. “Welcome.”

They stepped inside, shrugging off coats and stomping snow from their boots onto the floor mat. “I brought wine.” Max held up a bottle to show her.

“I made this for you.” Bianca said it in slow, careful English, clearly having practiced. She held out a folded piece of paper. Charlie crouched to take it, unfolding a drawing of the three of them standing in front of a crooked Christmas tree, cookies scattered at their feet and hearts floating above their heads.

Charlie’s throat tightened. “I love it. Can I hang it on my fridge?”

Bianca nodded, beaming, before glancing around the living room, her brow furrowing slightly, and asked in Italian, “How come you don’t have Christmas here?”

Charlie felt her smile falter for just a moment before she recovered. “I don’t have decorations. But I have lots of food. Are you hungry? I made something special.” A soft thump interrupted them as Fig padded into the room, tail high, his green eyes surveying the newcomers like royalty assessing guests.

“A cat,” Bianca gasped, immediately crouching.

“That’s Fig,” Charlie said.

Fig blinked once, then walked straight to Bianca and rubbed against her knees with surprising affection.

“He’s not usually so friendly.” Leave it to Fig to be sweet when she really needed him to.

“Hello, Fig,” Bianca said in English.

“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked.

Bianca nodded. “Yes.” Also in English. Charlie praised her for learning so many new words.

“Smells fantastic,” Max said. “I’m starving.”

“Everything’s pretty much ready,” Charlie said. “I thoughtwe could eat at the fancy table tonight since I have special guests.”

As Charlie led them into the formal dining room, Fig trailed behind, brushing once against Max’s leg before hopping onto the buffet to watch the show. His preferred observation post.

Bianca exclaimed over the room. “Pretty.” Also in English.

Charlie gazed at the space she’d decorated so carefully. Pale blue-gray paneling covered the walls. Tall windows were dressed in cream curtains. The table was long and solid, with a warm wood surface. She’d only set three places tonight, though she could easily have hosted eight or more. At the time, she’d felt silly ordering such a large table, but who knew what the future held? The chairs were graceful, with light blue cushions and lattice backs, their style more timeless than trendy. For whatever reason, they’d reminded her of her mother.

A rug softened the room’s edges, and above the table, a brass chandelier dangled over a single large vase placed in the center of the table, overflowing with delicate white blossoms. More like an Easter setting than Christmas. There were no garlands, no twinkle lights, no holly or pine. For the first time, seeing it through the eyes of a child, Charlie realized how sad it must seem. How sad it was.

She handed Max the wine opener. “If you want to open that bottle, I’ll dish up dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Max grinned at her. “Whatever you’re dishing up, make mine a large portion.”

In the kitchen, Charlie ladled generous scoops of baked ziti onto three stoneware plates. The pasta was bubbling and golden at the edges, the scent of garlic and slow-simmered tomatoes curling up in the warm air. She added a second slice of garlic bread to Max’s plate.

She plated the salad next, dark greens tossed with roastedpecans, dried cranberries, and thin slivers of pear, all drizzled in maple vinaigrette.

Before she could carry everything to the table, Max arrived, asking if he could help. She asked him to bring the salads and followed behind with the plates of pasta and bread.

Max suggested they say a prayer before eating, which they did, heads bowed as he thanked the Lord for good food and new friends.

Then they dug in.

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