Page 49 of Christmas Treasures

They ate slowly, enjoying each bite, with Bianca chattering away in Italian. She told them about her old school in her nonna’s village and a boy she hated because he chased her around the playground. Then she asked about her school here. What would it be like and would she get to ride on a school bus as she’d seen in an American book?

Charlie went between translating for Max and answering Bianca in Italian. Strangely enough, they could all communicate quite effectively.

Max refilled their wineglasses. Bianca asked for a second garlic knot, which pleased Charlie. She was her father’s daughter after all. One of her ways she showed love was through cooking.

Halfway through dinner, Bianca looked up, her dark eyes curious, and asked in Italian why Charlie didn’t like Christmas.

Charlie’s hand stilled on her glass. She felt Max’s eyes on her.

She spoke back to her in Italian. “I used to love Christmas.” She hadn’t planned to share this, certainly not tonight, but something about the candlelight and the child’s innocent question made the words surface. “My parents died in December. My mother died on Christmas Eve when I was thirteen. My dad died in the middle of December a few yearsback.” She swallowed hard. “The holidays feel sad to me now.”

Bianca’s eyes widened with the solemn understanding that sometimes only children possess. “You miss them.”

“That’s right. So it’s been easier to not participate in Christmas,” Charlie said.

“Did your mama like Christmas?” Bianca asked.

Charlie flinched, startled by the question. “Yes. She loved Christmas.”

“Then she would want you to love it too. And be happy, not sad.” Bianca’s bottom lip trembled. “That’s what Nonna told me when I came to her house to live. But it’s not easy to be happy when you miss someone.”

Max reached across the table, his fingers brushing Charlie’s wrist. “You’re right, Bianca. But they’re not really gone because we can remember them. We carry them in our hearts.”

“You understood all that?” Charlie asked Max, surprised.

He nodded, shrugging one shoulder. “Enough.”

“The table would be full if they were all still here.” Bianca gestured to various spots around the table. “Mamma, Nonna. Your papa and mama. It would be like heaven.”

Charlie’s eyes filled. This child was wise beyond her years.

“Mamma wants me to be happy,” Bianca said. “She comes to visit me in my dreams and tells me it’s okay to laugh. I think your mama wants you to be happy too. She would want you to celebrate Christmas.”

“Building new memories,” Max said. “With us.”

Charlie looked across the table at his handsome face and warm eyes, and her stomach went all topsy-turvy.

With us.

Did he really mean that?

“We’ve already made a few,” Max said. “And tomorrow’sthe tree lighting in town. Maybe Bianca and I could take you?”

Charlie dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, touched to the core. “I would like that very much.”

They’d walkedout to the greenhouse just after dinner, the three of them bundled up once more. Bianca had been enchanted by the glass structure, running her small fingers over the frost-laced panes and peering inside as though she was glimpsing a secret world. Charlie had flipped on the little string of work lights above the potting table so Bianca could see the plants. The child had asked questions about everything—how things grew, what she’d plant next, if she could come back and help.

Now they were inside sitting before the gas fireplace in the front room. They’d started by watchingThe Polar Express,but Bianca’s eyes had closed about halfway through. Charlie had turned the television off, replacing it with music, surprising herself by choosing a Christmas station.

Fig was snoring on a blanket in front of the fire, his round belly rising and falling in time with the quiet rumble from his throat.

Charlie glanced at Max, who stared into the fire, a contemplative expression on his face. “You good?” Charlie asked.

Max moved his gaze to her. “Yeah. Relaxed. Full. Happy. Thank you for this.”

“It was my pleasure. I haven’t had many guests over since I moved here.”

“I hope you’ll invite us again.”

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