Danielle Steel - Daddy

She was waiting for him in a white hostess gown. The house was decorated beautifully. It was in the Hollywood hills, on Spring Oak Drive. And it had the cozy look of an old farm. And she laughed and said it reminded her of Nebraska. There were rough-hewn floors, beam ceilings, and huge fireplaces, one at each end of the room, and in front of them huge, overstuffed couches. The kitchen was almost as big as the living room, with another fireplace and a cozy table set for two. And there was a Christmas tree blinking brightly in the corner. And upstairs there were two handsome bedrooms, one which was obviously hers, done in pink and flowered chintzes. The other a cheerful yellow guest room, where her parents stayed when they came, which she said wasn't often enough. It didn't have one-tenth the sophistication of Megan's penthouse in New York, but it had ten times the warmth, and he loved it.

She had chilled a bottle of white wine for him, and the turkey was roasting happily in the oven. She had made chestnut puree, mashed potatoes and yams, there were tiny peas, cranberry jelly, and lots of stuffing. And when they sat down to eat, it was a royal feast, which reminded him in a comfortable way of the Christmases he had shared at home with Sarah and, long before, his parents. He had expected to eat a pastrami sandwich in his office, or stop at Hamburger Hamlet on the way home. He had never expected this, or to be with Charlotte Sampson. It was as though she had fallen into his arms, like a gift from heaven. And as he sat down at the table, he put a small gift on the table for her. He had been so touched by her invitations that he had wanted to get her something nice for Christmas. And he had stopped at Cartier the day before to buy her a simple gold bangle. And she was deeply moved by it, and embarrassed that she hadn't gotten him a present.

“This is my gift, silly girl. A Christmas dinner right out of a fairy tale.” She looked pleased that it meant so much to him, and they chatted and laughed, and after dinner he used his credit card and called the kids at Sarah's. It was odd speaking to them, and not being there, but they sounded as though they were having fun. There was a lot of laughing and squealing and passing the phone around, and it wasn't even awkward when he talked to Sarah. He wished her well, and then got off the phone. He called his father, too, and his father sounded happier than he had in a long time. It was amazing, too, to realize that Sarah had left them exactly a year before. And he said as much to Charlotte. It was easy talking to her. And she had made mince and apple pie for dessert, which she smothered with whipped cream and hard sauce.

“Do you still miss her, Oliver?” she asked as they sat looking out at the view and finishing their Christmas dinner.

But he shook his head, honest with her. “Not anymore. It's weird even remembering being married to her. She seems like a stranger now, and I guess she is. But it was brutal at first. I really thought I wouldn't survive it. But I had to for the kids. I think they were what kept me going.” She nodded, it made sense to her. And she thought he was lucky to have them. “I guess we never wanted the same things, and I tried to ignore that for all those years. But she never forgot what she wanted.”

“Funny how sometimes that kind of persistence is a real virtue, and other times it's a real sin, isn't it?”

“In her case, I guess getting married was just a big mistake, but I'm glad we did, or we wouldn't have had the children.”

“They mean everything to you, Oliver, don't they?”

“They do,” he admitted to her, “maybe too much so. I haven't done much else with myself for the last year.” With the exception of Megan, and that had been a momentary aberration, a month of utter, total, and delicious madness.

“Maybe you needed the time to think, to figure out what you want now.”

“I suppose so. I'm not sure I have the answer to that yet, but maybe I don't need to figure that one out for the time being.” He smiled at her, and she poured him a delicious cup of steaming coffee. He felt as though he were going to explode, which was exactly what Christ- mas dinners were meant for. He was happy and sated, and totally enjoying being with this woman. He felt as though she had been made for him, except for the fact that she was Charlotte Sampson. “What about you?” He turned to her then. “Do you know what you're after, Charlotte?”

She grinned at him, “You know, I wish you'd call me Charlie. All my close friends do.” It was amazing to be considered one of them, but he had to admit that he liked the idea. “I always think of that at year end … where I'm going … where I want to be next year, and what I want to be doing. The same thing, I guess, as long as it works,” they both knew she meant the show, “and for the rest, whatever comes, whatever's right. I have my dreams, like everyone else, but a lot of them have come true already.” She seemed perfectly content with her life. She wasn't seeking, or striving, or wishing she had more than she did. “I'd love to be married and have kids one day, but if that's not in the cards, then I guess it was never meant to be. You can't make yourself crazy over things like that anyway, and they only happen if they're meant to.” She was strangely philosophical, and wonderfully peaceful.

He helped her clean up, and at ten o'clock they had another cup of coffee, and shortly before midnight, he drove her to Beverly Hills, to the Church of the Good Shepherd, and they sat very close to each other during the midnight service. It was exactly what it should have been, and at the end, with the lights, the trees and the incense, they all sang Christmas carols. It was one-thirty when they got out, and he drove her slowly home, feeling happy and warm and complete. So much so, he almost didn't miss the children.

He was going to drop her off when they got back, but when they got to her place, she suddenly looked at him strangely.

“I know this may sound weird to you, Oliver, but it's so lonely going home alone on Christmas Eve. Would you like to spend the night in my guest room?” They had met only two days before, and he had just shared Christmas with her, and now she was inviting him into her home, as a guest, not with the lust that Megan had shown, but with kindness and warmth and respect, and he suddenly wanted to stay more than anything in the world. He wanted to be with her, for tonight, for a week, for a year, maybe even for a lifetime.

“I'd love that, Charlie.” He leaned over and kissed her then, but it was a chaste, gentle kiss, and they walked into her house hand in hand, as she led him upstairs and turned the bed down. The room had a bathroom of its own, and she kept nightclothes and a robe for friends who stayed, and fussed over him like a mother hen, and then finally left him alone with a warm smile and a “Merry Christmas.” And he lay in her guest room bed for a long, long time, thinking of her and wanting to go to her, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to take advantage of her kindness now, and he lay there like a child wishing he could climb into bed with his mother, but not quite daring.

And when he awoke the next day, he could smell pancakes and sausages and hot coffee. He brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush she had left, shaved, and went downstairs in the robe, curious to see what she was up to.

“Merry Christmas, Oliver!” she called as he came through the kitchen door, and he smiled, watching her work, and two minutes later, she had a sumptuous breakfast ready. There were all the things he had smelled, and more, bacon, eggs, freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie. You may never get me out of here if you keep feeding me like this. This is some hotel you run.”