Chapter 3

Charlotte stared at the house nestled on the outskirts of Winter River, the frosted Rockies rising up behind it, and knew she was in trouble.

The Berry home was a complete nightmare.

Oh, it was lovely—large and warm and inviting, its exterior all mountain logs and stone, with a wraparound porch and snow-covered roof. Christmas lights were everywhere—a soft golden glow draping from the eaves, lining the huge windows, and curling around banisters. There were wreaths and electric candles and evergreens in the yard coated in lights, luminarias sparkling along the snowy walk.

It was the picture of a perfect mountain Christmas.

Which was going to be a problem.

For the past two weeks, Charlotte had done her level best to avoid catastrophe, mostly staying in her apartment and working on arrangements for their tour, or taking a Lyft to Elle's place for rehearsal. No subways. No walks down obstacle-laden Manhattan sidewalks. Whenever her colleagues had chatted about their impending trip to Colorado, Charlotte had just smiled and zipped her bow over her strings to get them all back on track. Last night, she'd packed methodically in her largest suitcase, choosing all of her warmest black sweaters and tops, her highest-quality jeans, as well as her concert wear for Europe—all black, of course. She knew where she was going. She knew the trip was occurring over Christmas, and she knew Sloane's family was very into the holiday.

And yet.

Nothing could've quite prepared her for the scene in front of her—a home, complete with a loving mother standing on the porch in welcome, a dog at her side. Charlotte stood frozen with what felt like one of those Christmas wreaths tightening around her throat, the door to their Lyft XL still hanging open behind her.

"Hi, my loves!" Sloane's mother—Nina—called out from the porch.

Loves .

Like they were all her children. Of course, Charlotte had met Nina and Raymond Berry before. Though divorced, they were still close and had come to New York together several times over the last few years, so Charlotte already knew Nina was a very involved mom who cried at nearly every Rosalind Quartet performance—so did Raymond, for that matter—but this was different than a dinner out after a concert.

This was the Berry house. A home . A place Charlotte didn't belong and didn't even know how to look at without feeling like she was twelve years old again—fourteen, seventeen, twenty—running over the sandy path from her place to the Fairbrook house, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as she walked through the back door without knocking.

Home .

"Welcome!" Nina said as she started down the snow-cleared steps.

Charlotte shook her head, clearing out the sticky memories, and focused on what was right in front of her. She could do this. She was excellent at focus, at homing in on what really mattered.

The tour.

Music.

Her colleagues.

"You okay?" Sloane said softly, appearing next to her.

Charlotte blinked, then smiled as she closed the car door and adjusted her black hat over her ears to block out the cold. "Of course."

And she was. There had been no major mishaps on the flight or on the twisty ride to Winter River from the Colorado Springs Airport, despite her history of motion sickness. Her luggage hadn't been lost, her violin had survived its own journey in the plane's overhead compartment, and she hadn't even spilled her tiny plastic cup of tomato juice during the flight's turbulence.

Yes, she was just fine, kicking December's ass more than halfway through the month.

"Snickerdoodle, no!" Nina shouted when she was about ten feet away from the group. Her dog—a lovely black labradoodle with short curly hair and a sweet face—broke away from his owner and lumbered toward…

Charlotte.

Before she could even react, a pair of paws loomed in her vision and planted themselves on her chest. She let out a surprised "Oof!" as her back hit the car's cold metal side.

Snow and mud from Snickerdoodle's paws coated her black wool peacoat.

"Oh my god, Snick!" Sloane said, tugging at the monster's collar. "Get off, you idiot."

"I'm so sorry," Nina said, hurrying toward them. She had short silver hair that framed her pale face and wore a Christmas sweater with so many sparkly bits and bobs, Charlotte wasn't sure where to focus. "He never does that."

"It's okay," Charlotte managed to say between Snickerdoodle's licks. She laughed, cupping the dog's face between her hands.

"You've got a new best friend," Nina said, laughing as she joined in tugging at Snickerdoodle's collar.

It took both Berrys to get the dog off Charlotte, but he finally relented, settling at her feet and staring up at her with, well, puppy-dog eyes, like he expected her to give him a treat for the minor assault he'd just inflicted on her.

Charlotte brushed off her coat, but that only made a bigger mess of the snow-and-mud mixture.

Score one point for December.

"We'll get that dry-cleaned, dear," Nina said, gathering Charlotte in her arms despite the mess. "I've got plenty of winter gear you can borrow in the meantime."

"Thanks," Charlotte said, going a little stiff, but trying not to show it. Nina smelled like cinnamon and butter.

Nina patted Charlotte's cheek and moved on to Manish, who picked Nina up in a bear hug and twirled her around. Charlotte watched him, Elle too, both of them so easy with parents not their own. So easy with everyone.

"Is Deli here yet?" Sloane asked once her mom had finally greeted everyone.

Nina shook her head. "About twenty minutes behind you, give or take. She's bringing a friend too, so we'll have a full house."

Sloane lifted a brow. "Like a friend or a friend?"

Nina laughed. "A friend. She assures me. Though I do need to talk to you about—"

"Mom, god, no. At least let us get in the door and get a drink before Operation Marry Off My Daughters commences, will you?"

Nina's mouth snapped shut.

Charlotte tilted her head at Sloane. "Your sister's name is Deli?"

Nina brightened at that, cackling like it was some sort of joke, but Sloane's mirthful expression fell. Charlotte realized right then that she should know the answer to her own question, that Sloane had most certainly mentioned her older sister's name to Charlotte in the past, probably more than once, and Deli was some sort of nickname. In this moment, though, Charlotte couldn't remember for what.

"They've called each other silly nicknames their whole lives," Nina said. "Adele calls Sloane here Noni. When her sister was born, Adele was only eighteen months old, and she couldn't say Sloane's name correctly until she was around four. By then, Noni had stuck."

"Adele," Charlotte said, closing her eyes. That was right, she remembered now, though too little, too late. Sloane had turned and busied herself emptying out the back of the SUV so they could release their poor Lyft driver.

Soon, suitcases and instruments littered the front walk, and Charlotte was eager to get inside, get a moment to herself in her room, but as soon as their car made it down the drive, another one appeared, this one a silver sedan.

"Oh, that'll be Adele," Nina said, lifting her arm and waving. The driver honked the horn. "God, what was her friend's name again?"

"I can't keep her girlfriends straight," Sloane said.

"No, no, this isn't a girlfriend," Nina said. "I told you. A friend only . Just like Adele, always taking care of people down on their luck."

"Oh?" Manish said.

"Yes, this one's a musician like you all, though Nashville-style, you know? Guitars and moody lyrics, I believe." Nina laughed. "Her name's unusual too." She folded her arms against the icy air as the car came to a stop. "Something like Leighton or Crighton…No, that's not it…"

Snickerdoodle leaned heavily against Charlotte, and she found she didn't mind. His weight was nice—grounding—and her hand smoothed over his head as she watched Sloane hurry around to the car's driver's side and open the door. A woman stepped out, and she and Sloane hugged. They were nearly the same height, but didn't look much alike beyond that. Adele's skin was a shade darker, and she wore her hair in braids, while Sloane's was all natural curls. Adele had glasses on and wore a navy peacoat unbuttoned over a collared shirt and jeans with brown boots.

A flurry of Berry hugs started again, such a cacophony of laughing and questions that, at first, Charlotte didn't notice the second woman who had stepped out of the car's passenger seat. Long dark hair, a red-and-white plaid coat, a leather satchel across her body. She stood oddly, with one booted foot half-propped on the inside of her other ankle. Charlotte narrowed her eyes, her heart stuttering to a near stop.

Only one person she knew had ever stood like that.

And that person was staring straight at her, eyes wide, mouth open in a tiny pink circle.

"Brighton!" Nina announced in triumph as she released Adele and pointed at the woman over the car's hood. "That's it—that's your name."

Adele's friend shook her head, her throat moving in a hard swallow. Then she laughed. "It…it is. How are you, Ms. Berry?"

"Oh my goodness, call me Nina."

Charlotte stood frozen, her fingers curling into Snickerdoodle's fur, staring as Nina pulled the woman into her arms. Charlotte blinked, waiting for the scene to change, to wake up, anything.

But no. A pair of dark eyes met hers over Nina's shoulder. Eyes she hadn't seen in five years and never, ever wanted to see again.