That’s what had always made Charlotte wonder if losing her child had been an excuse, or the cause. And the hard part was that she’d never know why; all she knew was that as a child she’d gone to school one day, and when she’d returned, she’d no longer had a mother. It had been akin to someone dying.
Whatever the reason, I just wish I’d had the chance to ask you why.
Charlotte hadn’t forgiven her mother so much as accepted what had happened so that she could make peace with her life, and she didn’t know whether she’d ever come back to visit hergrave again, but she was pleased that she’d chosen to come today. As she stood, looking down one last time, Charlotte reached into her pocket to take out her phone and call her father.
‘Hey, Dad,’ she said, when he answered.
‘I’m just heading in to see a patient, so I might have to call you back,’ he said. ‘Unless something’s wrong?’
She smiled into the phone. ‘Nothing’s wrong, I just…’ Charlotte took a breath. ‘I’m at the cemetery. I wanted to see Mum’s gravestone, and I noticed that someone has been tending the garden around it and keeping it clean.’
Charlotte waited, the silence deafening as she hoped he would say something.
‘You said something to me when you first came home, about worrying that you’d never have been able to forgive yourself if you hadn’t come back for her funeral, even after everything. It made me realise that no matter how much she hurt us all, she was still your mother, and I wondered if I might not be able to forgive myself for not doing that one thing for you.’
She smiled into the phone. She’d known in her heart it was her dad, but she’d needed to hear him say it.
‘Thanks, Dad, it means a lot.’
‘I’ll see you Sunday for lunch?’ he asked.
‘You will. See you then.’
Charlotte slid her phone back into her pocket and tilted her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth on her skin. The last few months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been worth it. Reconnecting with her father, spending time with her grandmother and having the privilege of hearing Amalie’s story, and even the time she’d spent with Harrison; she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Because as much as he’d hurt her, and as reluctant as she would be to ever let anyone close like that again, it had shown her that she could. She could fall in love, she couldopen her heart, and she could mend relationships that she’d thought were well beyond repair.
She began walking back to her car, glancing back once and wishing she had somewhere to go to remember Amalie. But her grandmother hadn’t yet decided where they should bury or scatter Amalie’s ashes, so for now they were tucked safely away in a cupboard.
With that in mind, she hurried the rest of the way and drove as quickly as she could back to her grandmother’s house. She’d spent longer than she’d intended to at the cemetery, and now she would be late for work if she didn’t hurry.
Charlotte was in the kitchen working alongside her team later that night, on what had turned out to be a very busy Friday, when her sous chef nudged her with his elbow. She glanced up, thinking he’d bumped her by accident. But she could see from the creases on his forehead that it was intentional. They were already under a lot of pressure with some of the kitchen staff having called in sick, so she knew that it must have been important for him to interrupt her.
‘Chef, I think you might know the guest at the table. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he arrived.’
Charlotte turned to look at the chef’s table, not having seen anyone being seated. Usually, she greeted the guests and explained the menu to them, all part of the exclusive experience she’d created by having the table in the kitchen, but with her having to help with service, she simply hadn’t had the chance yet. It had been a real night, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.
But her heart almost stopped when her eyes landed on the table, and she was thankful she wasn’t holding a knife, as shemight have sliced her hand. Because there at the table she’d once shared with him, was Harrison; sitting on his own, positioned to face into the kitchen. And her sous chef had been right—he was most definitely staring at her, and it took all her willpower not to stare straight back at him.
‘Thank you,’ she said, nodding to the younger chef. ‘Can you take over here, please?’
‘If he’s making you feel uncomfortable?—’
‘It’s fine, thank you for being so thoughtful. You were right about us knowing each other. I’ll only be a minute.’
Charlotte wiped her hands clean and took a deep breath. She didn’t have time to check her appearance and her skin was slick with sweat from the heat in the kitchen, and she hoped she looked presentable. This was certainly not how she’d imagined a reunion between them might go.
The short walk from her station to the table felt unbearable, especially when she could feel Harrison’s eyes on her, but she held her head high, trying her best to look far more confident than she felt.
‘Chef,’ one of the servers said, dashing into her path and leaning close. It was their job to tell her the names of the guests at her table before she introduced herself. ‘One guest tonight, his name is?—’
‘Harrison,’ she said for her, their voices low given how close they were to the table. ‘We’re already acquainted. Did he book the table for one, or is he expecting company?’
‘Yes, he booked it for one. He’s the architect of the hotel, so maybe he wanted to see what it was like dining here? We should have had him flagged in our booking system as a VIP, I don’t know how?—’
‘Please don’t worry, I’m almost certain he wouldn’t have said anything when he booked the table,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
The cost of booking the chef’s table was enormous; a hefty price tag befitting the personalised service and carefully curated menu, and certainly too expensive for one person. When she’d seen him sitting there, Charlotte had imagined he might be here with friends, that Louisa and Luke might have convinced him to come back for a holiday with them since she’d known how much they loved Norway. But clearly that wasn’t the case—the table was only set for one.
‘Harrison,’ Charlotte said as she approached the table. ‘Welcome to our chef’s table.’
