“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.”

She laughed happily at him. “I'm glad you like it, sir.

And then, without warning, he leaned over and kissed her. But this time the kiss was more fervent than he had dared to let it be the night before. And when she pulled away at last, they were both more than a little breathless. “My, my, Oliver, that's quite a good morning.”

“It's in keeping with the quality of the breakfast.” He took two bites of the eggs, and then reached for her again, suddenly unable to stay away from her any longer. She was too good to be true, and he was afraid she'd disappear before his very eyes if he didn't grab her.

“Be a good boy, Oliver,” she scolded with a smile, “eat your breakfast.”

“I'm not sure what I want more,” he suddenly grinned like a kid in a toy shop at Christmas, “this breakfast, or you.” He looked up at her again with a broad smile. “For the moment, you're winning.”

“Behave yourself, or Santa won't bring you anything. Eat up.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Actually, he still thought Santa had put her in his stocking, and the studio head had been right, without makeup, with her hair pulled back, fresh-faced and clean, she looked absolutely gorgeous in the morning.

And after they were through, she disappeared, and came back with a little blue velvet box and set it down next to him, She had remembered it after church late the night before, and now she watched him open it with pleasure. It was a beautiful antique pocket watch, with a smooth, elegant face and roman numerals, and he stared at it in amazement.

“It was my grandfather's, Ollie … do you like it?”

“I love it! But you can't give me something like this!” He hardly knew her. What if he were a rotter or a cad, or she never saw him again. It didn't seem right, but as he tried to give it back to her, she refused to take it.

“I want you to have it. You're a very special man, and for me, this has been a very special Christmas. I told you, I always go home every year and this year I couldn't. And with all the people I know, there was no one I wanted to spend Christmas with here, except you … that says a lot … so that's for you … hang on to it … and remember this Christmas.”

He felt tears in his eyes as he looked up to thank her, and instead he pulled her closer to him, and he kissed her even more gently this time. She tasted of orange juice and pancakes and sausages, and smelled of lavender and violets, and he wanted to hold her for a lifetime.

“I'm crazy about you, Charlie,” he whispered. “Does that make any sense to you after three days? … excuse me, four now.” They had met on Thursday, and it was now Monday.

“No,” she whispered back, “and it scares me to death … but that's how I feel too, and I love it.”

“What are we going to do, acting like two crazy kids? I just met you, and I'm falling in love with you. And you're a famous television star, what the hell are you doing with me? What is this all about?”

“I don't know,” she looked pensive and almost sad, “but being on TV doesn't have anything to do with it. I know that much. I think we're just two people who met at the right time. We were just very lucky.”

“Is that what it is?” Or was it more than that? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Was it lust, or loneliness? Whatever it was, it was wonderful, and at least they could talk about it like their own private secret.

“Do you want to come home with me so I can change?” he asked, smiling.

She nodded happily. It was Christmas Day, and afterward she would take him to her friends', and after that she would cook dinner for him again. She wanted it never to end, never to change, never to stop, and so did Ollie. He just wanted to be with her, and he waited while she dressed and then drove her back to his house in Bel Air. Agnes was off for the weekend, and he showed her around, showed her the kids' rooms, showed her ten thousand photographs they had brought from New York, and sat like two children themselves, for hours, poring over all of them, while he explained what was what and who was where.

“They're beautiful, Oliver.”

“So are you,” he whispered hoarsely, and kissed her again. He wasn't sure how long he could restrain himself. He wanted her so much, and she was so wonderful, just sitting there next to him, on the couch. “Want to sit by the pool for a while?” It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and maybe he wouldn't leap on her if he took her outside. He wanted to hold back, to wait, until they were both sure it was right. And they lay side by side in the sun, talking again, for a long time. There seemed to be so much to say, so much to learn, so much to explain and understand about each other.