Page 27 of Christmas Is All Around
“From what I’ve gathered from the time Eloise made me watch anentire season ofSex and the City, you wave down one of those absurd yellow taxis.”
“Exactly how many pieces of media did your sisters force you to watch?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Were you ever allowed to leave the house, or did they keep you chained to the sofa?”
“Thank you for your concern—no one appreciates how I’ve suffered.” He offered a mournful shake of his head, and Charlotte refused to reward him with a laugh, despite having to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent it.
Instead, she asked, “Would Wednesday work for Sloane Square? I have a meeting with my assistant tomorrow and I’m in mince pie hell today, but Wednesday is free.”
“Mince pies?” She could practicallyseehis ears perk up. This was mystifying. She was honestly beginning to think that there was something badly wrong with the entire population of this island.
“Yes,” she said darkly. “John is insisting that we make them. I’ve taken to the bottle to cope.”
“You’re drinking at eleven in the morning because of mince pies?”
“They’re disgusting.”
He looked as outraged as if she’d just insulted a member of his family. “They’re fucking not!”
She closed her eyes wearily. “Jesus. What is wrong with you people?”
“You’ve never had a proper one,” he said confidently. “There’s no chance you’d think they’re disgusting if you’d had a good one.”
“I do not believe that such a thing exists.”
“I’m going to arrange to have you deported.”
“Please don’t tease me with false promises. I could be in the States in eight hours and have a decent taco for dinner.” She sighed dreamily. “Maybe I’ll call immigration on myself.”
His mouth curved up then, his eyes gleaming as he looked ather, and she felt something warm unfurling in her stomach, the odd sensation that the air between them had come alive. Perhaps this accounted for the fact that she then said the first thing that sprang to mind, without pausing to consider, and that thing was:
“Why don’t you come in?”
Which is how, somehow, she ended up spending the rest of her morning drinking an entire bottle of prosecco and making mince pies withGraham Calloway.
“Hello,” Ava said, glancing up from her attempt to quiet her offspring by shoving a spoon in her mouth, and then doing a legitimate double take when she realized who Charlotte had just led into the kitchen. “What adelightfulsurprise.”
“I stopped by to ask your sister a question but feel obliged to step in and help defend the culinary reputation of my country,” he said, leaning over to examine Alice’s banana-covered, scowling face. (Charlotte personally thought he was quite brave to willingly come into such close contact with her, given her penchant for unexpected flailing fists.)
“Do you want to help?” John asked brightly, sounding delighted by the prospect, given the decided lack of enthusiasm of the other current occupants of the house—namely: outright disdain (Charlotte), mild disinterest (Ava), conspicuous absence (Simone, who was occupied by some sort of complicated nail-and-skin-care routine in their flat upstairs), and, of course, somewhat resentful ignorance (Alice).
“I’d love to,” Graham said, with a smug smile at Charlotte.
“He’s going to give you an appalling apron,” Charlotte said, leaning her hip against the counter and trying not to enjoy the sight of Graham in this familiar domestic setting, surrounded by her family.
“The more appalling, the better,” Graham said brazenly, though he did falter somewhat when John eagerly handed him an apron thatsaidMaking Spirits Bright!in horrifying mommy-blogger script, with an image of martini glasses clinking directly beneath the words.
“Famous last words,” Charlotte said cheerfully, then reached for the prosecco bottle. “Bubbles?”
“No,” Graham said somberly. “I need to focus on my craft.”
“That’s the spirit!” John said happily. “It’s nice to have a man in the kitchen with me—these ladies, god love them, don’t know their way around a rolling pin.”
“Perhaps we should just wait for Kit to come home and have him help you instead,” Ava offered, now trying to clean Alice’s face with a wet wipe while Alice attempted to launch herself out of her high chair.
John grimaced, then hastily hitched his smile back into place. “Kit’s a good lad, but he is a bit… overenthusiastic in the kitchen.” No one could argue with this assessment.
Charlotte, resigned to the fact that she was not going to be able to escape this activity entirely now that Graham was here, busied herself setting out the ingredients John requested, so that nothing involving actual culinary skill was asked of her. This seemed a satisfactory arrangement for everyone—John and Graham were conferring in serious tones about the desired thickness of the pastry, and Ava was humming tunelessly to Alice while topping up her glass of prosecco. Charlotte drifted toward her sister.
“I talked to Mom yesterday,” she said, reaching out to stroke a careful finger down Alice’s impossibly soft, fuzzy head, then neatly dodging Alice’s attempt to smear her with a bit of banana she’d secreted away in a tiny fist.
