Page 34 of Christmas Is All Around
“Wow,” she said, as soon as she walked in. “This looks like a kitchen in a magazine.” It really did: there were cabinets painted a gorgeous navy blue, fitted with brass hardware; a black-and-white tiled floor; beautiful, retro-looking appliances; a copper light fixture casting a warm glow above the marble-topped kitchen island, which currently featured an assortment of liquors, liqueurs, and mixers.
“It’s because hesold his soul to work for the capitalist pigs,” Eloise said dramatically. Charlotte thought about Graham’s coldly logical decision to pursue a specific line of work in order to support Eden Priory, partly to ensure that his sisters didn’t have to, and had to bite her lip to hold back a retort. This wasn’t her family—wasn’t her fight. And Graham wasn’t hers to protect.
“Says the woman whose greatest dream is to open a florist’s shop and sell flowers to posh people in Richmond,” Jess said dryly from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, cross-legged in her chair, a half-full coupe of champagne in her hand.
“Rude,” Eloise said.
“It’s because I love to cook,” Graham said patiently to Charlotte. “So I spent my entire renovation budget on a single room.”
“Mystifying,” Charlotte said, and he flashed a grin at her. “All I need in my kitchen is an air fryer so that my leftover take-out fries can be reheated properly.”
Eloise brandished a bottle of champagne in Charlotte’s direction. “Bubbly?”
“Why not?” Charlotte said. She turned to face Graham, who was peeling a lemon to create lemon twists. “This is fancy.”
He glanced up at her, his hands still busy. He was still wearing his appalling Christmas sweater—of course—but the sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms. There was a battered watch on one wrist that looked as though it had seen a few generations of use. “I told you, we take drunk Christmas seriously.”
“Hence starting with champagne, despite the fact that we’re all about to be drinking large quantities of liquor?”
“Precisely.” He set down the peeler, reached for a knife, and began slicing an orange. There was something oddly mesmerizing about watching the movement of his hands, which was so assured. Oh no—she had a competence kink. She knew this about herself. Did slicing citrus fruits count for this kink? She wouldn’t have thought so, but the fact that she couldn’t tear her eyes from him indicated otherwise.
Eloise handed her a champagne coupe.
“Where’s Leo?” Charlotte asked, leaning back against the counter.
“Picking up the curries,” he replied, eyes on the task before him. “And Lizzie’s on her way.”
“Correction!” came a voice from the other room. “Lizzie is here!”
Charlotte turned to see the erstwhile Cindy-Lou Who from the Christmas lights switch-on entering the kitchen; Graham dropped his knife and crossed the kitchen to take the reusable Waitrose bagshe clutched in her arms. She was wearing an oversized Christmas sweater featuring—Charlotte did a double take to confirm—a bunch of dancing skeletons in Santa hats and an elf emerging from a coffin.
“Lizzie, this is Charlotte—Charlotte, Lizzie’s my youngest sister.”
“Hello,” Charlotte said, a bit wary in light of the expression of undisguised curiosity on Lizzie’s face.
“Nice to meet you,” Lizzie said simply, and Charlotte—who had been halfway expecting some sort of interrogation—breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re the one who’s an artist, right? Graham mentioned it. I’d love to buy you a coffee sometime and pick your brain about making a living in the arts.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, flattered; it was always a strange, novel pleasure whenever someone was impressed by her art career, rather than vaguely amused by it, as had always been the case in her family. “Nice sweater.”
Lizzie glanced down at it. “It’s my protest sweater, because Halloween is clearly superior to Christmas, and I want this party moved to October.”
“Halloween doesn’t have the rightflavorsfor festive cocktails,” Eloise protested, and Jess rolled her eyes; this was clearly a long-standing family debate.
“It does,” Lizzie insisted with a frown. “You’re just unimaginative.”
“Your feedback has been taken into consideration, as always,” Graham said, ruffling his sister’s hair. She directed her scowl at him.
There was more commotion from the other room, and in another moment Leo entered the kitchen, his arms full of takeaway containers and in the midst of some sort of monologue about the environmental impact of takeaway.
“I’ll reuse the containers,” Graham said, “so long as you stop whingeing now and actually let us eat in peace.”
“I’ll agree,” Leo said, nodding seriously as though they weretaking some sort of solemn oath together, “only because I want us to eat before it gets cold, because based on previous years’ experience with this event, it’s best not done on an empty stomach.” He looked at Charlotte, assessing. “I hope you’re up to this. You’re a bit small.”
Charlotte drained her glass of champagne. “I once drank my college boyfriend under the table, and he was ten inches taller than me.”
Leo considered her for a long moment, then turned to look at Graham, who was now plating the food.
“What are you doing?” Graham asked, not looking up from the container in his hands.
