Page 53 of Christmas Is All Around
“You’re allowed to lean on people occasionally, you know,” he said, his voice calmer now. He slipped his hands beneath hers, gripping them, and then gently urged her up onto the couch next to him. She sat with her back against the arm of the sofa, her knees raised, and he leaned forward to rest his arm on her knees, the sort of casual,intimate gesture she had half forgotten about, after years of one-night stands, of refusing to allow anyone too close.
“The whole thing… spooked me, I guess. It made me question my own judgment, for a long time. And it made me really, really determined to never be a worry to anyone, ever again. To neverneedanyone. So I haven’t.”
“You were—what, twenty-four? Twenty-five?” At her nod, he continued, “I don’t think you need to swear off relationships for the rest of your life just because you dated one wanker when you were young.”
Charlotte laughed. “You soundedsoEnglish just then.”
“Do I have to remind you yet again thatI am?” But his dimple appeared in his cheek, and she knew he was trying not to smile, and she couldn’t help herself, and leaned up to kiss him. It was the sort of kiss that was warm, and comfortable, and not intended to lead to anything further—and it was the sort of kiss that she hadn’t had with someone since she was with Craig. Graham pulled back after a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with needing people, Lane,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes directly.
“I know,” she agreed, even though she wasn’t sure that she did. Or, rather, she knew it, academically, but still didn’tfeelit—for all that he made her want to believe it. Made her more nervous by the day, worrying that she was coming dangerously close to needinghim.
“For the record,” he added, his tone lighter now, “the fact that you’re an artist isn’t the most interesting thing about you.”
“I know,” she agreed seriously. “It’s the fact that I was inChristmas, Truly.”
He grinned. “Not that, either—though who among us can resist the plucky charms of…” He trailed off, his forehead wrinkling.
“Tallulah, you idiot!” she said, reaching for a throw pillow and whacking him on the shoulder with it. “It was filmed atyour houseand you’vestillnever seen it?”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, settling back against the sofa again; Charlotte leaned forward to wrap her arms around her knees. “That’ll change soon enough, if this film screening goes off.”
“If?” she repeated curiously.
“Eloise rang, just before you got here. We’ve only sold half the tickets.”
Charlotte frowned, then opened her mouth. Shut it again. Considered. And then said, slowly, “What if you told people that I was going to be there?”
Graham turned his head sharply. “No.”
“Why not?” Charlotte said, instantly defensive. “Youknowit would make more people sign up.”
“Because,” he said incredulously, “you’ve already been recognized byChristmas, Trulyfans multiple times since I met you—imagine how much worse it would be if we advertised your presence in advance!”
“But,” Charlotte said, in the interest of fairness, “none of them have really bothered me.” This was actually true, she realized—even the blonde, swearing woman at the lights switch-on had been basically harmless. She pointed this out to Graham now, but he still looked unconvinced.
“Are you forgetting the hysterical teenager in New York?”
Charlotte waved a dismissive hand. “But that was weeks ago now—I’m sure no one cares that much anymore—look.” She leaned down to scoop her phone off the coffee table, and pulled up Instagram, then tapped into her DMs. Graham leaned over her shoulder to watch. “This time a month ago, I got literallyhundredsof messages every day about thatVarietyarticle—not all of them insane, to be clear, but some definitely were. But let’s see how many I have today.” Another tap to her message requests. A quick scan showed that only a minority were related to the reboot—many more were simply tags from people sharing one of her posts, or reacting to one of her stories, or asking about her art, or even posting aboutChristmas, Trulyin general, butnot her current role as internet villain. The angry contingent was still there—but there were definitely fewer of them.
“See?” she said to him now. “It’s dying down. People are starting to move on—it’s the week before Christmas; they have better things to do than be mad about a failed reboot of a twenty-year-old movie.”
“A movie thatyou hate,” he reminded her. “Even if everyone who shows up to this event is perfectly kind, you still don’t like to be reminded of it.”
“No, but…” she began, and then trailed off, the words sticking in her throat.No, but I likeyou was what she’d wanted to say.Stillwanted to say.
She liked Graham more than she hatedChristmas, Truly.
She couldn’t say this to him, though—not when she’d just explained how she’d spent the past four years studiously avoiding all relationships. Not when she had that meeting on her calendar in New York, inching closer each day. Not when telling him that might make him think that she wasseriousabout this—that she wanted something more permanent, wanted to somehow figure out the logistics of a long-distance, international relationship.
Not when she’d worked so hard to build her own life in New York, separate from anything to do with her family, or that movie, or anything that wasn’thers.
Even though the more time she spent with Graham, the more she wondered if perhaps that life was starting to feel a bit small.
Instead, she simply said, “But I don’t want you to lose your house, Graham,” and his expression softened, and she knew she had him. And so she reached out, and kissed him again, and distracted them both enough that neither of them could spend much time thinking about the fact that something between them had shifted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
London ten days before Christmas was hell.
