Page 70 of Christmas Is All Around
He also stopped in his tracks when he saw her, then slowly advanced, like someone approaching an unfamiliar cat they were afraid would start hissing if they attempted to pet it.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi,” she said, affecting an air of breezy unconcern that probably would have been more convincing if she hadn’t been wearing sweatpants and carrying a basket that currently contained only a bottle of merlot and a carton of the Cornish ice cream brand she’d become unfortunately obsessed with. She was acutely conscious of the fact that this seemed to practically scream,I am heartbroken and pathetic!, which was a message she generally went to great lengths to avoid conveying, but shewasfeeling, if not precisely heartbroken (or at least not that she would admit), at the very least extremely heart-bruised, and the fact that she had willingly left the house in sweatpants seemed to be all the evidence necessary in the “pathetic or not?” debate.
She was also feeling slightly terrified, because it had been four days since their argument on Christmas Eve, and she’d screened no fewer than five phone calls from him, and even more texts. Her conversations with Ava and Padma had given her a lot to think about—she’d lifted her phone to text him a number of times, and then set it down again, too nervous to follow through. Too unsure, still, of what she wanted to say to him. But now, the decision had been taken out of her hands, because here he was, with his rumpled hair and dark circles under his eyes, watching her with a combination of wariness and hope that made something in her chest ache.
“How have you been?” he asked, which was very polite but which she found extremely annoying because when, from the first moment of their very first meeting, had she and Graham ever been particularly polite to each other? To hear him now, attempting to exchange pleasantries with her in the grocery store like they were friendly neighbors, was depressing.
“Not great,” she said; the fact that she was wearing sweatpants and a pullover that Alice had drooled copiously on that morning made the truth of that reply abundantly clear. She suddenly wondered, somewhat wildly, when she’d last washed her hair, then decided that this simply was not a thing she was going to worry about right now.
After a moment of sudden, surprised silence, though, Graham did the most remarkable thing:
He smiled.
She’d forgotten how much she loved that smile.
“Me either,” he said, which Charlotte could tell, of course, but which it was still nice to hear confirmed. He took a step forward, and reached out a hand as if to extend it toward her, but then stopped, clearly realizing the mistake that this would be. “Lane—Charlotte—” he started, and then he stopped, looking at her almost helplessly,and she realized that this might be the first time she’d ever seen him struggle for words. “I’m so, so sorry. I was an idiot, and I just want you to know that I know it, and that I’m an ass, and that you deserve someone who wouldn’t try to use your name to sell a few extra tickets to a goddamn film screening. I know how much you didn’t want to risk getting hurt again, and I hurt you all the same, and I hate that—because you deserve better.”
But the thing, Charlotte realized in that instant, was that shedidknow this—in no small part because of him. Because he’d told her that, shown her that, over the past five weeks. He’d made a mistake… but he was human. And hadn’t she told him, more than once, that this was okay?
She stood there, silent for a long moment, failing to respond in a remotely socially acceptable way to anything he’d just said to her, because she was so floored by this realization.
While she was busy having minor epiphanies, however, he was apparently determined to say the rest of what he had to say—the reason he’d approached her in this grocery store. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen for a moment before glancing back up at her.
“The last thing I need you to know,” he said, taking a step closer and dropping his voice a bit, making this entire conversation feel, suddenly, almost unbearably intimate, “is that, from the moment I met you, I wanted to know you foryou. Not for any other reason.” He extended his phone, and Charlotte glanced down at the screen. It was a text exchange between him and Eloise, from a few weeks before. She quickly did some mental math—it would have been the day after they’d seen each other at Kew Gardens.
Eloise: you and charlotte looked cosy last night
Eloise:
Graham: Not taking any questions from you along those lines.
Eloise: don’t be boring. she seems nice!
Graham: She is.
Graham: Please don’t fuck this up, E.
Graham: I like her. So please, please do not say a single thing to her, ever about anything to do with Eden Priory, or the film. I don’t want her to ever feel like we’re using her.
Eloise: because you want to USE HER in other ways
Eloise: is this the first time you have EVER told me that you like someone?? jesus
Graham: Please.
Eloise: anything for young love!
Graham: I regret this conversation already.
Eloise: i can’t tell you how happy i am to hear it
She glanced up at him, not bothering to control whatever expression was on her face, and saw that he was watching her closely.
“It was never about Eden Priory, when it came to you and me,” he said in a low voice, his gaze locked with hers. “It was always more. And I thought you should know that.” He pocketed his phone again. “I’m heading back down to Hampshire tonight, to spend time with my mum and sisters. We’ve a lot to talk about, I think—and it’s because of you that I’m able to have those conversations, and if nothing else ever happens between us, I’ll always be so grateful to you for that.” He reached down to pick up his basket again, and then glanced back at her. “But if you’re around on New Year’s Eve… well, you’ll know where to find me. And there’s no one else I’d rather see that night—or ever again, I think.”
And, with that, he turned and walked away.
