Page 73 of Christmas Is All Around
Kit kissed her hand. “But of course, mysterious lady,” and he led her onto the dance floor. Charlotte watched them walk away and be absorbed into the crowd of dancers, before she allowed herself to turn and look.
She spotted him almost instantly. He was at the far end of the room, arms crossed, face hidden by a simple black half mask that emphasized the sharp line of his jaw. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, she realized. It made her feel a little unsteady, when she was preparing for a declaration of—ofsomething, of a feeling she still, even to herself, in the quiet of her room late at night, struggled to name, because doing so made her feel so vulnerable—that he should look ever-so-slightly not like himself, not like her Graham.
Hers.
That was all she really wanted him to be.
That was what it felt like he already was.
Despite the fact that she couldn’t have been in the room more than a minute, couldn’t have hesitated, watching him, for more than twenty seconds, it was enough time for him to notice her. Across the room, he straightened, turned his head sharply, as if she’d called his name. His gaze landed on her, and she didn’t doubt, even for a single second, even with her mask in place, that he’d recognize her.
Charlotte.She saw his lips form her name, unheard from thisdistance. She began to walk toward him, even as he began to elbow his way through the crowd…
Which is how she learned that this sort of thing lookedmucheasier in movies than it was in real life.
“Ow,” she muttered, as she was accidentally elbowed by a dancer for the second time. She dodged out of the way of a couple that was completely ignoring the jazzy take on “O Christmas Tree” currently being played by the band and instead doing some sort of modified swing dancing, and glanced up, trying to find Graham in the crowd again. He was tall enough, fortunately, that she was able to see him, even as she weaved among the dancing couples, avoiding more rogue elbows and nearly getting knocked over by a guy dipping his partner dramatically for a kiss. Just past them, she saw Ava and Kit making out like a couple of teenagers, and took a great amount of pleasure in howling, “Get a room!” at them.
But then she turned around—
And he was there.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Rebellious curls threatening to break ranks from his carefully combed hair.That jawline.And, tellingly, a dimple in one cheek, a warning of the smile that he was trying hard to suppress.
“Lane.”
“Calloway.”
“Nice dress.” His eyes dipped shamelessly to the neckline, which was plunging enough that Charlotte had to employ the liberal use of body tape to ensure that no one got more of a show than she intended.
“Nice contacts,” she replied, which sounded cooler in her head than it did aloud. His dimple deepened.
“It’s interesting,” he said, oh-so-casually, tilting his head at her, “that you should be here tonight.”
“Is it?” She frowned at him. “Did I completely misinterpret your romantic grocery store declaration?”
“No,” he said quickly, reaching out to take her hand. “But I’ve had Lanes on the brain today, because I opened my inbox this morning and found an email from one Peter Lane, wishing me a happy new year and asking if I’d mind if he passed on my contact information to some industry friends who he knew were in the process of scouting filming locations for period pieces.”
“That was fast,” Charlotte said, impressed; her dad had sounded surprisingly pleased to help her out when she’d called him the evening of her run-in with Graham (“Anything for young love!” he’d said dramatically, then spent ten minutes telling her about the new film he was developing, in which, from what she understood of the plot, every single likable character died), but she hadn’t expected him to spring into action so quickly. “You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” she added hurriedly. “I just told Dad to email you and ask—I didn’t even give him your phone number; I wanted you to have time to think about it and not feel put on the spot. But…” Here, she took a breath, then squeezed his hand. “I know how much you love Eden Priory, and I don’t want you to lose it. And I thought, after we watchedChristmas, Truly, and had that conversation about your dad… I thought you might be more open to it. And I wanted to give you the chance, at least, to say yes—especially since the money would give you guys some breathing room, while you worked out the future of the house, and how to make it sustainable.” She paused, then added, “Sustainable in a way that doesn’t involve you working at a soulless job that is chipping away at you—at your life. Because, Graham, I—I think you deserve so much more than that, and it would break my heart to see you work a job like that again.”
He drew her slowly toward him. “I had some long chats with Mum and Eloise and Lizzie this week, and I told Mum we should let theBBC shoot on the grounds this autumn. And Eloise is going to come up with an idea for some sort of holiday-film-themed event program, next year, to go with your print collection’s sale at the gift shop.” He grimaced. “She wants to call it ‘Twelve Days ofChristmas, Truly,’ but I told her we’d need to workshop that.” Charlotte bit her lip to prevent a smile as he continued, “Some of the things we’ll try, my dad probably wouldn’t have liked, but…” He shrugged. “It’s our house now, not Dad’s. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to save it. But this…” He waved his phone at her. “If this pans out, it would make everything else so much easier. I can’t…” Here, he broke off, swallowing. “I can’t thank you enough. And I can’t believe you were willing to do this—to reach out to your dad, to call in these connections, given everything—especially after how we treated you.”
“The thing is,” Charlotte said slowly, “I think I overreacted, when Eloise told me about her scheme. She made it clear from the beginning that you’d had nothing to do with it, but I freaked out, because I always freak out wheneverChristmas, Trulycomes up—but I talked to Ava, and she helped me realize that maybe… maybe I should just be grateful for all it’s given me.” She inhaled, preparing to take the plunge. “And Iamfeeling grateful, because I guess… I guess, in a way, it gave me you.”
“If my understanding of holiday film tropes is correct, this is Confession of Love time, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling in earnest now, and her heart thumped heavily in her chest.
“I mean,” she said, would-be casual, “Ava wisely pointed out to me this morning that Idoseem to be living in a holiday romance at the moment.” She glanced out the windows. “If you notice it start to snow, please let me know so that we can run and kiss under a gentle flurry.”
“It’s England. It’s probably just drizzling, and you’d get your hair wet.”
“Oh well. It was a nice dream.” She sighed, mock-regretful. “Mypointis, it appears that I, Charlotte Lane, noted hater of Christmas romances, have come to the realization that I do not, in fact, hate a Christmas romance when it’s my own.”
“Shocking,” he murmured, taking a step closer to her. “I think IloveChristmas romances, actually.”
“Do you?” She tipped her head up at him.
“Lane.” His voice was quiet, his dark eyes steady on hers. “I loveyou.”
She reached up and, in one quick motion, tugged his mask over his head. “Say it again. I want to see your face.”
