Not that it was a competition.

Vivian rubbed her hand over her eyes as if trying to push the sleep out. She seemed dazed, what Jules’s sister called “nap-slapped.”

“I went to the Ham Yard Hotel,” Jules said, hoping the place wasn’t on Vivian’s shit list.

If it was, Vivian seemed too tired to put up a fuss. “Fine. Just turn off that god-awful music.”

Jules looked at her, stricken. She should have expected it, but still.

“Oh, come on,” Vivian said. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

“You don’t even have any Christmas decorations,” Jules protested.

“What is this, a shopping mall in October? I had to look at enough holly back home.”

“Hold on,” Jules said, suddenly inspired. She peered at her phone and began sorting through Spotify playlists. Soon she found one that focused on classical guitar covers of Christmas songs. “Away In a Manger” was the first track, and when she selected it, the tender chords and familiar melody filled her with a warm glow.

She looked hopefully at Vivian, who listened to the music for a moment, and then said, “Not bad.”

Whew. Jules busied herself with opening the cardboard boxes and setting them before the plates.

Then she felt a light touch on her arm. She glanced over to see Vivian plucking a white piece of fluff from her sweater sleeve. For a moment, her fingers lingered on the wool, and she looked at them as if they were confusing her.

Jules’s heart began jumping on a trampoline. What—how—

Then Vivian pulled her hand away quickly. “Don’t gather lint like a dryer,” she muttered, not looking at her. “How did you pay for the food?”

Oh shit. Jules winced as the question brought her back down to earth. “Um…”

Vivian sighed. “I guess I can argue that feeding my assistant should be a company expense.”

Jules managed to contain her own sigh of relief. “Yeah, that was, uh, my thinking too. Turkey or duck?”

“Some of both.” Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of the Christmas pudding. “Dessert?”

“We didn’t have ours at lunch.”

Vivian looked her up and down, no doubt noting she wasn’t a rail-thin model, and shrugged again. “They’re your hips.”

Jules couldn’t restrain a humph as she carefully placed food on Vivian’s plate: a slice of duck, another of turkey, and two slices of the terrine. But when Vivian’s stomach rumbled, it was a full commitment to dinner.

Vivian waited for Jules to seat herself with her own plate. Then they tucked in without speaking.

Jules just managed not to moan when the first bite of savory duck seemed to melt on her tongue.