Free Ties That Bind by Marie Bostwick

“Not that I have anything. I haven’t had a chance to do much grocery shopping yet, but if you need some low-fat blueberry yogurt, I can help you out. Or dog kibble. I’ve got a fifty-pound bag of that.”
    â€œJust bring yourself,” I said.
    â€œAnd an apron,” Charlie added.
    Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Charlie! Reverend Clarkson is a guest!”
    â€œWhat? She can chop vegetables, can’t she? Anyone can do that. Besides, giving guests something to do helps them feel at ease.”

10
Philippa
    I stood at the cutting board in Margot’s cheery kitchen, wearing a borrowed apron and chopping onions.
    â€œGood knife work,” Charlie said as he looked over my shoulder. “You can always judge a cook by the way she handles an onion.”
    Margot, who stood at the stove, stirring an enormous pot of mashed potatoes, turned to look at me. “Wow. You should feel very proud, Philippa. I’ve known Charlie for years and he’s yet to say anything nice about my cooking skills.”
    Charlie walked over to the stove, picked up a spoon, dipped a tiny taste of potatoes from the pot, and frowned. “And today will do nothing to change that, Margot. You need more salt in these potatoes and more butter. A lot more butter. Christmas is a full-fat holiday. There’ll be no watching of waistlines today. Not in my kitchen.”
    â€œTechnically,” Margot said as she tossed a palmful of salt into the pot, “it’s my kitchen, Charlie. But I’m not trying to keep down the calorie count. I ran out of butter.”
    â€œYou ran out of butter?” he gasped. “On Christmas? How is that possible?”
    â€œI had it on my list,” Margot said defensively, backing away as Charlie elbowed past her to turn off the burner under the potatoes, “but there was so much to buy ….”
    â€œNever mind,” Charlie said, holding up his hand. “I’ll run to our house and get some more. Leave the potatoes until I get back. Take the rolls out of the oven when the timer goes off.” He slipped his arms inside the sleeves of his coat.
    â€œHey, Charlie? As long as you’re going out, check the temperature in there, will you?” Margot jerked her head toward the living room. “I don’t know where my sister could be. Dad hates it when people are late.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Charlie replied. “Evelyn’s on top of it. She’s used to dealing with grouchy old men. Anyway, your sister’s not late. Not yet. The way things are going it could be hours before we’re ready to serve.” He gave the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the living room a push and disappeared.
    â€œVery funny!” Margot called before turning to me. “I know he sounds awful, but that’s just Charlie’s way. He’s really just a big teddy bear.”
    As if to confirm this observation, the kitchen door swung in the opposite direction and Charlie stuck his head through it. “By the way, Margot, what you lack in culinary skills, you more than make up for in presentation. The table looks beautiful,” he said and, without waiting for her response, popped out just as quickly as he’d popped in.
    â€œSee? Charlie’s a bit rough around the edges, but he has a good heart.”
    I nodded. “He’s fine. I’ve always enjoyed a good curmudgeon.”
    Margot giggled. “You came to the right town for that. Wait until you meet Abigail. She makes Charlie look like a poseur but, if she likes you, you won’t find a better ally in this town than Abigail Spaulding.”
    â€œThen I guess it’s a good thing she wasn’t at services. Don’t think I made many allies today.”
    Margot carried the wastebasket over to my side of the kitchen. “Don’t talk like that,” she said as she scooped up the detritus of my handiwork, a pile of papery onion skins, and