Charlotte had just finished wrangling the last of the seating plan when she found Alexander near the outdoor kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cutting bell peppers with the precision of a neurosurgeon.
"Impressive," she said, leaning against the counter. "Didn't take you for a knife guy."
Alexander glanced up. "I grew up watching my mother terrify half the staff with a paring knife. You learn."
"Besides," he said, smoothly sliding another row of bell pepper slices into the bowl, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth."did you forget already? Back when we were kids, in my family's kitchen—I was way better with a knife than you. You cried the first time you cut yourself, remember? I had to bandage your finger while you sobbed into a dish towel."
Charlotte's mouth dropped open, her eyebrows shooting up. "Excuse me? I did not sob. It was one tear. One single dramatic tear."
