Page 14 of Host for the Holidays
Rémy’s watching my reaction, and he smiles, standing up like his work is finished here.
One of the fifty stars from my American flag just dropped onto the kitchen floor. And I’m not even mad about it. I just want more baguette.
EIGHT
MADI
Josh is late.Like, really late. I freshened up an hour ago—as much as a woman wearing the same clothes for thirty-six hours can freshen up—and I’m still waiting. But there’s only so much you can do in a room made for Alice in Wonderland after she’s shrunk, so I head down to the living room.
Rémy is there, but he’s changed into sweats and is leaning forward on the couch, writing in a lined notebook. He’s a perfect combination of work and relaxation.
He looks up, and his eyes do a quick scan of me, lingering for a second on my lipstick. Is it shoutingI’m American!? Is there some smudged on my cheek? It was difficult to see what I was doing with the dinky little lamp that’s the only light source in my room.
“You’re working, and I’m interrupting,” I say.
“Yes. But no. I’m just switching around a few things in my lesson plans. Besides, you’re welcome to hang out here whenever you want, Madi. You rented the room, but you also have access to the common areas, you know.”
I let out a little sigh of relief. I might go crazy in that tiny room if I have to spend all my time there when I’m not out and about. Hopefully my time here will be minimal, though, because I’ll be out experiencing Paris.
“Have a seat,” he says. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired.”
“Strangely, I’m not.” I sit down on the other end of the couch, close enough not to make it seem like I think he has cooties but far enough not to make it weird.Stop worrying about how closeyou’re sitting, Madi.“I was tired on the taxi ride, but I’m too excited about getting out to see the city, I think. Though I didn’t really imagine going to see the Eiffel Tower in this.”
I look down at the outfit I selected specifically for flying: yoga pants with wool socks pulled up like leg warmers over my calves, a loose t-shirt, and a baggy cardigan. Apparently this is the outfit that will be memorialized in photo format of my first visit to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe I can convince Josh to make a return trip when I’m more put together.
“You don’t happen to have a change of women’s clothes lying around, do you?”
Rémy laughs softly. “You look beautiful.”
A loud beep sounds, making me startle and, thankfully, distracting me from what Rémy said. He thinks I’m beautiful? Likethis?
“Your boyfriend,” Rémy says with a little smile at my reaction to the loud sound. “That’s him calling you to let him in.”
I put a hand over my thumping heart. “Sounds more like he’s trying to scare me to death.”
Rémy tells me how to buzz Josh in using a wall-mounted phone by the apartment door. I follow his instructions carefully, like I might set off a bomb if I press the wrong button—or summon the key neighbor. Paris is a dangerous place for Madi Allred.
Once it’s done, I step back and let out a breath. “Now we just wait ten minutes for him to get up all the flights of stairs.”
“There’s an elevator, you know.”
I stare at Rémy. “You’re joking, right?”
“I am not.”
I stare more. “Then why didn’t we use it when we went to the store?”
He shrugs. “I don’t generally use elevators going downstairs unless I’ve got something heavy to carry, and when we got back, you went straight for the stairs. I just figured you were impatient. The elevator isn’t the quickest thing in the world.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if maybe these excuses are masking some scheme to force Americans to exercise more by denying them modern conveniences.
There’s a knock on the door. Josh. I hurry over and open it. Josh looks back at me, handsome as ever, with his sandy blond hair, muscular physique, and wide smile.
I smother him in a hug. He smells familiar. Like home. And home isreallynice after the day I’ve had.
It takes him a second to recover from my unexpected clobbering, but he wraps his arms around me like he’s missed me just as much. “Well, hello to you too!” We pull back, and he lays a quick peck on my lips, then glances behind me.
I follow his gaze. “Josh, this is Rémy.” We step inside, and I close the door behind us. “He’s the host, and he stays here.” Why do I feel a bit nervous telling him that?
