Page 15 of Host for the Holidays
Josh walks over and puts out a hand.“Hey, man.”
I glance at Rémy, thinking of our conversation about greetings. Do French men kiss each other on the cheeks? I don’t see Josh going for that, so it’s a relief when Rémy shakes his hand. I can’t help smiling at the thought of it, though.
“Lemme just grab my camera.” I walk past the two of them, mildly curious what they’ll talk about while I run upstairs. I doubt they have much in common. Josh is an all-American business guy, while Rémy is . . . I’m not sure what he is, but it’s different.
“Mads,” Josh says.
I stop and turn my head, waiting.
His mouth twists to the side in a weird, pleading sort of grimace. “I’msupertired. It’s been a really long day, and I’m jetlagged. Would it be okay if we chill here tonight?”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep the tsunami of disappointment from coming through in my voice. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
Rémy’s watching me, and when I meet his eye, there’s a short pause before he says, “We have Netflix if you want.”
Josh lets out a relieved sigh and makes his way over to the couch, plopping down in the middle. “Thanks, man. That’s exactly what I need after the day I had.”
It is pretty much the opposite of what I was hoping for, and I try to push down that niggling voice I get when Josh does something like this. It sounds exactly like my brother, Jack, actually, and it says stuff like,See? Nothing’s changed. He’ll let you down again and again.
I thrust it aside because Jack doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He never really gave Josh a chance—probably because he was immediately threatened by Josh’s confidence. Guys are weird like that.
It’s probably better to hold off on the Eiffel Tower anyway. I can’t decide whether I want my first time seeing it to be when he proposes, or if it’ll be just as magical the second time. With any luck, my bags will come tomorrow and I can wear fresh clothes. Maybe we can get an earlier start, too. I’m itching to explore the city. Once we’re both well-rested, though.
“Maybe you can find something you wanna watch while I change into the clothes you brought,” I say.
Josh’s face screws up, and he rubs his forehead. “Shoot. The sweats. I completely forgot.”
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m going to cry? What grown woman springs a leak when her boyfriend admits he didn’t bring sweats for her?
“I’m so sorry, Mads. My brain is like a sieve after all the people’s names I’ve had to remember today. They’ve hired on a ton of people since last year.”
I wave off the apology, forcing a smile. “It’s all good.” It’s reallynotall good. If I was alone in this apartment, I would just walk around naked or wrapped in a towel while my clothes are in the washer and dryer, but guess what? I’mnotalone in this apartment. And we don’t even have a dryer.
I had every intention of chronicling my series of mishaps to Josh on our way to the Eiffel Tower, but he’s already starting a show, and I get the feeling he’s too tired to really appreciate it all. Who knew hobnobbing with work friends after a full night of sleep on an airplane would be so exhausting? Not me, that’s for sure. On the plane, I was busy guarding my elbows from the food carts. And now I sleep in a maid’s room. Livin’ the dream here, people.
Josh falls asleep after half an hour ofParks and Rec, his head tipping over onto my shoulder. He reallyistired, and I feel a little guilty for giving him a hard time, even if it was just in my mind. He’s here for work, and I’m sure he’s got a lot on his plate.
I haven’t told Josh this, but I don’t even like the show that much, so I turn it off after an hour. I sit in silence for a few minutes, debating whether I should wake him or not as my own exhaustion starts to set in. I want to sleep, but I selfishly want it to be on a comfortable bed. Orabed, at least.
Rémy is in his room and has been since we started Netflix. I thought of inviting him to join us, but that felt strange for some reason. Would he sit next to Josh? That feels weird. Next to me? Also weird.
I check my phone. It’s almost 11, so he might be asleep already. That makes me the lone wolf here.
I rouse Josh gently, and he mumbles an apology for falling asleep, then checks his phone. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “I should get back to the hotel,” he says in a drowsy voice. “Early start tomorrow morning.”
Rémy emerges from his bedroom with a teacup and saucer in hand just as we’re getting up from the couch. Not asleep, then. Something about a dainty teacup being held by a man in sweats amuses me. He heads into the kitchen to the sink, and I realize Josh is talking to me.
“They’re completely overhauling the way we handle it, Mads,” he says through another yawn, “which means my schedule is going to be a lot busier than I thought. Meyers wants us doing brainstorming during lunchanddinner.”
The vision I had of eating together at Parisian cafés while Josh is on his lunch break and then dining in dimly lit restaurants under the glow of the Eiffel Tower after he’s off for the night evaporates.
“But don’t worry,” he says, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “We’ll still have plenty of time for things afterward. I’ll come over after dinner every night. And then we have this weekend.”
All I can do is nod. This is a week-long training, which means he’s going to be busy until the 21st. What am I supposed to do until then?
It’s happening, Madi.
I wave the voice away as well as I can . . . again. This time, it sounds a bit more like Siena. She doesn’t outright criticize Josh very often, but her face says it all whenever I break and vent my frustrations to her. It usually ends up as a bizarre combination of me complaining about Josh and then defending him. And I always do defend him.
