Page 99 of Host for the Holidays
He smiles, then sighs. “My mom really wants this position at Bellevue for me.”
“But youdon’twant it . . . .”
He tips his head from side to side. “I’m not sure. It’s an objectively good career move. A more established and prestigious school. Better job security.”
“But . . .”
“But I really like where I am. I was telling my dad about work when we talked on the phone last night, and it made me realize just how much I like it. There’s a lot of freedom working for a privatelycée. And then I like my students a lot. The administration really values my input, and they give me a lot of flexibility with my methods as long as I’m getting results. It’s a very good fit for me.”
I chew my lip. “Have you talked to your mom about it?”
“I’m not sure how to. When it comes to my career, things are . . . touchy. She’s taken my interest in English as me choosing sides with my dad or something. And because the Bellevue position was her idea, it feels like she sees this as . . .”
“More than just the job.”
He nods. “She’s been texting me to send my material to Monsieur Garnier, but I keep putting it off.”
I run my thumb along Rémy’s jaw, thinking. “If you don’t want the job, there’s got to be a different way to help calm those insecurities she has without sacrificing your career. I’m sure she wouldn’t really want you to choose less happiness, Rémy. But if you’re not sure whether you want the job or not, if this might just be nerves about making a change from what you’re used to”—I shrug and drop my hand to my lap—“you can always send him the material while you’re figuring out what you want for sure. Keep both doors open until you know which one you want to go through.”
Rémy takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine, his eyes still on me.
“Or,” I say, “you can just tell me to stuff it because I have no idea what I’m talking about and have no career to speak of.”
He shakes his head and pulls me down for a kiss. We’ve kissed a dozen times today, but every one has been different, unique, its own brand of intimate. This one is slow—so slow, so unhurried, so deliberate that it has time to travel down into my body and through my extremities before our lips shift. It’s almost painful in its perfection.
If this is what the next eleven days are going to be like with Rémy, I might need to scrounge up a thousand dollars so that Jacqueline can change my flight to 2030.
FORTY-ONE
RÉMY
“I’ve only plannedfor five, Rémy.” My mom is less than thrilled that I’ve added Madi to the guests for herRéveillon.
I’m treading tricky ground here. Just like the position at Bellevue, this is about a lot more than the invitation, and both of us know it. “I know. It’s rude of me to spring this on you, but, Mom, Madi was going to be alone on Christmas. She really wants to experience France, and I can’t think of anyone better than you to show her what a realRéveillonshould be like.”
She sighs audibly. “The turkey I bought is small, Rémy, and she’s American, isn’t she?”
I laugh. “Yes, Mom. She’s American; she’s not a horse.”She did eat an entire baguette the other night, though.
“She’ll be expecting a super-sized meal.”
Okay, now she’s just being ridiculous. “She’s not expecting McDonald’s, Mom. If you’re really worried about not having enough food, I can bring a baguette and some cheese. Madi would be content with that, honestly. I just want her there.” I pause, holding my breath a bit. “Mom, I really like her. I’d like you to meet her because you’re the most important woman in my life.”
There’s a pause, but I wait. My mom has a crusty exterior, but like any baguette worth its salt, once you break through, she’s soft.
“Five o’clock,” she finally says. “You’ll have to bring extra foie gras. Have you sent your lesson plans to Monsieur Garnier?”
I suppress a sigh. One dicey subject at a time, right? “I sent them this morning. Love you, Mom.”
* * *
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,which means today is the last day for me to get more of the foie gras I’m taking to my mom’s—slightly annoying since I only bought it yesterday. But since Madi is completely on board to come with me on the errand, I don’t even mind.
On the way there, I hear from André for the first time since we sent him the new pictures.
André:Rémy, I’m so sorry for not getting back to you sooner. Things have been so crazy, I didn’t even see your email until this morning. I don’t even know what to say. The place looks incredible. I’m uploading the new photos to the listing right now, and I feel like we should give Madison a major discount for her help—at the very least.
I read the text with a smile. Technically, she’s already had a serious discount, but André has no idea I paid part of her stay. Neither does Madi, for that matter.
