Page 31 of Host for the Holidays
“It’s no problem.” I push the pillows to the side to make room for the rack in the cart.
She glances at me quickly, then starts fiddling with it again. It’s kind of mesmerizing to watch how completely futile her efforts are.
“Girlfriend?”
I’m so entranced by the way the rack only manages to open wider and wider that it takes me a second to realize what Madi said. “Hm?”
“On the phone,” she says. “Was that your girlfriend?” She’s still focused on the rack, pure determination in her eyes, like she will collapse that rack and fit it into the cart if it’s the last thing she does. I’d let things play out just for the enjoyment of it except that she’s about to pinch her fingers. “Whatisthis thing?!” she cries out.
I laugh and take it from her, pressing it together easily.
She stares at it for a second like she can’t believe what just happened. “I definitely loosened it for you.”
“Totally.”
She looks up at me with a smile that makes my chest constrict like the drying rack. It’s getting harder to pretend the time I’m spending with Madi is purely in search of a 5-star review. More than once tonight, I’ve had the impulse to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me while we’ve pushed this cart through IKEA. Does she really think I’d be spending my Friday night at IKEA with her if I had a girlfriend?
Given that she’s spending Friday night at IKEA withme, and shedoeshave a boyfriend, I guess it’s not out of the realm of possibility. I wish I knew whether she had asked disinterestedly or because it matters to her for some reason. She hasn’t asked me again, though, even though the conversation has taken a turn, which tells me it’s probably the first scenario.
“That was my mom on the phone, by the way.” I’m dumb for feeling the need to make that clear, but what’s done is done. “Anyway, we should probably make our way to check out.”
Josh is coming over later, and I have to remind myself of that every few minutes. Madi has a boyfriend, no matter how undeserving I think the guy is. I’m probably not deserving of her, either, to be clear—Madi is really great—but there are levels of undeserving, and I’m more and more confident that Josh is on one of the sub-sub-sub-basement levels.
But Madi having a boyfriend is only one problem, though. She lives thousands of miles away. I don’t need anyone to tell me how those kind of “love stories” end up. I’ve lived in it myself.
We go through checkout, and I arrange for our purchases to be delivered to the apartment tomorrow because there’s no way we can walk back to the apartment with everything we managed to pile into that cart.
When we get to the exit, Madi turns left outside to head back the way we came.
“Wait,” I say.
She stops and turns toward me as she slips her beanie back on. The warm light from the window displays illuminates her face, and I’m struck again by how beautiful she is. I mean, she’s genuinely and objectively beautiful, but it’s more than that. She’s . . . she’s . . .
“Rémy?”
I blink. She’s still waiting for me to tell her why I stopped her. “Sorry. Yeah, I was just wondering when Josh is going to be at the apartment.”
“Oh. I think he said around eight. But he’s always late, so eight-thirty is a safe bet.”
I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s almost 7:30. I slip it back into my pocket and look up at Madi again. Since getting home from work, I’ve been wondering why she didn’t go sightseeing while I was gone. She spent the day doing the inventory. I’ve seen her in the city more than once now, and if anyone is going to properly appreciate the beauty of Paris, she is.
But she’snotseeing it, and I’m not sure if that’s because she’s saving the special parts for Josh despite the fact that he told her not to hold off on his account.
“Why didn’t you go out today?” I ask.
She adjusts her beanie. It’s got the most massive pompom on the top I’ve ever seen, but she pulls it off somehow. “Um . . . will you think I’m crazy if I say I’m scared of your city?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this aTakenthing again?”
She laughs, and it comes out in puffs of warm air in the evening chill. “No. I just . . .” Her mouth twists to the side. “Honestly? Ididtry to go out today. I walked all the way to the metro.”
“But?”
She chews the inside of her lip before responding. “I went down into the station, and it was chaotic, and everyone was speaking French, and I tried to buy a ticket, but I couldn’t figure out the machines, and—” She looks at me and shrugs. “I chickened out. I know it’s dumb, but based on how things have gone so far for me in Paris, I didn’t think I should try my luck in a place like that with so many people and the small spaces and by myself. I’d probably end up calling you to come pick me up in Sweden or something.”
“That would be impressive, actually,” I say with a sympathetic smile. But inside I don’t feel like smiling; I feel like punching Josh. From what I’ve gathered, he invited Madi to come to Paris, yet he hasn’t been here for her any of the times she’s needed him—not for the journey here, not for the lost luggage or the scamming taxi driver, not to mention he booked her one of the tiniest, worst rooms in Paris and failed to pay for the booking. This guy should appear under the Urban Dictionary entry for #boyfriendfail.
Madi’s wasting her time in Paris because Josh can’t take some initiative—or some freaking caffeine—and escort her around like any decent guy would do.
