Page 41 of Host for the Holidays
At least he’s stepping up his game today. I wish I could be there the moment Madi sees the tower start to sparkle. I doubt Josh will even appreciate it.
“That sounds amazing,” I say.
“It does, doesn’t it?” She says it in a weird tone. I don’t know what it means, though. She takes in another deep breath, then blurts, “I think Josh might propose.”
My brows shoot up as quickly as my stomach plummets. “Oh?” It’s all I can get out. I’m the worst.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she says, and the words tumble out like she’s too excited and nervous to keep them in, “but Josh told me he meant to propose while we were here—well, not in so many words—but then he hinted at it even more strongly last night. He knows I’ve been dying to see the Eiffel Tower, so it makes sense.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s . . . that’s great, Madi. I hope to hear all about it later.” And then I will gouge my ears out.
“For sure,” she says, her finger tapping a hundred miles a minute on the table. “What about you? What plans do you have?”
Zero. None. I’ve got nothing. But I’ll come up with some immediately because otherwise I’m going to be wondering all day whether Madi has a fiancé now instead of just a boyfriend. I’m not exactly sure why that distinction matters so much to me. But it does. “Just going out with some friends later on, assuming I get everything done here first.” I really should be working on preparing what I’m going to say to Monsieur Garnier about the position at his school.
She smiles as she looks around at the room. “This place is going to look like it just got done by Chip and Joanna Gaines.” She looks at me. “Do you know who they are?”
“Fixer Upper?”
Her expression is incredulous. “How can you possibly know so much American pop culture?”
“I try to keep up on things to keep my English current. Can’t call myself a fluent English speaker if I don’t know whatdemo dayis, can I?”
She shakes her head, looking at me with the sort of admiration that makes me want to kidnap her so Josh can’t make her into his fiancé.
“You speak two languages more fluently than I speak one,” she says.
I can’t pretend it doesn’t feel amazing to hear her acknowledge all the work I’ve put into my English. My dad may never realize it, but at least someone does.
* * *
It’s 11:30,and the IKEA delivery is still not here. Madi took a shower a little while ago, asking me to congratulate her when she emerged after less than ten minutes. Eight minutes and forty-eight seconds, to be exact. Apparently, she timed it. She kills me.
I hop in the shower when she’s done. When I step out in my towel a few minutes later, she’s standing there, hair still wet, hand on her hip, phone stopwatch in her other hand.
Her head comes up, and her gaze locks on me. It flicks down to my body, then right back up.
Shoot. I didn’t come out of the bathroom in just a towel on purpose. I figured she’d be up in her room getting ready while I took the few steps to my room. But she’s a competitive one, turns out.
“You gonna press stop?” I ask.
She blinks and taps her finger on the stop button. “Four minutes and thirty-one seconds,” she says without looking back up at me.
Probably more like four minutes and twenty seconds given how long she was looking at me before pressing the button. But I’ll let it pass because I’m magnanimous like that. “Almost half your time,” I say. “Sorry, Stars and Stripes.” I’m hoping a bit of teasing will diffuse the awkwardness my half-naked state has introduced here.
It works.
She presses her phone so that the screen turns off and looks up at me, eyes never veering from mine. “Well, considering you have way less than half the hair I have, I still consider it a win for me.”
I chuckle. “You complain about French hygiene and then force me to neglect it if I want to win this competition?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Touché.” She glances at her phone again. “Ah! I should be getting ready.”
About thirty minutes later, I hear Madi coming down the stairs. I open the curtains on the living room windows that look down on the street one more time, hoping to see the IKEA delivery truck there, but no such luck.
“Okay, be completely honest. How do I look?”
Hand still on the curtains, I turn to look at her and freeze. Madi’s got her hands out to showcase her outfit. She’s wearing a short-sleeved, knee-length black dress that really rides the line between conservative and sexy. Her hair is down, draping over her shoulders and down to her chest in big, loose brown curls. A small strappy purse is slung over her shoulder and resting on her hip. It’s a Kate Middleton look, and she pulls it off with just as much class.
