Page 40 of Host for the Holidays
I chuckle, turning toward her and leaning against the counter while I wait for the water to boil. “I specifically told you that you can sleep there if it’s better than the bed in your room.”
“Well, it definitelyisbecause it lacks the whole ladder scenario. And I was so tired when Josh left, I couldn’t bring myself to walk up a set of wonky stairsandclimb those rungs. Sleepiness is so fragile.Butit’s possible that after we fix up the room today, I’ll be so won over by the cuteness of it all that I’ll overlook the ladder and the death-drop.”
“I don’t think dropping five feet would kill you.”
“But you don’tknowthat, do you?” She gives me a look like she just hit a home run with that argument. “What time is the delivery coming?”
“Nine.” I turn to pour the steaming water into my cup. I’m really looking forward to decorating this place with her. Part of that is becauseshe’sso excited about it. The other part is because . . . well, so far, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve done with her.
“Perfect,” she says, slicing the cheese like a pro. “That’ll leave plenty of time before I have to go.” She picks up the uncut baguette and prepares to spread the cheese on top.
I set down my cup and rush over, taking her by the wrist.
She looks up at me, totally and completely guilty. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
I take the cheese knife from her. “We’ve talked about this.”
Her brows rise. “Oooh, the teacher voice comes out.”
“It’s serious business.”
“But, Rémy, my arms have been raised and formed in the country of pre-sliced bread. Not all of us have baguette biceps.”
I pause, frowning slightly. “Baguette biceps . . . does that mean my biceps are strong from cutting baguettes or that my bicepslooklike baguettes? Because that second option is very different from the first.”
The way she looks at me saysyou know exactly what I meant.
I’m torn between the desire to laugh at her ridiculousness and feeling like a million bucks because Madi has noticed my biceps. That’s got to mean something, right? RIGHT?
I set down the knife on her plate, keeping my eye on her as I go grab the bread knife from the kitchen. “If you don’t want to cut it, you can at least tear a piece off with your hands. It’s a bit barbaric, yes, but definitely less than what you were about to do.” I set to cutting the baguette, and no, I’m not flexing. That’s just how my arms naturally look . . . .
She sighs as I hand her a piece. “Here I was, hoping to change your perception of Americans, but all I’m doing is making you think we’re a bunch of incompetent fools.”
I glance at her as I cut another piece. “You know I don’treallythink that, right? I’m just teasing you about being American. It’s likele Classique—good old-fashioned rivalry.”
She’s not looking convinced. “What’sle Classique?”
“It’s the Paris and Marseille football rivalry.”
“You mean soccer?” The way Madi cocks a brow makes her look very Hermione Granger. She might as well saylevi-OH-sa.
“Football.”
I hold her gaze until she breaks eye contact and looks down at her slice of baguette. “Well, if it’s anything like sports rivalries in the U.S., it’snotjust good old-fashioned fun. People go crazy for their teams where I’m from. Some guys at my school actually beat up a person from our rival school so badly he went to the emergency room.”
The rivalry between Paris Saint Germain and Olympique de Marseille gets every bit as insane as that and more. I grab my tea and take a seat, wondering if I’ve really given her the impression that I look down on Americans. On her. “Okay, yes. Not the best example I could have chosen, maybe. There are always the people who get caught up and do crazy stuff. And yes, there are French people who really are prejudiced against Americans.” I neglect mentioning that my mom happens to be one of those people. “But I’m not. I promise. If anything, I have an unhealthy fascination with all things American.” I suppress the desire to shift, realizing that my words could be interpreted more than one way, and that Iamfascinated in an unhealthy way with Madi.
She’s staring at me, her expression super serious for a conversation that started with her poking fun at her pre-sliced bread physique. Suddenly, her mouth draws up into a smile. “Gotcha. I knew it—you love us. You love usSO MUCH. Of course you do. You’re one of us!”
I scoff and sit back in my chair, stirring my tea. I stepped right into her trap. “You don’t play fair, Allred.”
She puts up her arms in a bring-it-on gesture. “What are you gonna do about it, Scott?”
The image of tackling her onto the couch presents itself to me. But I’m not about to say that. “Watch your back. That’s all.” This whole conversation distracted me from something else, though. “You said you’re leaving later. What are you up to?” That’s casual, right? It doesn’t sound like I’ve been waiting for the weekend, hoping I’d get to spend even more time than usual with her now that I’m done with work for the break.
She chews her bread and cheese before responding. “Josh is taking us someplace for lunch. I’m hoping to get a job doing photography for his company, so he’s set up a meeting for all of us.” She takes in a breath. “It’s a big deal, and I’m really hoping to make a good impression because this could be huge for my career—it’s kind of my last shot with photography. Trying to make it in the field has not gone as well as I had hoped.” She cuts another piece of cheese, more out of distraction than anything since she still has a couple slices she hasn’t eaten yet. “Anyway, after that, we’ll be going to the Eiffel Tower, then on a river cruise.”
She’s got this jittery excitement as she says the last part. I can’t believe she’s been in Paris this long without seeing the Eiffel Tower. It’s actually really hard to go around the citywithoutseeing it. In fact, if we had just moved a little farther west in the Louvre plaza last night, she would have seen it sticking up in the distance. I specifically made sure we didn’t do that, though, since I know she wants to see it with Josh.
