Page 53 of Host for the Holidays
I press the button to light up my phone screen. 4:45. I’m a bit early, not that I understand how five minutes will change this view—maybe the sunset will get even prettier? I’ve heard people talk about the Eiffel Tower sparkling, so maybe that’s what he’s talking about. I can’t really picture what that will be like—a big hunk of latticed metal sparkling?
My eyes shift to my phone background. It’s been the same one forever—Josh and me at the county fair last year. I’m sitting on his lap, kissing his cheek while he grins at the camera.
I open the camera app and frame the Eiffel Tower, the bridge, and the water just right, then bring my thumb to the shutter button just as the tower lights up orange.
Whoa. Chills. No wonder Rémy told me to be here at 4:50. I mean, I wouldn’t really call thissparkling, but I guess in a metaphorical kind of way, it is. Either way, it’s stunning and much more subtle than I had expected. I press the shutter button, then bring up the screen asking whether I want to make it my lock screen and home screen.
I don’t even hesitate because hesitation is against the rules today. And just like that, my background is the Eiffel Tower. I stare at it, tilting my head to the side and smiling as I accustom myself to it.
Someone approaches, and I look up.
“Hey, Stars and Stripes,” Rémy says.
TWENTY-THREE
RÉMY
“Rémy!”Madi’s hair is still down, her lips untouched by red lipstick. She hurries up to her feet, and her mouth breaks into a huge smile. And then she hugs me.
I’m so caught off guard, I freeze. I came here expecting Madi to be incredibly bummed. She left my apartment hoping for a job and a fiancé; she has neither at this point. I figured that, even if I couldn’t give her the night she was hoping for, I could make sure it didn’t suck as much as the rest of the day. It felt like a majorly pretentious thought at the time—it’s pretty hard to compete with career and marriage and the Eiffel Tower—but her reaction . . .
Just as I’m about to wrap my arms around her—in a very platonic and nonchalant way, of course—she pulls back. “Oh, gosh. Sorry. That time at United States Plaza got me all mixed up. Cheek kisses, right?”
I feel like a man who’s just been cheated. And I have no one to blame for it but myself since I’m the one who told Madi French people don’t hug. Now I’m gettingles bises, which is a downgrade of serious proportions.
She puts her hand on my shoulder, then stops, her eyes narrowing. “Which reminds me . . . why did you let me make a fool of myself the first time? I actually kissed your cheeks—with puckered lips, like an idiot.”
Not my fault I’m looking at her lips now.She’sthe one who mentioned them.
She’s looking at me like I’m in trouble, though, and I can only laugh, because Madi is in a mood. I don’t know what it is, but she’s full of energy and . . . different. Not just different from what I expected—different from before. And each second, I’m feeling less caught off guard and more curious, more eager to encourage it. Especially if it means she might hug me again.
Wrong of me? Maybe. But if this is how she processes the disappointments of the day, who am I to be the party pooper? I came to keep her mood up, and I plan on doing just that.
I shrug, aware of her hands still on my arms. Impulse tells me to put mine on her waist, but I shake off that one because if I followed all my impulses, I would be in major trouble. Instead, I keep my arms glued to my sides and smile. “You were already dealing with a lot that day. I figured we could discuss specifics later.”
“But wedidn’tdiscuss specifics later.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
She raises a brow. “You came all the way hereright nowto discussles bises?Well, you’re too late. I’m already an expert on the cheek bumps now.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Cheek bumps? Sounds like another way to say acne. But okay. Let’s have it, then.”
She accepts the challenge, pressing one cheek against mine, then the other, disappearing along with that perfume she’s wearing way too soon. She lets her hand drop from my shoulder and raises her brows at me, as if to say,So?
“Not too bad,” I say.
“Not too bad?” she repeats, crossing her arms. “It was perfect. So you can’t have come for cheek bump lessons.”
Think I can convince her to give me American hugging lessons? Too on the nose?
“What brings you here, then?”
Because I will take any excuse to spend time with you, even if it means dropping what I was holding—literally—to run to the metro so I could be here before 5.
It’s clear from the way she asks that she thinks I’m just stopping here for a quick hello, though. I almost tell her I was just passing on my way to hang out with friends. But that means I’d have to find something to do for the rest of the night and that I wouldn’t get to be with Madi. “I thought maybe you’d want some company.” I pause. “Do you?”
She smiles, and my heart is doing a lot of things, one of which is feeling bad for Josh that he doesn’t get to see what I’m seeing right now. Who knew I could feel sympathy for the guy? Oh well. His loss.
