Page 10 of Host for the Holidays
She bites her lip, unsuccessfully trying to stop a smile. “Okay, I take your point.” Her eyes thin, her expression becoming thoughtful. “You know, I think I vaguely remember talking about this in my French classes. But we definitely didn’t practice it, and I get why. It’s a bit too thrilling for teenagers to get that close at school.” She straightens, like she’s getting serious again. “Okay. Let’s try this again, roommate. I’m Madison Allred. Madi for short. Nice to meet you, Rémy Scott. Orenchanté. Right?”
I nod, smiling as I watch her grab her right hand, like she’s trying to control the irrepressible impulse to put it out for a handshake again. Instead, she leans toward me slightly.
I hesitate a moment, then say, “Enchanté.”
I’ve done this countless times in my life—les bises.It’s a reflexive thing at this point that I don’t give a second thought, but this time is different. Maybe it’s because I know this isn’t normal for Madi and I can’t help but wonder just how strange it feels to her. Or maybe it’s because she doesn’t just press her cheek up to mine like people usually do. She actually kisses one of my cheeks, then the other. Either way, her lips are soft, and she smells subtle but sweet, a fragrance I can’t pinpoint, and I want to linger to figure out just what it is.
But I don’t. Because, like I said, I’m not that kind of guy, and I’m also not a bloodhound.
“Was that wrong?” she asks nervously as she pulls back.
“No,” I say with a reassuring smile.
Itwaswrong. Of course, you’ll get the odd person who actually plants a full-lip-kiss on your cheek, but generally, it’s cheek-to-cheek, and often it’s so abrupt and mechanical, there’s nothing soft about it. But that’s probably my bad. I did saykisses on the cheek,after all.
Apparently I’m channeling the polite American half of me right now and leaving behind the directness my mom ingrained in me growing up. But I don’t want to embarrass her, and Madi will figure it out from watching other people. We’re going for that 5-star review, and embarrassing the guest is not conducive to that.
A gurgling sounds, and Madi’s hands fly to her stomach.
“You should eat,” I say. Even though it’s only 4:30, the light is starting to dim. It gets dark so early at this time of year. “I could tell you some nice restaurants nearby if you’d like.”
“Thanks, but I was planning on going to a grocery store.” She looks around the room. “Do you have a city guide or something? My friend said that would probably be a good way of going about deciding what to see and where to buy food and all that.”
I clench my teeth together, wishing André had given me a clearer picture of what guests would be expecting. I’ve really tried to keep my questions to a minimum because he has a lot more to worry about than the minutiae of things back here. “Sorry. I don’t think André had time to put one together. He’s the one who owns this place. I’m just helping him out while he’s out of the country.”
“Oh,” she says, trying to keep her upbeat tone. “No biggie. Could you tell me how to get to the Eiffel Tower from here, then?”
I smile.
“Predictable, I know, but Siena said to go at night to see it at its best.”
“Yeah, if you take the metro from Saint Paul, it’ll take you all the way there. Technically –“
“The metro?”
“The subway,” I clarify. “Underground train.”
She gives a little nod.
I continue, “Technically, Rambuteau station is closer than Saint Paul, but if you just turn left on Rue des Francs Bourgeois and then right on Rue Pavée, you’ll save yourself a train change at Châtelet, which can be . . . hectic if it’s your first time.”
The way she looks at me tells me I might as well be speaking French to her.
After a second of silence, she waves a hand and smiles. “Josh will figure it out, I’m sure.”
Right, Josh. I hadn’t realized he was in Paris, too. So this is a romantic couple’s trip . . . where the couple is staying in entirely different places. Hey, to each his own. But if I were this Josh guy, I would want Madi as close as I could manage.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket.
André:Hey, did you ever hear from the guy?
I forced André to delete the app from his phone to make sure he’s not worrying about things while he’s gone. Clearly, that’s not totally working.
Me:Yes. He arrived. Except it’s not a he. It’s a she. How’s your mom?
André:Not great, but not terrible. She’s glad I’m here, but I can tell she’s stressed. We all are. Her insurance is fighting us. They don’t want to pay for some parts of her treatment, but it will bankrupt all of us to pay it ourselves. The healthcare system here is crazy complicated.
André:So did she pay the rest of the booking, then?
