Page 122 of Holiday Romance
“I’m really,reallysorry,” she begins as my phone buzzes on the table. “But the soup…”
Andrew’s still looking at me like I’m the worst person in the world and I’m starting to feel like it too, the pressure of work the last few weeks turning me into someone I barely recognize.
“Wedefinitelyhave the chicken Caesar salad,” the girl continues, and it’s the earnest hopefulness in her voice that finally tips me over the edge.
The tears come instantly and once they start there’s no way to stop them.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps as Andrew mutters a curse word and slides out of his seat. “We have spaghetti? It will take longer but—”
“The salad’s fine,” I say, barely able to get the words out. “That sounds perfect, thank you.”
She gives me a panicked nod as Andrew kneels beside me, placing a hesitant hand on my arm as everyone around us politely looks the other way.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I’m really tired.”
“I know. Me too. I’m sorry for snapping.”
“I’msorry for snapping. Crap. My makeup.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t be such aboy.” I pluck a napkin from the dispenser, dabbing it under my eyes. My phone keeps ringing, but both of us ignore it. “I just wanted some cheese fries.”
“I know. We can try somewhere else. Or I can steal them off that guy’s table.”
He says it so seriously that I snort, which is not a great thing to do while crying, but it does the job of shutting me up, the tears ending as quickly as they came.
“Ugh.” I press the napkin to my nose, blowing lightly. “I’m sorry about work.”
“You don’t need to be. I know you—”
“No.” I cut him off. “I’m being rude. They announced last month that they’re making cuts, so everyone is turning on each other like it’s a Battle Royale and I’m just…” I sigh, slumping in my chair. “I don’t know when I last got a full night’s sleep.”
“Can I do something?”
My breath hitches at his words and I’m reminded again why I drop everything every year to fly home with this man. No “Maybe you shouldn’t work so hard,” no “Get yourself together, Molly.” Just how he can help me. Even after I’ve spent the last two hours ignoring him, that’s all he wants to know.
“Just pretend I’ve been nothing but great company,” I say. “And tell me if my mascara’s ruined.”
“The bits all over your face or…”
I scowl at him, but he just smiles, and then, to my surprise, rubs his thumb over my cheek, wiping away the stains. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, his skin rough and warm against mine, and I still beneath the sensation, confused by my reaction to it. He swipes once more, slower this time as his smile fades into a frown.
“Molly…”
My phone rings and he jerks back, dropping his hand like I’ve burned him. Before I can stop him, he gives me an encouraging nod, returning to his seat.
“You should get that,” he says.
But to hell with that.
I silence the damn thing before shoving it into my purse.
“For all they know, I’m in the air,” I say. “I’m all yours.”
Something flickers in his gaze at my words, but whatever he’s going to say is lost as the waitress returns, visibly sweating now.
“So, when I said achickenCaesar salad…”
