Page 123 of Holiday Romance
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Now
I sleep in fits and starts. Either I wake or Andrew does and every time that happens one of us reaches for the other. At some point during the night, we come together a second time and it’s slower and careful, but no less perfect, and when he brings me to that sweet spot, I have to turn my head into the pillow to muffle the sounds I can’t help but make.
Only then does sleep come properly, and the next time I wake the clock on my phone tells me it’s a little before seven. Andrew is dead to the world beside me, his head turned toward mine, and for a few minutes I simply lie there, adjusting to the darkness, adjusting to, well,this.
I could get used to this.
Going to bed with him, waking up with him, repeating it over and over again until it stops being special. Until I can take him for granted.
Not in that bad way, but a comfortable one. Knowing that he’ll be there. Just like he’s always been.
I check the last few messages on the family group chat, scrolling through endless photos of everyone holding the baby. Zoe’s due home today and now so am I, and while I desperately want to see her and my parents, another part of me is miserable at the thought of spending just a few days away from Andrew. It makes me want to wake him so we can make the most of every minute we have left, though, of course, I don’t, going down the normal route of staring at my phone in the dark for several minutes and liking everyone’s Instagram stories.
I’ve just finished sending a slightly-too-long update to Gabriela when nature calls and I use the excuse to slip out of bed. It takes some careful maneuvering, but it looks like the exhaustion has finally caught up with Andrew and he doesn’t stir as I creep out of the room.
I go about my business quickly and am back outside the bedroom door when my stomach cramps with a familiar morning pang.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been a breakfast person (okay, I’m an every meal person) and despite stuffing my face for most of the day yesterday, habits are clearly hard to break. Tucking the dressing robe properly around me in case I run into a Fitzpatrick on my travels, I continue past Andrew’s door and sneak down the same stairs we’d rushed up not hours before.
I feel my way through the dark house until I get to the kitchen where, after a bit of flailing, I manage to find the light switch. Taking Colleen at her word that I can help myself, I grab a slice of bread from a bread bin on the counter. I don’t even bother to toast it, just lean against the counter as I tear off mouthfuls as fast as I can chew. I’d love a coffee but can’t see a machine anywhere and it didn’t escape my notice that everyone was drinking tea yesterday morning. I’m sure they must have a bit of the instant kind somewhere, but the thought of rooting around their cabinets is a step too far on the guest scale for me.
There has to be somewhere in the village I can get my caffeine fix. I haven’t discussed timings with Andrew in regard to me going back to my parents, but we’ll surely be able to—
I jump, startled as a cough sounds from somewhere nearby, and stuff the remaining bread into my mouth in case Andrew woke up and snuck down after me. But when I hear it again, I realize it’s coming from outside and the porch that wraps around the back of the house.
Curious, I brush my crumbs into the sink and peek my head out the door.
Christian stands just outside, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. A lit cigarette is poised between his lips and there’s a guilty, deer-in-the-headlights look on his face that vanishes as soon he sees me.
“I thought you were Mam,” he says, sounding more relieved than a grown man in his late twenties should be.
“Sorry.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself as I glance about. Two robins hop around the frozen ground near us as though testing their bravery. It’s cold, but not unbearable and I step out farther.
“Do you mind if I…?”
He shrugs as I gesture lamely at the porch and I take a place against the wall on the other side of the door.
“You’re up early,” I say.
“I’m heading back to London in an hour or so. Boss is a dick, wants everyone in the office tomorrow.”
That sounds familiar. “What do you do?”
“Real estate.”
“Do you like it?”
“Nope.” He smirks. “But it pays the bills. Well, kind of.” He takes another drag, turning his head so he’s not blowing smoke my way. An awkward silence descends or at least one that’s awkward on my part. Christian seems perfectly content to just stand there, watching me. Is this why people smoke? So they have something to do with their hands?
“So,” he says, after thirty seconds of me desperately trying to think of another topic. “Are you and Andrew…”
“Engaged?”
