Page 126 of Holiday Romance
“Yes.Because from what you’re implying, up until three days ago, you’d planned formonthsto move home. And now you’re just… not? Because of what? A kiss?”
“It’s not just that and you know it.”
“But if we hadn’t kissed that would still be the plan, right?” I start to feel a little sick. Back to his family, to his friends, back to a new life and he was going to throw it away for me? “You’ve got a new job?”
“I haven’t accepted it. And I’m not going to.” He’s tense now, his good mood vanished. I’d feel guilty if I wasn’t so mad. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. “Moll, come on, this isn’t a—”
“Don’tsay this isn’t a big deal,” I warn. “I know you think it’s not, but it is. You said so yourself how sad you were missing Hannah grow up. And your niece and nephew love you and your parents love you and you love Ireland, I know you do.” The excitement on his face when we walked around Dublin, the calm that settled over him when we stood on the hilltop yesterday morning. I’d never seen him like that before. He said he needed a fresh start and now he was going to trade it all for something we’ve only just dipped our toes into? That we’ve barely begun to explore? Every long-term relationship I’ve ever had has ended with someone choosing something or someone else over me. So what happens when I give everything to this man and he turns around three months from now and realizes he chose wrong?
“We don’t know what this is yet,” I say, trying to get him to understand.
One look at his face and I know he doesn’t. If anything, he looks pissed off. “I don’t know what this is? Really?”
“We haven’t even—”
“Flight one,” he interrupts, placing the packet of Rice Krispies to the side as he moves on to the Coco Pops. “When you didn’t even know me and you tried to protect me. You literally stole my phone to stop me from getting hurt. Flight two, I stared at the back of your head the entire time, waiting for you to turn around. I know you thought I was mad then, but I wasn’t, I was embarrassed. I wanted to talk to you, but for the first time in my life I didn’t know how. Flight three. Our first real flight. It was the quickest that journey has ever been for me. I was going to ask you out, but you said you had a boyfriend.”
“Andrew—”
“Flight four.” He moves onto the cornflakes. “When we got drunk on champagne and talked the whole way home. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life. Flight five, when you bought me that sweater. I didn’t wash it for a week because it smelled of you. I carried that old food guide around with me for weeks, wondering if I should give it to you or not, and the look on your face when you opened it… I’d never been so happy to see someone smile. Flight six when I saw you saying goodbye to your boyfriend. You wanted to know if I was jealous of your exes, Molly? I put it down at the time to not wanting you to date an asshole, but seeing you together felt like I was being ripped in two. I was with someone else at the time and just standing there looking at you felt like cheating.”
He waits for me to interrupt again, but I don’t. I just stare at him, feeling ridiculously close to crying.
“I lied when I said I wanted to kiss you once before,” he continues. “Flight seven is the second time I wanted to. I don’t know why. Nothing special happened. I just came up the escalator and you were sitting by the gate and I felt like I was home already. I hated parting that time. I hated it, but I didn’t know why. Flight eight, you were basically dying from your period. You fell asleep on my shoulder and I could have pushed you to the side, but I didn’t. My arm went dead, but I didn’t move because I liked you touching me and I wanted to look after you. Sometimes I think it’s what I was born to do. Flight nine is when we were delayed and you started crying because they were out of cheese fries. I’m pretty sure I would have sold all of my belongings just to get you some and I was so close to telling you how I felt. So close to figuring this out, but you were exhausted and I didn’t want to stress you out even more. By the time I got back after Christmas you’d already met Brandon and I was too late.”
He moves then, rounding the table, and only stops when I take a step back, bumping into the stovetop.
“I was going to tell you about moving home. I swear to God I was. But not yet. Because more than anything, I wanted you to give me a reason to stay. I was going to flirt, test the waters, maybe ask you out on a proper date, but you were so busy with work and then the storm happened and…” He shakes his head, almost scowling at me now. “The storm happened and you dropped everything to get me home for Christmas because you knew that was what would make me happy. So, flight ten, Molly. Flight ten when you kissed me under the mistletoe and became the only girl I’ve ever truly wanted. Don’t tell me I don’t know what this is. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I want.”
My heart is beating is so hard in my chest, I swear that I can hear it. I can certainly feel it. An aching thump against my rib cage as though it’s trying to leap out and join his. I want nothing more than to hold him, to touch him, but I stay where I am, the future repercussions of this scaring me more than anything ever has. Because it’s easy to take the leap. To quit your job, to fall in love. Wanting is the easy part. It’s the hard stuff that comes after. And the idea that Andrew might be making the biggest mistake of his life for me is enough to make my blood run cold.
“We both agreed that we would start at thebeginning,” I say when I can speak again. “This is not a decision someone makes at the beginning of a relationship.”
“And if I move back here, we can’t start at all. Is that what you want?”
“What Iwantis—”
We both tense as the staircase creaks. I fold my arms over my chest, half expecting Christian to return with some quip, but it’s the youngest Fitzpatrick that appears in the doorway, barefooted in her flannel pajamas.
Andrew smiles, some of the intensity in his expression seeping away. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says, his voice infused with lightness even though he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“What time is it?” Hannah asks, looking more ten than teen as she rubs her eyes, peering into the dim kitchen.
“Seven thirty.”
“What?” She sounds horrified. “Why are you up?”
“Body clock is out of whack.” He shakes the cereal. “Plus, variety pack.”
Hannah doesn’t look convinced, her eyes narrowing as she glances between us. “Are you guys fighting?”
“No.”
“You look like you’re fighting. You look like you’re—”
“Go back to bed, Hannah,” Andrew interrupts, but she just gives him a look as she goes to the sink.
“I’m getting water first,” she mutters. “I’m allowed to get water. Ilive here.”
