Page 39 of Holiday Romance
“Because it’sdumb!” I exclaim. “The whole thing was dumb and I liked it and maybe I’m tired of spending every year with people thinking I hate Christmas and I just wanted to show that I could have a little good-natured, festive fun and—”
“You liked it?” he interrupts.
“What?”
“You liked the kiss?”
I stop talking, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. Maybe I should just get a flight to Greece and meet Zoe there. I bet Greece is lovely in December. “I guess.”
“You guess,” he repeats slowly. “And that… makes you want to puke?”
“I think it’s because I’ve been going through a dry spell since Brandon,” I tell him, and he blinks. “That and the champagne and all my aforementioned stress. It messed up my mind. Made me all floopy.”
“That’s not a word.”
“You’re right.” I poke him in the chest, ignoring the immediate tingle in my finger. “It’s not. Another indication of how floopy I am. That’s all.”
Andrew’s gaze narrows as he examines me, but I actually feel a little relieved. Confessing to him has already started to heal me like the good little lapsed Catholic I am.
“Okay?” I ask, and he pulls back, putting some much-needed space between us.
“Okay,” he says. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. When you kissed me under the mistletoe, it didn’t go as you expected.”
“Right.”
“You were tired and stressed and haven’t kissed anyone in a while so, when you kissed me, your wires got crossed.”
“Exactly.”
“It confused you.”
“Itdid.” I’m beaming at him now, relieved he understands.
Andrew nods. “So, we should do it again.”
“Yes, we… What?”
“We should kiss again to clear things up,” he says, completely serious. “So you’ll be less confused.”
I pause. The words individually make sense, that much I understand. But together… “How would that make me any less confused?” I ask.
“Because if you feel nothing, you’ll know it was just a random, stress-induced moment of madness. And if you feel the same way…”
“What?” I demand when he doesn’t continue. “If I feel the same way what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says simply. “You probably won’t. Seeing as how you were just tired.”
“Iamtired.”
“Right.”
I stare at him as a speaker close to us blares to life with an announcement, but it’s not for our flight. Andrew doesn’t move an inch and I realize belatedly that he’s waiting for me to make the next move.
And I know what that move should be. I know he expects me to laugh and drag him back to the gate. I know that’s what I should do.
