Page 69 of Holiday Romance
I laugh and he starts prying open the box. “You know, I’m pretty sure there’s a ready-made pizza in the freezer,” he calls to Andrew. “I wouldn’t dare make it myself, however. Not in this state.” He lowers his voice to a faux whisper. “Much too dangerous.”
I smirk, glancing over my shoulder, but Andrew’s not listening to us as he pulls white bread out of a plastic packet, a look of fierce concentration on his face. It’s only then that I take in the messy surroundings of the kitchen, of the numerous wine and spirit bottles lining the counter. Oliver must have attempted to raid the cabinets before he got too tired.
“Hey,” I call softly, twisting fully to face Andrew.
It takes a moment for his attention to come back to me. “Yeah?”
“Could you get his stuff ready for bed? I’ll take care of the toast.”
“Pizza,” Oliver protests, but I shake my head.
“Toast will do the same jobandyou won’t wake up in the morning with half of it stuck to your face.”
“Wanna bet?”
I ignore him, watching Andrew as he lays a slice of bread carefully on the counter, his eyes flicking between it and the alcohol at his fingertips.
“Sure,” he says after a second, and disappears without another word.
“I love a woman in charge,” Oliver says as I make the food before forcing him to drink a pint of water. By the time he’s done, Andrew has returned and together we haul Oliver to his feet.
His bedroom is, of course, all the way in the attic, and I’m disappointed to find his room incredibly ordinary compared to the rest of the house, with whitewashed walls and a plain navy bedspread. It’s also a mess. His belongings are thrown everywhere, but I smile as I see the leftovers of Lara’s Christmas decorations littering the floor, discarded colored paper and cotton wool, as though he’d spent the day doing arts and crafts just for her.
“Only two more sleeps until Christmas,” Oliver says grandly as Andrew helps him onto the mattress. “I’ll get up in the morning to see you off.”
“I’m willing to bet everything in my suitcase that you won’t,” Andrew says. “And I have a giant Toblerone in there.”
Oliver looks aghast as his cousin crouches before him. “You’re only telling me this now?”
“Thanks for letting us stay. Get a real job.”
“Anytime. And absolutely not. And, Molly!” He cranes his neck to where I stand in the doorway. “A delight to meet you. Thank you for my present.”
“Thank you for having us.”
“Always, always.”
We leave him to sleep it off and head back down the stairs, pausing outside our respective doors on the floor below.
“Sorry about all that,” Andrew says. “There’s one in every family.”
“I like him,” I say. “I’m glad I got to meet him.”
“Yeah, well…” He smiles a goodnight smile, turning toward his room.
“Andrew?” I step closer to him, trying to guess where his mind’s at, but unable to tell anything from his expression. “Are you okay?”
“With Oliver?” He shrugs. “He’s melodramatic, but he means well.”
“I meant with… He’s pretty drunk,” I finish, and Andrew tenses in understanding.
“I’m fine,” he says. “No wagon-falling here. My cousin isn’t exactly a glittering advertisement for the wonders of drinking.”
“Still,” I try again. “We can talk if you want to.”
“I’m okay, Moll. Stop worrying.”
“I will if you stop lying.” We’re both surprised by the exasperation in my voice, but I go with it, not caring anymore. “I’m going to worry,” I tell him. “Of course I’m going to worry. You can’t just tell me you’re going through this incredibly hard thing and not expect me to want to help.”
