Page 99 of Holiday Romance
“Do you want help with your suitcase?”
“Do you actually want to help?”
“No,” I say, eyeing the thing. “But I don’t have any sympathy for you. It was your idea to walk.”
“It was. I was hoping to be romantic.”
I blink at him. “Okay, we’re going to need to have a serious conversation about what is and is not romantic, because if you think—”
“Just look over the hill, you idiot.” And then muttering to himself, “Before I push you down it.”
I make a “very funny” face and lunge my way up the final steps, pausing at the top as I wait for him. “Lovely,” I proclaim, staring down at the small valley. “I’m so glad you made us…”
Oh.
Andrew reaches my side as I fall silent and together we watch as slowly, gently, the world around us lightens, as though coming to life before our very eyes.
“That’s why we’re walking,” he says. To his credit, he only sounds a little smug.
The first weak rays of the sun highlight the frost on the gently sloping hills. There’ll be snow on the mountains this morning, but down here the grass is still green enough that you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s summer. There is no one else in sight. No other car upon the road, no lone figure walking their dog. Just Andrew. Just me. Just this moment, peaceful and perfect and bright.
“We had snow one year,” Andrew says, pointing across the fields. “We went sledding down that hill all day.”
“I’m jealous. Snow in Dublin just melts. And in Chicago, it’s…”
“Normal.”
“Yeah.” In Ireland, it was rare and usually a cause for celebration if not huge traffic problems. “I feel like you planned this,” I add.
“Nah. Just got lucky with the weather. Wouldn’t have the same effect if it was raining.”
I hum in agreement. “Is this the part where you tell me you live in a hobbit hole?”
“I live there.”
“Where?”
He reaches out and gently grasps my chin, turning my face to a sprawling, white farmhouse to our right.
“You live on a farm,” I say, unable to hide my surprise.
“I do.”
“With animals?”
He looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “We have cows.”
“How many cows?”
“Fifty.”
My eyes go wide. “That’s so many!”
This time he does laugh at me, but I’m too charmed to care.
“And to think you were going to spend today in Chicago,” I say. “With no cows at all.”
“I was going to spend it withyou,” he corrects quietly. “And I still am.”
