Page 100 of Holiday Romance
I press my lips together, trying not to show how warm and fuzzy that makes me feel, but of course, he picks up on it, smiling at me knowingly.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s get inside. Before you run away from the embarrassment.”
“I’m not going to run away. I’m too cold to run.”
He nods down the hill. “We should stick to the grass,” he says. “The roads will be icy.”
We make our way carefully down, Andrew’s pace quickening with each step we take.
“Will anyone be up this early?” I ask, almost whispering as he wheels the case up the drive. There are three cars along with a tractor parked outside, but the house itself looks like it’s still asleep.
“Dad will be up with the animals already,” he says. “He’ll be out all day and Mam’s probably still in bed, though Christmas is kind of her forte so she might…” Andrew trails off as he comes to a sudden halt. “Oh. Christ.”
“What?” I ask in alarm. “What is it?”
“Are you allergic to—”
But whatever he was going to ask is drowned out as the front door opens and the air fills with excited barking. Two dogs bound toward us and I barely have time to brace myself as they aim for Andrew, almost knocking him down before they come to me.
“Woah woah woah!”
Andrew lunges, grabbing the brown one by the collar, but the bigger one jumps up, his paws hitting my shoulders as he tries to lick my face.
“Uisce! Polly!”
A hissed whisper comes from the direction of the house and I peer around the slobbering tongue to see a shadow emerge from the porch. That shadow becomes a woman who hurries toward us, arms outstretched to grab the dogs.
“Inside, inside,” she chastises, tugging the dog off me. “Now!” Andrew lets his one go at the command and to my surprise they immediately do as told, hurtling back to the house.
“My mother,” Andrew introduces, checking to see if I’m alright before he turns to her. “I was just saying, I didn’t know if you—”
He’s cut off as she draws him into a firm hug, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, head burying into his chest. Andrew immediately reciprocates, holding her tight and I feel immediately like an intruder witnessing their reunion. I take a step away, trying to give them their moment, but the movement draws his mother’s attention and she pulls back, wiping a hand across her cheek.
“Ridiculous,” she says. “Scaring us like that for nothing.” With an appraising eye that reminds me of my own parents, she gives him a once-over as though checking to make sure he’s still in one piece before turning to me. “Won’t be home for Christmas, he says.”
“I almost wasn’t,” Andrew reminds her before reaching out to grab my hand, tugging me into his side. “This is Molly. Molly, this is my mother.”
“Call me Colleen,” she corrects, and then I get my own hug. “Thank you for bringing him to us,” she whispers in my ear, and all I can do is pat her shoulder in response because, honestly, what am I supposed to say to that that won’t make me immediately tear up?
With a final squeeze, she steps back, and I get a good look at her for the first time. She’s a little taller than me, with thick salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a bun and a weatherworn face that speaks to days spent outside. She’s still only half-dressed, a short duffel coat over her pajamas, the legs of which she’s stuffed into a pair of muddy, no-nonsense rubber boots.
“We were planning on sneaking in,” Andrew says apologetically. “I thought you’d still be in bed.”
“On Christmas morning?” She huffs. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your breakfast. I’m doing a fry later but there’s no reason I can’t whip you up something now.”
Andrew and I share a glance and I’m relieved to see an echo of my own exhaustion in his eyes.
“We need to get some proper sleep,” he says. “Or we won’t make it to lunch.”
“Of course! The others won’t be up for a few hours anyway. I’ve got Liam’s old room made up for you. The radiator has a mind of its own and we’re a little tight for space, but it’s the best I can do. Now, if you don’t like it, we’re going to have to—”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Mam,” Andrew interrupts, nudging me after her as we head toward the house.
I don’t even have the energy to look around once we get inside, saying goodbye to Colleen before following him up the stairs.
Liam’s old room is halfway down a long hallway and is small and simple with faded blue wallpaper and a worn beige carpet. A queen-size bed takes up most of the space, along with an old wooden dresser and a box of books marked for charity.
“Where’s your room?” I ask.
