Page 105 of Holiday Romance
“I thought he was the prankster of the family.”
“Many layers. I promise you he’s not a jerk,” Andrew continues. “No matter how much he seems like one.” He pauses. “Though if you find yourself under some mistletoe, I’d rather you didn’t—”
“Shut up.” I scowl and he grins at me.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask, changing the subject.
He blows out a breath, his face scrunched like he’s thinking hard. “Well, first is the five-k run, then a dip in the frozen lake and then we’ll—”
“Andrew.”
“We’re supposed to eat at six. Which means we’ll probably eat at seven. It’s eleven now so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. Watch movies, eat junk food.” He shrugs. “It’s Christmas.”
It’s Christmas. It’s ChristmasDay. Christmas Day and we made it. We’re here.
“Do you want to call your sister?”
“Oh crap. Yes.” I dive for my phone as Andrew grabs some clothes from his suitcase and shoots me a glance.
“I’ll go change in Christian’s room. He’ll love that.”
I smile at the offer of privacy and perch on the end of the bed, hitting my sister’s number. She picks up after the third ring.
“Christmas in the hospital,” she says by way of greeting. “Can’t wait to hold this over my firstborn for the rest of his life.”
“How are you feeling?”
“My vagina is sore and they’ve stopped giving me drugs. Did you make it to Cork okay? How are the in-laws?”
“Okay so far.” I tuck the phone under my ear as I undress and put on the fresh clothes Hannah left me. “They’ve been really nice but I still feel weird. I probably should have stayed in Dublin.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” she says dryly. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”
“We’re sharing a bed.”
It takes a full twenty seconds for her to stop cackling.
“We haven’t done anything,” I protest in the middle of it. “We haven’t even kissed.”
“Alright, Virgin Mary, I believe you. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself! Just enjoy the day. Offer to make your garlic bread.” Her voice turns wistful. “I miss your garlic bread.”
“I’ll make it for you when you’re home,” I promise. “Do you have a name yet?”
“No,” she huffs. “And do you know what could be great? If everyone could stop asking me. Maybe I’ll be one of those trendy people who lets their kid pick their own name.”
“I don’t think the birth certificate people are going to wait that long.”
“And that’s bureaucracy for you.”
“Can you at least send me some pictures of my nameless nephew?”
She can.
We hang up and five images come through just as Andrew returns, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a navy Christmas sweater with a reindeer on it.
“Look,” I say, holding up my phone. “I’m an aunt.”
“Hey now. How handsome is he? Is Zoe okay?”
