Page 121 of Holiday Romance
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ONE YEAR AGO
Flight Nine, Chicago
“I can’t remember where I… No, I definitely left it on her desk. Well, if it’s not there then someone moved it. I don’t know who! If I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Molly.”
I hold up a finger, reaching deep for my last shred of patience so I can make sure I still have a job in the morning. “Call Lauren and check with her,” I say. “And don’t tell Carlton… I don’t care if she’s gone home for Christmas, so have I!”
“Molly.”
“I’m on the phone,” I hiss, glancing at Andrew. He glares at me from across the small plastic table, looking just as irritable and tired as I feel.
“Well, unless you want me to order you a glass of water, you need to get off it,” he says.
It’s only then that I notice the exhausted-looking server standing beside us.
Shit. Fine. “I’ll call you back in five,” I say, hanging up with a pointed look at Andrew before I skim through the menu, already knowing what I want.
“Cheese fries,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, we’re all out.”
Of course they are. “The club sandwich is fine.”
The waitress winces. There’s a ketchup stain on the front of her blouse and her dark hair is falling out of its halfhearted bun. “We finished serving our sandwich menu at—”
“You choose then,” I interrupt, handing the menu back to her. “Surprise me.”
“Our soup of the day is—”
“Yes. Great. I’ll have that.”
She mumbles another apology and spins on her heel, going immediately to the party at the next table.
“Seriously?” Andrew asks when she’s out of earshot. “She’s barely more than a kid.”
“I’ll leave a good tip,” I mutter, dropping my head into my hands. I massage my temples, trying to ease the migraine forming there. I know I’m being a bitch, but I don’t know how not to be right now. Work is an endless nightmare that’s only made worse by the holiday, our flight’s been delayed for five hours and now we’ve apparently waited thirty minutes to order food that they don’t even have.
“It’s not her fault,” Andrew continues, and I have to fight back a scowl, keeping my head bent so he can’t see my face. “What?” he asks, when I don’t respond. “You’re not even going to talk to me now, is that it?”
Oh, for the love of—
“What do you want me to say?” I snap, sitting up so fast my head spins. “Because it feels like whatever I do, you’re just going to take it the wrong way with the mood you’re in.”
“The moodI’min? You’re the one who’s been on her phone for the past hour.”
“Yes, because ofwork, Andrew. I have a job. One that doesn’t just stop when I leave the office.”
“How about one that stops for a few hours so we can talk to each other?”
“A few hours? We’re going to be here all night at this stage!”
“Um… excuse me?”
“What?” We snap the word in unison, both of us turning to see the waitress standing terrified before us.
