Page 125 of Holiday Romance
“I’m sorry. I got up to pee and then I was hungry.”
“You are? What do you want? Mam usually buys those little variety packets of cereal as a treat. I laugh, but I’ve never wanted anything more right now.” He starts rifling through the cabinets, pulling out various breakfast items. As he does an image comes to me, of him sitting at the airport bar, just before our flight was canceled.
Can I talk to you for a sec?
I’d been so caught up in what was happening I hadn’t listened to him. Was that when he was going to tell me? Was that why he was so quick to suggest spending Christmas in Chicago even if it meant not seeing his family? Because it was the last time he’d get to do it?
“You want a coffee?” Andrew sets out two mugs on the counter and goes back to his rummaging. “No one drinks it but me, so I always bring home my own stash.”
He glances over when I don’t say anything, one hand holding a plastic-wrapped assortment of mini cereal boxes.
“You sure you’re alright?”
I lean forward on the kitchen island, my arms dwarfed in the baggy sleeves of his sweatshirt, my feet sliding in the fuzzy slippers Hannah lent me.
“Christian said…”
Andrew’s brows draw together when I don’t continue, and he looks toward the stairs with a scowl. “Christian said what?”
“He thinks you’re moving back here. That you’re starting a new job. Looking for an apartment.”
Silence.
I said it purposefully like we were sharing a joke, in an “isn’t Christian funny, hah hah hah” way. But Andrew just places the cereal on the counter, his expression guarded as he removes a mini-packet of Rice Krispies.
Oh, hell no.
“Molly—”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s not what it sounds like.”
“It’s not? Are you moving back here?”
“No.”
Oh. Okay, now I’m confused. “But Christian said—”
“I know. He… I had a plan. When Marissa and I broke up, I started re-evaluating things. My life over there. My sobriety. I thought that maybe I needed a fresh start.”
“Back home?”
“I’m aware of the irony.”
“But you’re not moving home,” I confirm, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening.
“I changed my mind.”
He changed his mind. And for the first time since we got here; I feel a prick of unease at his words.
“When?”
He hesitates, as if knowing in putting out one fire, he may have just started another.
“When did you change your mind?” I press.
“Does it matter?”
