Page 128 of Holiday Romance
The drive back is strange. I’d been asleep for most of the journey down so was unaware of how deep in the countryside we were, and am amazed at how easily Christian navigates the winding, unmarked roads. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get lost, especially in the darkness. We’re driving for more than thirty minutes before the sun begins to rise.
I also thought Christian would be the strong and silent type but, to my surprise, he’s kind of… chatty. Not only that but the man won’t sit still. As soon as we leave the farm, he switches the radio to some generic hits station and starts muttering about other drivers on the rare occasion we pass them. He fiddles with the heating, he pops a mint and offers me one. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel and grills me about life in Chicago just as Zoe had asked Andrew when she drove us home.
Once we’re on the motorway he starts to calm down, and I wonder how much of what he said about his boss wanting him back in the office is true and if maybe, unlike Andrew, home for Christmas is more of a duty than a gift. One that he’s happy to perform, but glad when it’s over.
It’s only when we approach Dublin and the cars become busier with Christmas travelers that he brings up what happened this morning.
“Did he freak you out?”
“Huh?” I’d been distracted, busy staring at my phone, wondering if Andrew was going to message me.
“My brother,” Christian says, giving the finger to someone cutting abruptly across us. “I never pegged him as the intense sort, but people change.”
“Intense?” I ask. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’rethe intense one.”
“Am I?” That seems to surprise him. And I suppose it’s not hard to understand why. I think back to the first time I ever heard of him, on that very first flight with Andrew, when he’d pulled the birthday card trick, just to embarrass him. “Is it the family?” he asks. “Couldn’t handle a Fitzpatrick Christmas?”
“Your family is lovely.”
“What then?” His tone is blunt as if we didn’t just meet yesterday. “Because don’t think I didn’t notice the awkward-as-hell hug you gave him back at the house. Or the fact that you keep pretending it’s not a big deal that I’m the one driving you back.”
“It’s economical.”
“It’s suspicious as f—Hey!” He blares the horn as someone slows down too quickly in front of us, trying to make their exit. “A Kerry license plate. Typical.”
I turn my attention back to my phone.
“It’s just,” Christian continues, and I sigh. “The way Andrew’s spoken of you over the years, I know you guys are close. And I’ve never seen him be that touchy-feely with a girl before. I would have told him to snap out of it if he didn’t keep smiling every time you walked into the room.” His eyes slide to me, just in time to see me flush. “But I guess it’s none of my business.”
“It’s not.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Except it kind of is.”
“Excuse me?”
“It kind of is my business,” he says. “Because he’s my brother and I love the idiot and I went to bed and he was happy and I woke up and he wasn’t, so what? Why are you leaving so soon?”
“I’m not allowed to go back and see my newly mothering sister?”
“Andrew would have happily driven you back himself. What did you fight about?”
“We didn’t fight. There was a misunderstanding and now we just need space to figure it out.”
“What the hell could you have…” His eyes narrow as realization dawns. “He didn’t tell you he was moving home, did he?”
“Not in as many words.”
“So, I stood there freaking you out and you just lied and pretended you already knew?”
“I was trying to save face.”
“You’re good at it.” He sighs. “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought he would have told you.”
“Yeah, well, I thought he would have told me too.”
