Page 134 of Holiday Romance
“More like getting to do it whenever I want.”
I huff, while secretly agreeing with him. It was surprisingly easy coming together over the last year, blurring into each other’s lives almost seamlessly. It makes me wonder if that was why neither of us had made the effort before. Because once we let ourselves have each other wholly, there was no going back.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I mutter a “Finally” as I take it out. No one’s been replying to my messages, which isreallynot helping my stress levels right now. But it’s an email rather than a text that’s come through.
“Is it Zoe?” Andrew asks.
“No,” I say, still reading through it. I’ve gotten a lot better at not squealing when these things come through. “A new booking. My New Year’s Eve tour is sold out.”
“Look at that!” Andrew leans into me, dropping his head to mine as we read through it. “Congratulations.”
“You still want to come on this one?” Andrew’s joined my tours dozens of times. At the start, I asked him to come to help boost numbers, but when he kept showing up even when we got busier, he eventually confessed that seeing me excited and doing what I loved got him all… well, you know.
“Of course,” he says. “If you’re not going to kick me out now.”
“Never,” I say, and I grin as he presses a kiss to my temple.
A month after our nearly disastrous trip home last year, Andrew moved in with me. I was the one to ask him, using the excuse that I would need help with the rent, which was true, but more that it was just the right time. We were seeing each other nearly every day anyway and it made sense, seeing as how he’d already told his roommates he’d be moving out and the fact that he’d been sleeping over most nights anyway.
A month after that, I handed in my notice. I was terrified,morethan terrified. I was convinced I was making the worst mistake of my life and told Andrew as much more or less every minute of every day for about a week. But we’d taken it seriously. I had savings and a plan. I had help from Andrew and Gabriela who more than came through on her promise to support me.
I went on a short course run by a local tour guide and got a job at the bottom of a big company. I spent my days in the cold rain, doing the early slots and the evening slots and the slots no one wanted, holding my bright yellow umbrella aloft as I took people around my adopted city. In my spare time, I spent a good chunk of my savings putting together my food places. Along with the help of Andrew and my friends, I designed chocolate tours and seafood tours, halal, kosher, vegan. Tours to suit every taste bud under the sun. And in early May, as tourist season started to peak, I took the plunge.
And Molly’s Food Tours began.
The salary cut was… tough. Sometimes people didn’t show and I was left waiting for hours and out of pocket for the week. Some days, it went perfectly. People tipped. Restaurants started contacting me, people started recommending me.
I was still learning, still growing. If next summer ended well, I’d maybe be earning enough to hire someone else. But I was trying not to think too far ahead, which I’d learned only made me stressed. I would get through the next six months and then maybe a year and then maybe two.
But first, I had to get through Christmas.
“I still think this is a mistake,” I say, nerves fluttering again as I think about the next few days, even though the whole thing was my idea in the first place. “We’re not going to last twenty-four hours before we all start killing each other.”
“I wouldn’t celebrate the holiday any other way.” But he must see my panic isn’t going anywhere because he sighs, reaching into his backpack. “Alright. I was going to wait for an audience to give you this,” he says, handing me a brown paper-wrapped rectangle. “But I think you need to be reminded of it now.”
“Reminded of what? What’s that?”
“It’s your present, what does it look like?”
“Can I open it now?”
“No,” he deadpans. “I gave it to you to hold awkwardly until—”
I ignore him, quickly undoing the string. We promised each other we’d only do small presents this year and my one was waiting at the bottom of the closet at home (a mini bottle of my favorite Tabasco sauce because he kept stealing mine).
“I hope it’s a letter explaining why you keep using my expensive shampoo when you have your own shampoo.”
“It makes my hair shiny.” He shrugs. “And it smells like you.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Please. You love it.”
I do my best to scowl as I slide the paper off, but I can’t keep it up. Especially when I see what’s inside.
It’s a photo frame, which isn’t exactly surprising. But what is surprising is the photo within it. Not one of Andrew’s, but rather…
“It’s my first review,” I say, recognizing it instantly. It’s hard not to. I already know the entire thing off by heart, I’ve read it so many times. A polite and cheerful five stars from a Brazilian student visiting the city. I’d been doing my solo tours for a week and had spent every evening checking for updates with my heart in my mouth.
