Page 133 of Holiday Romance
“Okay?” he asks quietly, and I nod.
“Want to see me charm the hell out of your mother?”
“I’d like to see you try.”
A familiar glint enters his eye. “Is that a challenge, Molly?”
“You talk big, is all.”
“Always so competitive,” he sighs, reaching in his coat pocket. “Luckily for me, I have a secret weapon.”
I almost laugh. “Is that—”
“Homemade Christmas jam, direct from the heart of Ireland?” He holds it just out of my reach, tugging me forward. “You think I would show up to woo you unprepared? Mrs. Kinsella,” he calls as we enter the warm kitchen. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced. My mother insisted I bring something with me.”
I take a seat at the table as Andrew does exactly as promised and immediately obliges my mother by writing down the family recipe.
Zoe sets a mug of tea in front of me with a look on her face that says I’m going to give her minute-by-minute details of everything that happened before she disappears to join Dad and the baby. Hannah takes another mouthful of cake as she slides her phone toward me, showing me the dress she’s working on, and I try and pay attention, but it’s hard when Mam is laughing and Andrew keeps glancing at me as though to make sure I’m still there. Hard when his hair is damp from the snow and his skin flushed from the heat of the house. Hard when, whenever he does catch my eye, he smiles that singular smile of his, as bright and as brilliant as I’ve ever seen it. And it’s almost ridiculous how heart-burstingly glad I am that he’s here. How grateful I am that we made it home. How wondrous it is to do something so simple as to sit in a warm kitchen at Christmas, surrounded by people I love as the snow swirls like a waltz outside.
EPILOGUE
TWELVE MONTHS LATER
Chicago, O’Hare Airport
“This is a mistake.”
“The panettone?”
“No,” I huff. Although… I glance at Andrew, suddenly nervous. “Why? Do you think we should have gone with the tiramisu? Because—”
“It was a joke,” he interrupts calmly. “A cruel joke that I’ll spend the rest of the day making up for.”
“Andrew.”
“That I’ll pan-atonefor it.”
“Don’t,” I warn, but he’s already smiling, delighted with his pun.
“Stop stressing,” he says. “You’ve planned this down to the minute. Everything’s going to go fine.”
“Planned it down to the minute and we’re already running behind.”
“Since when do you not factor in delays?” He nudges me and I tear my gaze back to him. “Stop glaring at the board.”
“I’m not glaring at the board. I’mlookingat the board. And—”
He pulls my beanie hat low over my eyes to shut me up and by the time I push it back he’s already leaning down, kissing me through the stray strands of my hair now stuck to my face.
I let him because I’m nice like that.
And because I really,reallylike when he does it.
The bustle of the busy airport disappears around me as I relax into him, tugging on the end of his scarf to keep him right where I want him.
He’s still smiling when he pulls back, looking down at me with an almost smug expression. “I don’t think I’ll get tired of that.”
“Kissing your girlfriend?” I quip. “I hope not.”
