Page 30 of Holiday Romance
He doesn’t even turn around. “No.”
My mouth drops open and I glance back at Andrew who’s struggling with both our bags.
“I just gave you two hundred bucks,” I remind him.
“For a transaction that was agreed upon and completed.”
“Oh, come on,” I plead. Not the best argument of my career, but it’s all I’m really capable of at the moment. We have five minutes max to get into a cab or else there’s no point in even trying. “We just want to get home.”
“So do I,” he huffs. “And you’ve already delayed me by an hour.”
“And paid you handsomely for it. We’re from Ireland,” I try again, exaggerating my accent in a way that would probably make everyone back home wince. But sometimes you’ve got to play the leprechaun card. “Do you have any family from there?”
“Nope,” Trevor says flatly. “Though an Irish guy pissed in my cab once.”
“Okay. So, I agree that’s not a great—”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait!” I whirl around, almost colliding with Andrew as Trevor stops by his car. I grab my bag and open it up right there in the middle of the road, the stuffed Cubs bear falling to the wet concrete as I retrieve a small pink box I’d placed carefully inside. “Let me bribe you,” I say, holding it out to him.
Andrew shifts beside me, picking up the bear. “I don’t think you’re actually meant to say when something’s a bribe.”
I ignore him, opening the lid. Trevor peers inside, curious despite his best efforts.
“What the hell are those?” he asks, and I know I’ve got him.
What are they? They’re handmade truffles from my favorite chocolate shop in the city. Aka, they’re expensive as hell. A sumptuous variety of caramel latte, passionfruit and ginger, toasted coconut rum, and a dozen other practically perfect small dollops of joy. I was going to share them with Andrew once we got to our first-class seats. We were going to eat them with our free champagne. We were going to toast our tenth Christmas flight.
But Trevor doesn’t need to know all that.
“Chocolates,” I say, bringing the box closer to him. He looks down at them suspiciously, but his expression softens when he sees them. And why wouldn’t it? These are good-looking chocolates. I would know. I picked them out myself.
“My wife loves chocolate,” he admits gruffly, dragging his gaze reluctantly away from them and back to me. “My daughter too. She’s about your age.”
“I’m sure you must love her very—”
“She’s a pain in my side.”
“Alright, well—”
“Just get in the cab.”
I blink in surprise as he takes the box from me. “Really?”
“Don’t question the man,” Andrew mutters as I hurriedly zip my bag back up. We’ve caused aminortraffic jam behind us and I raise an apologetic hand as we follow Trevor back to the car.
“Should have retired years ago,” he grumbles as we get into the back. “You sure you know where you’re going this time?”
“Midway,” I say as Andrew drags a hand down his face. “And I’m happy to pay any speeding ticket you get.”
“I bet you are,” Trevor mutters as he pulls out of his space, but there’s no heat to the words and, when he glances back at us, he looks almost determined. “Buckle up,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”
* * *
The ride south to Chicago’s second airport is fast, but tense. Neither Andrew nor I speak as Trevor navigates the weather and the traffic, breaking the law onlyslightlyas he fully earns those chocolates.
By the time he screeches to a halt at the drop-off point, we have a three-minute window for delays and Andrew scrambles out immediately to the trunk as I lean forward to Trevor.
