Page 34 of Holiday Romance
“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” I ask now as he puts his seatbelt on. “You look like you turn into a sleepy drunk.”
“I can handle myself.” He watches some of the other passengers shuffle down the aisle before turning his attention back to me. “You can meet her, you know. Emily. I don’t want you thinking you can’t.”
“Why would I think that?”
He shrugs. “Just don’t talk to her or look her in the eye. She gets funny about things like that.”
“Sure, sure.” I sip my water, watching him curiously. “Introducing her around, are we? Things must be getting serious.”
“Yeah, well…” He trails off, looking awkward, and I try to ignore the shallow pang in my heart. Theyaregetting serious. It’s only been two months since he told me about her. As far as I knew, there’d been no one long term between her and Hayley and I was kind of used to him being single. Or maybe that’s just because now I was. Daniel had broken up with me in the fall, a real “it’s not you, it’s me” situation and I’d been moping about it ever since. And that’s allowed! Sometimes you need a good mope. But when that moping gets in the way of being happy for others, I know I have to start digging myself out of my broody little hole.
So, I do the first thing that comes to mind, which as it turns out is kicking Andrew’s foot with mine.
“Ow,” he says pointedly.
“I’m happy for you.”
“And you have a weird way of showing it.”
“I mean it, Andrew. This is great. I can’t wait to meet her.”
He smiles at that. “Itisgreat.”
“Yes.”
“Because I deserve good things.”
“You do. The best.”
“Including…” He waggles his eyebrows as he presses the call button. “Some champagne?”
I laugh. “They’re not going to serve you.”
“They will. It’s Christmas.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“Tipsy. Trust me. I can handle this.”
He makes eye contact with a flight attendant squeezing down the aisle and smiles so widely that she falters in her step.
“Smooth,” I mutter, but he just hushes me and, as promised, gets us our champagne.
* * *
Now
Buenos Aires is a beautiful city. Cosmopolitan, passionate, full of food and dance andlife. Or at least, so the giant posters surrounding us make it look like. I wouldn’t actually know seeing as, without a visa, we’re not allowed to leave the airport.
“God, you know what I’d love right now?” Andrew says from where he’s sprawled on the chair beside me. “Some of those little truffles from—”
“I will punch you in the face,” I tell him. “In your big stupid face.”
“I mean the money, I can understand. But the chocolate?” He brings one hand to his heart, looking at me with a wounded expression. “I love chocolate.”
“I know you do,” I grumble, staring at an image of a red-lipped tango dancer on the opposite wall. “That’s why I bought them.”
I peer at the overhead lights, trying to decide if I’m hungry or tired or both. We flew to Atlanta where we waited four hours to fly the ten hours to Argentina where we’re currently waiting for our connection to Paris, which will take another seven hundred and eighty minutes. Thirteen more hours.
