Page 3 of Holiday Romance
“I gave you a key to water my plants, not to borrow my dress so you can cheat on—”
“Bye!” she calls down the line and immediately hangs up.
I stumble off the walkway, staring at my phone in outrage. I need new friends. That can be my New Year’s Resolution. New friends. New, non-terrible friends.
I’m in such a mood after the call that it takes me another five minutes before I realize I’ve gone in the wrong direction and by the time I make it to my gate, sweaty and flustered, they’re halfway through boarding.
It’s a small plane. Two seats on either side and two in the middle, each one packed tight together. Progress down it is frustratingly slow as people hobble along, stuffing bags into overhead lockers and fumbling with heavy winter coats.
I match the shuffling steps of the person in front of me, concentrating so hard on not banging my suitcase on anyone’s elbow, that it’s only when I stop by my row and relax my aching fingers that I glance at the seat next to mine. I like to think I have acceptable standards for traveling. All I want and expect is someone who keeps their shoes on and doesn’t steal my food when I go to the restroom. Just a polite, normal stranger who I can ignore for seven hours while I try and get some sleep. So you can imagine my horror when, instead of greeting some unknown frequent flyer, I stare straight into the eyes of Hayley’s soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
Andrew Fitzpatrick looks just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. But instead of the sinking,you’ve got to be kidding mefeeling I’m experiencing, he just smiles. It’s the kind of smile that Hayley gushed over after their first date. A freaking white-teeth, dimpled, make-you-feel-all-warm-inside smile. And he directs the full force of it right at me.
Crap.
“Molly?”
Crap crap crap.
“Hello!” I chime a little too loudly. Indoor voice, Moll. Or plane voice or whatever.
“Is this you?” He points to the seat next to him and I glance around for another miraculous one to appear. Of course, it doesn’t. This flight was booked out days ago. He knows it too, not even waiting for me to respond as he stands, slipping into the aisle. “That’s crazy,” he continues. “And you’ve bagged the window seat.”
Aka the trapped seat.
I store my suitcase overhead before I do that awkward shuffle past him. Seven hours. I’m going to have to lie for the next seven hours. Seven hours and thirty minutes by the time we take off and land. Maybe I could pretend to be asleep. Maybe I could—
“How’s college going?” Andrew drops into the seat next to me as I shove the duty-free bag under the chair in front. He immediately puts his seatbelt on, even though people are still boarding the plane. “You’re studying Business, right?”
Small talk. I don’t usually mind small talk. But in these kinds of situations, small talk tends to lead to big talk. “Economics.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That sounds even fancier. You’re going to be an economist?”
“A lawyer. I think.”
“You think?”
“I’ve got the grades.”
He looks at me like I’ve said something funny. “But do you want to be a lawyer?” he asks when I don’t say anything more.
“I haven’t decided yet.” The words come out more defensive than I mean them to and a moment of silence descends just long enough to make me feel rude. “And what about you?” I ask. “How’s your… thing?”
His lips twitch at my hesitation. “Photography. It’s going well. Hayley might have told you already, but I’m applying for internships next summer to see if I can stay in Chicago. Might not be the smartest decision seeing as how everything’s unpaid. Likeaggressivelyunpaid. But I’m crashing with my uncle until he gets sick of me. Free board for a few months if I do the graveyard shifts at his store.” Andrew leans my way as a flight attendant slams our overhead locker shut. “Does it smell like candy floss to you?”
Great. “That’s me. Sorry.” I sniff my right arm to make sure. “I was picking out a perfume,” I explain as his expression brightens.
“Really? Maybe you can help. I wanted to get Hayley something as a surprise. She didn’t want to do Christmas presents but technically it will be January when I see her so… What?”
“Nothing.” I smile, tugging out the inflight magazine from its little seat pocket. Why did she tell me about Rob? Why? Why why why why—
“I was thinking this one.”
I watch as he opens his own copy and flicks to the gift page, pointing to a small Chanel bottle.
“It says it’s a classic,” he says, peering at the tiny text beside the picture. “Eighty-nine dollars. What do you think?”
I think I’m going to kill Hayley.
