Page 45 of Holiday Romance
It’s just something I’ve never been a particular fan of.
“We’re both exhausted,” he continues. “Maybe the best thing to do is try and get a hotel room and then—”
“London.”
“What?”
I turn to Andrew, doing the timings in my fuzzy, weary head. “We can try and get to London. We’ll be able to get home from there.”
He hesitates. “We’re talking about a couple of hundred dollars, Molly.”
“That’s what credit cards are for. We’ve come this far. You really want to give up now?”
“I want you to sleep for a few hours before you collapse.”
“I said I’d get you home,” I dismiss. “So, I’m going to get you home.”
I push past him to a bit of empty space along the wall where I sit cross-legged and open my laptop. It takes a second, but he follows like I knew he would.
“Let’s think about this,” I say, frowning when he just looks at me. “Sit!”
He sighs heavily to show he’s just humoring me, but dumps his bag to the floor, sitting in front of me with a grumpy look. I know it’s because a part of him has stopped believing he’ll make it in time, so I don’t hold it too much against him.
“London isn’t a problem,” I say, scanning the available flights. “There are seats this afternoon and this evening. And from there…” Shite. There are over a hundred flights from London to Dublin a day, but with the number of Irish people living in the UK, it’s not exactly a surprise that they’re all booked out.
I send Andrew a quick smile that he doesn’t believe for a second.
“Molly—”
“You’re not allowed to talk if you’re sulking,” I interrupt. His eyes bore a hole in my skull, but I keep looking, widening my search to surrounding cities. Anything to get him home. Anyway, anyhow, any…
My fingers freeze over the keyboard as a thought occurs to me, one so simple and so perfect that I can only sit there for a second, reflecting on my brilliance.
“We come from an island.”
Andrew looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “You want to swim home?”
“No.” I straighten, going full smug-Molly mode as I open a new tab. “I want to get the ferry.”
“The ferry? You don’t think it will be booked out?”
“The car tickets might be,” I say, adding in our dates. “But there’s always room for foot passengers. We’ll obviously miss the sailing today, but tomorrow…” I let out a shriek of victory that makes several people nearby jump.
“Paris to London,” I say as I piece together the puzzle. “We grab a hotel room and in the morning get the train from Euston station to Wales. There’s a lunchtime sailing from Holyhead. We’ll be in Dublin on Christmas Eve. You can get the bus or I’ll get my dad to drive you if we have to. That’s it, Andrew. You’ll be home for Christmas.”
I glance up when he doesn’t immediately praise my genius idea, only to find him watching me with a look in his eyes that throws me so much, I snap my attention back to my spreadsheet, suddenly self-conscious.
“You’ll still be exhausted,” I add. “But I think we can make it work. Unless you have any other—”
“I don’t,” he interrupts. “That sounds perfect. That’s… thank you.”
I nod, still not looking at him. “I’ll book the tickets then? We can be in London by late afternoon if we get the lunchtime flight. Maybe we could stay with your brother?”
“He’s already gone home,” Andrew says. “But I have a cousin there. Oliver. He’s usually happy to have company.”
“That’s great. If he’ll have us.”
“I’ll text him now.” There’s a pause before he speaks again. “I’m sorry, Molly.”
