Page 48 of Holiday Romance
“Vastly underrated,” he says, and I relax a little at how easily he accepts the thing that’s been weighing me down for so long.
“Might be saying goodbye to any bonuses though.”
“But you’ll get the bonus of a hobby you’ll give up after a few months.”
I smile, playing with the edge of the tablecloth. “You won’t mind if I can’t get you first-class flights anymore?”
“I’m still not convinced you bought them in the first place. That was averyconvenient storm.”
I ignore him, glancing at the window as the rain falls harder. Passersby start to run, the unlucky few without umbrellas holding jackets and purses aloft, trying to protect themselves from the downpour.
Paris, I remind myself. We’re in Paris. I just wish I wasn’t so jet-lagged and could care.
“We should go on a vacation,” I say. “A real one.”
“We can do that,” he says, reading through the menu. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere.”
“Okay, that narrows it down.”
I pick at my bread roll, restless as I watch him. He changed clothes back at the airport, switching his long-haul sweatpants and hoodie ensemble for jeans and a red sweater decorated in Christmas trees. It should be ridiculous, but he somehow pulls it off, the material fitted to his chest in a way that—
“You keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start charging,” he murmurs, not looking up. I flush, caught red-handed as I take a sip of my water.
“I’m just not used to your stubble.”
“Beard,” he corrects. “It’s an attractive and impressive beard.”
“You can’t see your dimple.”
Andrew drops the menu onto the table, leaning back as his eyes flick to mine.
Uh-oh.
“You like my dimple?” he asks.
“I didn’t say that. I just said you can’t see it.”
“And that upsets you, does it?”
“What are you getting to eat?” I ask, and he smirks at the warning in my voice.
“What are you getting?” he counters.
“The Andouillette grillée.”
“And what’s that when it’s at home?”
“A sausage.”
He makes a face. “Sausages freak me out.”
“Which is why you should get the pesto tagliatelle,” I say primly. “And then you’re going to get the chocolate mousse.”
“I’ve never been the biggest fan of mousse.”
My mouth drops open. “That’s a bald-faced lie. You love chocolate. Why wouldn’t you like chocolate mousse?”
