Page 4 of Holiday Romance
Eighty-nine dollars. Someone doing graveyard shifts for his uncle and sitting coach on a budget Irish flight does not have eighty-nine dollars to spend on a girl who’s going to dump him in a week.
“You can’t buy her something on a plane,” I say as he takes out his wallet. “You should buy it from somewhere special.”
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.”
“And that seems like a lot of money.”
He reaches for the call button. “I’ve saved for it.”
“But—”
“Excuse me? Mr. Fitzpatrick?” We both turn as another flight attendant approaches us from behind, a teasing look on her face. “Your brother called ahead,” she says, and a look of utter confusion crosses Andrew’s face.
“A chorus of “Happy Birthday” was mentioned,” she continues, handing him a small square envelope. “But would you settle for a free drink on us?”
“Gladly,” he says, sounding relieved as his eyes slide to mine. “Can we make it two?”
“Of course,” she says. “What can I get you?”
“Oh…” I glance at Andrew, who just waits. “White wine?”
“I’ll have the same,” Andrew says, showing her the magazine. “And can I get—”
“We’ll begin our boutique shopping as soon as we’re in the air,” she interrupts with a bright smile. “Seatbelt,” she adds to me.
I buckle up as requested, waiting for her to disappear behind the curtain. As if this day could get any worse. “It’s your birthday?”
To my surprise, he bursts out laughing. “No. This is my brother’s idea of a joke. Christian’s just hoping to embarrass me.” His smile falters as he glances back at me. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve gone white as a ghost.”
“It’s the lighting,” I lie. Okay. At least she’s not cheating on him on his birthday.
Oh myGod, that should not be my baseline!
“I knew he’d try something like this,” Andrew continues as I try to calm down. “You got any siblings?”
“Just one. My sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. By about three minutes.”
His brow furrows before he gets it. “You’re a twin?”
“An identical one.”
“Seriously?”
I nod, fighting back a wince at his enthusiasm.
“Wow, that’s…”
Andhere we go.
“Completely normal and unimpressive,” he continues, smiling when my eyes slide back to him. “You must be sick of people going nuts when you tell them.”
“Just a little,” I admit.
“Sorry.”
