Page 78 of Holiday Romance
I think Andrew does too. He doesn’t do anything for the first few minutes of the journey, sitting rigidly beside me before his shoulders lower with a quiet sigh. Another minute and he unfurls the sameNational Geographiche had back in Chicago, along with a paperback thriller he must have picked up with our coffees.
I fight back a yawn and turn to the window, watching as the sky begins to lighten and the city gives way to the green fields of the countryside that make up my view for the next few hours. I must doze off, because the next thing I know, Andrew is shaking me awake as the conductor announces our impending arrival into Holyhead. We still have another twenty minutes or so, but everyone predictably gets up to stretch their legs and the carriage is soon filled with people passing down bags and gathering their belongings.
There’s a marked difference in mood from when we got on the train to getting off it. There’s no jostling this time around. Everyone is smiling, suddenly chatty now we’re halfway home. I do start to get a little antsy as we wait for our turn to exit, but it vanishes as soon as I step onto the platform and stretch my legs. I can’t see the sea, but I can smell it, fresh and salty and alive. I can hear it too, the shriek of the gulls, the blasting horn of a departing ship. It’s a sunny day in Wales, the clouds white wisps above us, and the air is the clearest I’ve experienced in months.
I take a deep breath of it, turning to Andrew as he passes me my bag. “I just remembered something.”
“Yeah?” He’s distracted, making sure we have everything as he pulls his coat back on.
“Yeah. I freaking love the ferry.”
He laughs so loud a nearby child glances at him in alarm. “I’ve never been on one.”
“Seriously?”
He hesitates. “I’ve just gone way down in your estimation, haven’t I?”
“You’ve never been on the ferry? It’s the best!”
“I believe you.”
“I’m going to take you up on deck when we get to Dublin.”
“You can do whatever you like to me,” he says, only to grin at the look I give him.
We check in his suitcase and then it’s a short wait at passport control before we file down a long hallway, straight onto the ship.
It’s smaller than I remember, probably because the last time I was on one I was a child, but there’s still lots of room to move around, and we spend a few minutes exploring before grabbing turkey and ham sandwiches from the cafeteria. Santa himself makes an appearance, which sends every child onboard into a frenzy. Everyone’s inner child too, considering Andrew makes us stand in line for twenty minutes to say hello and get a company branded keyring for our efforts. The rest of the journey is spent watchingElfon one of the giant television screens before I drag him out to join the other brave souls on the open deck. A sharp wind hits us as soon as we do, but we find a bit of shelter as we near the port, Andrew a warming presence as he crowds my back, sheltering me from the worst of the wind.
It’s late afternoon by this stage and day is turning to night, but a thousand lights welcome us where Dublin city hugs the bay.
“Ten bucks says we sink,” Andrew says, his mouth right by my ear so he can be heard over the noise of the engine.
“You’llsink,” I say. “I’m an excellent swimmer.”
He laughs as he moves closer, his arms bracketing me in as he holds onto the railing on either side of me. I stay very still, practically holding my breath as he leans in.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For getting me home for Christmas.”
“You’re not home yet,” I warn, but he ignores me. His lips skim my cheek, his gloved hands coming to rest on mine, which exactly two seconds ago, I would have been more than okay with, so I can understand his surprise when I immediately knock him off, moving up the ship.
“Okay, so that’s what we call a mixed signal,” he calls after me, but I barely hear him, my attention on the rapidly approaching coastline. “And can we not do that?” He pulls me sharply back as I lean over the railing.
“It’s fine.”
“So is standing behind the safety line.”
The ship’s horn blares as we near the port and I motion for Andrew to stand beside me before we miss it. “We have to wave!”
“To who?” he asks, still sounding a little disgruntled that I ruined the moment.
“To them.”
I point over the railing to the flat stone wall leading to Dublin’s Poolbeg lighthouse. People dot the pathway, getting in their Christmas Eve walks, and they raise their arms overhead as we sail past.
