Page 79 of Holiday Romance
We’re too far away to see them clearly, too far away to really see them at all in the dim light, but I can just make out their faint shouts, can see their exaggerated movements as they say hello.
“It’s like they’re welcoming you home,” I say, glancing at Andrew when he doesn’t respond. He’s not even looking at them, his gaze trained on me with the biggest smile on his face.
“Don’t laugh,” I warn, suddenly self-conscious.
“I’m not.”
“You’re about to.”
“Because you’re adorable.”
“Wave at the good people of Dublin,” I order, and he nods, schooling his features into a serious expression as he joins me at the railing.
“Can I yell?” he asks.
“Within reason.”
He seems to consider this for a moment before holding his hands aloft. “Hello!” he screams over the noise. “Merry Christmas!”
“Andrew—”
“And Happy New Year!”
“You can stop now.”
“It’s cathartic,” he says. “Try it.”
“No.”
“I dare you.”
I huff, but as the horn blares again, it’s not like anyone can hear us.
“Go on,” Andrew urges, and I press my lips together before copying him.
“Merry Christmas!” I screech, and he grins.
“Again,” he says, so I do. And together we scream and we wave until our voices grow hoarse and our arms grow tired and an announcement calls over the intercom, urging us back inside to disembark.
Only then does Andrew tug me free of the rail and we laugh, breathless as we follow the others down the stairs and get ready to go home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A cheery coach driver in a Santa hat is there to greet us as we trickle out of the port, his accent so strong that it takes me a moment to adjust.
“Well?” he jokes, as we put our luggage in the hold. “What did yis bring me?”
Andrew can’t wipe the smile from his face as we find our seats. We pick two near the back, with him at the window, and I text Zoe that not only are we still alive, but she now has to do as promised and pick me up.
“What time is your bus?” I ask, my voice a little hoarse from all our yelling.
Andrew shrugs, watching the world outside as we leave the port and head into the city. “On the hour every hour. They run up to eleven.”
“Really?”
He glances over his shoulder at how pleased I sound. “According to the website.”
“Well, why don’t you swing by mine first? You can finally meet everyone. Have a shower, some dinner. We’re not that far.” My enthusiasm wanes when he just looks at me. “Unless you want to head straight—”
