Page 89 of Holiday Romance
“Keep going. That’s better than any of the massages I pay a gazillion dollars for.”
“I aim to please.” He says it sarcastically but the look on his face is unsure so I purposefully close my eyes and turn away from him, waiting.
After a moment, he starts back up again and, I swear to God, I almost purr.
“What time is it?” I ask instead.
“A little after eleven.”
“What?” My eyes fly open. “Your—”
“I’ll be grand,” he says, his other hand pressing firmly on my shoulder as I try to sit up. My head spins as I shrug him off, moving too quickly.
“You missed the last bus.”
“I’ll get a taxi.”
“But you’ll—”
“I’m fine, Moll.”
My panic eases at his calmness.
“Okay,” I say, still hesitant as I slump back into the chair. “Is my dad here?”
“He left about twenty minutes ago. Sorry. Think he and your mam are going to take shifts sleeping so someone’s always with Zoe. He didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked as tired as a corpse.” Andrew hesitates. “But in an affectionate way.”
I snort. “Sounds like him.” I take out my phone to shoot him a text and as I do, my attention catches on the duty-free bag next to us.
“He also dropped that in,” he says when I pick it up. “Said he assumed it’s for your sister.”
“It is,” I say, taking out the tissue-wrapped package. It feels like years since I bought it. “It’s her terrible Christmas present.”
“I’m sure you can get her something else,” he says kindly. “The shops are still open.”
I can only smile. “It’s an on-purpose terrible Christmas present,” I explain. “It’s tradition to get each other bad gifts.”
“It’s tradition to get each other presents neither of you wants?” He sounds understandably confused.
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“Have you thought about getting each other something you’d actually like? Maybe you could start a new tradition. A, dare I say, much better one?”
“I know how it sounds,” I laugh. “But it’s something we’ve done since we were kids. We don’t know why we do it except that we’ve always done it. And I don’t know…” I shrug. “It’s fun. I always get her perfume. The worst perfume I can find.”
“What does she get you?”
“Food,” I say. “Usually some disgusting, novelty snack that I can only take one bite of. It then spends a month in the back of the cupboard before Dad finds it and eats it.”
“Perfume,” Andrew says slowly, realization dawning. “That’s why you always smell awful on our flights. It’s true!” he adds when I whack his leg. “I thought you were just an eccentric. I’ve got to say I’m a little relieved. Though I still don’t get it.”
“Do you know how hard it is to get something someone will hate?” I ask. “Do you know how much thought I put into that gift? I think harder about her present than I do anyone else’s.”
“I know you’re trying to make it seem like this is a logical thing, but it’s really not.”
I smirk, smoothing the bag against my lap. “It’s tradition,” I repeat. “It doesn’t have to be logical.”
“And you said you guys didn’t know how to do Christmas.”
