Page 94 of Holiday Romance
“You did?” She makes a humming noise that I don’t know what to make of. “What kind of kiss?”
I give her a brief rundown of the last few days, including the brief but memorable make-out session in London. “We’ve decided to try dating when we get back,” I finish.
“Dating?” She looks appalled. “You don’t need to date. You basically know everything about each other.”
“Not like that.”
“Yes, like that,” she says. “You’re just adding in boning.”
“Zoe!”
“I’mjoking,” she says when I make to get off the bed. She pulls me quickly back down, her arm like an iron fist across my stomach. “Has he gone home, then?”
“He’s going soon. He bumped into someone from his hometown because this is Ireland so of course he did. She’s giving him a ride.”
“He could always stay here for the night. Go back in the morning.”
“He can’t, he has to go home. That’s the whole point of all the stress.” I pick at the bedspread and then, when that doesn’t satisfy me, my hair, suddenly restless.
“You don’t want him to go,” Zoe surmises.
I shrug, fooling no one. “I’ll see him in a few days.”
She just watches me, her face pale and tired, but her eyes as shrewd as ever as she takes me in. “You could always go with him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You could go home with him,” she says. “For Christmas.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. Christmas is about spending time with people you love.”
“I don’tlove—”
“As a friend, then,” she interrupts. “And it’s not like we’ll be doing anything here. They’re keeping me in overnight.”
“I’m too tired for any more traveling,” I say. “And I’m certainly not going to crash their Christmas.”
“I’m sure they’d love to have you. I’m surehe’dlove to have you. Why else do you think he’s stuck around here as long as he has? If he didn’t care so much about you, he would have left hours ago. He likes you.”
“And I like him! No one is denying that, but I’m not leaving you. Not when you have stitches where no one should have stitches.”
“But I’m not doing anything!” she says with a laugh. “I’m done. That’s my baby and this is my Christmas. This bed. These walls. We’re talking about a couple of hours down the road.”
“You’re reading too much into it.”
“Will you ask him at least?”
“No!”
“Molly!”
We both freeze as a sound comes from the crib, a tiny hiccup that has us both turning to the baby. My nephew makes another noise and wriggles, as if testing out this strange new world, before falling still again. Neither Zoe nor I move, waiting to see if he does something else.
He does not.
“So, fun new thing about me,” Zoe says as we stare at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved or will ever love anyone as much as I love him. Even if he turns out to be a dick. Which with me as his mother is a real possibility.”
