Page 19 of Snowed In
“Sorry,” he says, seeing the look on my face. “The walls are…”
Paper thin. Crap. “I guess I shouldn’t complain,” I say. “Oh, no. Help. My mother loves me.But it’s like…”
“I know.”
“It sounds silly, but I just—”
“Megan,” he interrupts gently. “I get it. Don’t worry.”
I hesitate, but he seems to mean it. And I believe him. I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone else ever tried to understand. Usually, they were too busy trying to convince me otherwise. But Christian’s looking at me like he knows exactly what I’m going through. And more than that, like it’s okay that I am.
But even with that, even after the terrible day I’ve had, I’m still surprised to hear myself blurt, “Do you want to get a coffee sometime?”
His brows pinch together, and I hurry on.
“Not now,” I say. “That would be ridiculous for our sleep cycle. But at home. At Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“Yeah. Since we’ll both be back and miserable, we could be miserable together.” I pause. “Okay, that doesn’t sound very fun.”
“No,” he agrees, but there’s an odd tone to the word, one that matches the odd look on his face.
“I guess I’m just asking if you want to have a buddy system. I know you’ll be busy, but if you ever need a break from your family, I’ll be around, so we could grab coffee or…” I trail off, as he just stares at me like he’s figuring out some intricate puzzle. Or like he took something and is trying very hard to behave normally. “Or not,” I finish.
“Like backup,” he says, and I perk up, relieved.
“Exactly.”
He nods, his eyes searching my face. For what, I don’t know, but he must find it because his confused expression changes, turning almost pensive. “When are you going home?”
I blow out a breath, thinking back to what my mother said. “Fifteenth? Sixteenth? Whatever that Saturday is, I guess. If they’ll give me the time off,” I add, even though they will. The office basically shuts down for Christmas, anyway.
“I was planning a few days later, but I could do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, only to straighten when he shifts closer to me. So close our knees touch. Or almost touch. If he’d shuffle over aninchmore, we’d—
“I’m just thinking out loud here,” he says. “But I want to run something by you.”
“Okay.” The word comes out a little breathy, and I cringe, but Christian doesn’t seem to notice.
“Why don’t we go back together?”
“For Christmas?”
“Yeah.”
“Like carpool?”
“Like a couple.”
Like a…“A couple of what?”
His lips twitch. “The way I see it is neither of us is looking forward to spending Christmas single, but neither of us really has a choice if we don’t want to let our families down. So why don’t we do it together?”
I’m beyond confused. “As a couple?”
“Not a real one.”
