Page 22 of Snowed In
“We’re talking about a week, Zoe. Two at the most. We’ll hold hands, help each other out, and go our separate ways. It’s simple.”
She goes quiet, grimacing at nothing as we cross the street. “You know I was just teasing in the pub, right? I don’t actually think you’re lonely. I just—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “But for the first time in years, I’m not dreading going home for Christmas. I’m honestly annoyed that I didn’t think of this before.”
“If you were that serious about it, you could have just asked me,” she says, dodging around a slow walker. “We could have—What?” she adds at my look. “I think we’d have a blistering chemistry if we put our minds to it.”
“And when I break up with you and your toddler a month later, I’m sure they’ll forgive me.”
“Alright, good point.”
“Just don’t tell Molly about it, okay? The only reason I told you is because you’re not going to be there.”
Zoe makes a face. “I tell Molly everything.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I don’t,” she admits. “But she thinks I do.”
“Just promise me you won’t say a word.”
We stop outside her building, and she takes a sip from her coffee, her expression pensive. “I promise,” she says eventually. “But this is assuming Megan will even say yes.”
“She will.”
“Your confidence is scary.”
“I’m going to woo her.”
She pulls out her lanyard with a snort. “Good luck with that. But do you know what might be better than introducing a fake girlfriend you barely know to your family during one of the most stressful times of the year?”
“What?”
“Adopting a kitten.”
I raise my coffee in goodbye. “Have a good day at work.”
“Feel like you’d make a great cat guy,” she calls, as I leave her on the steps. It starts to drizzle as soon as I do, but it’s only another ten minutes to my own office, and I barely notice the rain as I cross the River Liffey, watching the sun finally start to rise.
I know my plan is a little out there. But all the best ideas are.
We get along. We know each other’s histories, each other’s families, and if anything, she’s got even more hang-ups than I do. Hang-ups that I can easily solve for her if she does the same for me.
We don’t even have to spend that much time together if that’s what she’s worried about. A lunch here, a walk there. Christmas dinner will be tricky because Christmas dinners are always tricky, but we’ll be ready for that when the time comes. Some rehearsed lines about how well I’m doing. An inside joke or two. We could start practicing right now if she’d just answer my text.
I messaged her Saturday morning, and she still hasn’t replied, and fine, I can take a hint, but like calls to like, and I think she needs this just as much as I do.
She just needs to see that I’m serious about it.
I reach my office in plenty of time and swipe my way through the turnstiles as I head to the elevator.
I got my job at Away Homes two years ago, trading luxury real estate for luxury vacation homes because once you’re in the property game, it’s kind of hard to get out of it. I only went into the business because a friend at college convinced me the bonuses would be worth it. And they were. The hours were long, and the competition could be fierce, but selling ugly penthouses to rich people was mostly easy when clients have more money than sense, and I saved up enough that when the chance to head up the Dublin office came about, I was able to set myself up here pretty comfortably.
Now I spend my time managing a growing team that provides premium accommodation and short-term stays for digital nomads. Namely, social media influencers looking for content and wealthy software engineers who want seaside cottage inspiration for their podcasts onlogging off.
I don’t mind the job. Some days I even like it. But I never let myself get too comfortable in any workplace. Not when it’s just a step on the ladder. A ladder to what, I’m not sure, but I was taught to climb it, and so climb I do.
I say hello to the few people here before me and aim for my desk at the back of the room. I’ve just hung up my coat when my phone vibrates.
