Page 31 of Snowed In
He seems surprised by my surprise. “I’m a grown man. Of course, I carry a pen.”
“Not a grown man in nineteen sixty-two, though.”
“What happens if I need to write something down?”
“You use your phone.”
“Like an animal?” He clicks it once, pulling the now-stained napkin toward him when I pick up my glass again.
“So you carry a pen, but not anything to write onwiththe pen.”
“Terms and Conditions,” Christian says, ignoring me. He writes the words as he speaks, underlining them with a flourish.
“We already went over them.”
“And now we’ll have them in writing. Makes it official. Number one,” he continues. “No tongue.”
Christ. “A little louder, please. I don’t think the people in the back heard you.”
“Number two—”
“Let’s just say nothing the other person is uncomfortable with,” I say, and he writes it down. “No putting one family above the other. No made-up stories beyond what we’ve agreed to. It will be way too much to keep track of.” I take a moment, thinking. “No telling anybody. No cheating. And no…no backing out.”
Christian notes every word and signs his name at the bottom. “No backing out,” he echoes and hands me the pen. I sign a quick scrawl, and then he folds up the napkin and tucks it into his pocket.
I stare at it for precisely ten seconds before sighing. “Is this going to be the stupidest thing either of us has ever done?”
Christian just picks up his wine, his gaze holding mine as the corner of his mouth curves. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“Reassuring.”
“Always. Merry Christmas, Megan.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, and clink my glass with his before downing it in one.
SEVEN
CHRISTIAN
There might be a pounding in my head the next day, but there’s also a spring in my step that I can’t seem to shake. I’m almost whistling when I enter the office a little after lunch, having taken the morning to work from home/nurse a hangover.
I dump my bag at my desk and head straight to the individual breakout rooms that make up the wall opposite. They’re meant for private phone conversations and are supposed to be completely soundproof. That theory was disproved two months ago when Pilar from HR broke up with her boyfriend. You could hear them screaming at each other from five desks away.
Now I lock myself in the nearest one and dial my mother on the speaker phone while I open my laptop to order more things to annoy Megan with.
It takes her three rings to pick up.
“To what do I owethispleasure?” she asks crisply. “Or are you calling to tell me you died?”
“Not yet. And I don’t think it will be me who does that.”
“I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Very busy. You know you missed your Aunt Alma’s birthday.”
“She’s not my aunt.”
