Page 54 of Snowed In
MEGAN
Christian arrives an hour earlier than I expect him to, and I’m still drooling into my pillow when my mother calls my name.
I’ve never gotten up so fast in my life, not even taking time to see how I look before I’m out the door and rushing down the stairs so fast it’s a miracle I don’t fall over them.
I needn’t have worried, though. I skid to a halt to find them in the kitchen, sitting at the island with cups of tea. Both happy as clams.
“Good morning,” Christian says, smiling as though the very sight of me has made his day. I blink at him, lost, until he surreptitiously indicates the chair beside him. Right. Act in love.
“Christian brought cookies,” Mam says like he just bestowed a mountain of gold upon her.
“My mother made them,” he explains.
“Great! Yum.”Yum?Ugh. I sit down, meeting his eye. “You’re early,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t wait to see you,” he says in a normal voice as Mam roots through the cabinets. As soon as she turns, Christian grabs the bottom of my seat and drags me closer. The chair makes an ungodly screech against the tiles, but when Mam glances back we just smile at her.
“Quit it,” I mutter.
“Are you always so grumpy when you wake up?”
“Yes.”
His lips twitch before his eyes drop to my mouth, lingering in a way that puts me even more on edge.
Is he going to kiss me good morning? Do I want him to kiss me good morning?
Our gazes catch.
“Nice retainer,” he murmurs.
Oh myGod.
I tug the thing out and shove it into the pocket of my bath robe as Mam turns back around.
“Megan tells me you were in London,” she says, pushing the plate of cookies toward us.
“For a few years,” he says, while I grab one, nibbling on the edge. “Nice to be back, though.”
“And what is it you do? Megan mentioned real estate.”
I seem to have mentioned a lot of things in the one five-minute conversation we had about him.
“It’s luxury holiday homes at the moment,” Christian says. “A branch of the company I was working for in London opened up a Dublin office, so I put my hand up to help get things running here. I figure I’ll spend a few more months with them and then see what my options are.”
“And what is it you do there?” Mam continues. “Sales?”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“What?”
“It’s too early for an interrogation.”
“It’s not an interrogation,” she says, defensive. “I’m asking him questions.”
“I’m more in the management side of things,” Christian says as if we’re not about to start snapping at each other.
“He’s in charge of the whole office,” I say because he’s being needlessly modest. “He’s the boss.”
