Page 30 of Merrily Ever After
“You look terrible.”
Megan jabs an elbow into his side as she moves in.
“I won’t hug you,” she says. “But I’m hugging you mentally.”
“Creepy. I like it. Why are you— what thef… udge?” I step back as she grabs a bunch of shopping bags and barges past.
“Just be glad she didn’t come over and play nurse for the weekend,” Christian says, strolling in after her.
“Molly already ordered a million things to the house,” I call to Megan as I follow her to the kitchen. Christian wanders over to Tiernan. “And she doesn’t need to come up here because I’m fine, so if you hear anything from Andrew, tell him I said no.”
“On it,” Christian says, staring at the television. “You know he’s watchingThe Godfather, right?”
“He’s a big Brando fan. Why is no one at work today?”
“It’s Christmas,” they say in unison.
“Nextweek.”
“And we all have office jobs, Zoe. The PowerPoints will survive a few hours without us.” Christian glances around. “This place is a mess.”
“Then feel free to clean it,” I tell him sweetly.
“I brought you dinners,” Megan says. “And snacks. And other things.”
“You know I’m not bedridden, right?”
She takes out two bottles of wine and plants them on the counter.
“Never mind.”
“You just need to heat these up,” she says, patting a stack of supermarket ready meals. “And I picked up some toiletries to help with the glue.”
I glance at Christian. “If you don’t marry her, I will.”
He smirks, drifting over as she heads back to the hallway. “You know there’s a serious lack of festive cheer in this place.”
“So I’ve been told. But I’m not taking any Christmas advice from a Fitzpatrick.”
“Because you’re scared to compete with us?”
“Because you guys are weird when it comes to tinsel.”
“We’re passionate. There’s a difference.” He looks around, obviously still bothered by my lack of glitter. “I’ll buy you some miniature reindeer.”
“No.”
“And some fake snow for the window.”
“You know I had to go to the emergency department, right? That means you’re supposed to be nice to me.”
“I’m always nice to you. How are you feeling?”
The question is genuine, and I sigh. “Like I got hit by a bus.” I shrug. “I’m fine. Bruised, but they gave me painkillers. My arm is sore, but I dressed myself. Even brushed my teeth.”
“What did your office say?”
“Not to come in.” I snort. “Even though my brain works just fine. Except for those squiggly lines everywhere.” I slide a box of pastries toward me. “And that constant ringing in my ear. Thank you for all this, by the way. But you didn’t need to.”
