Page 72 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise
“Are you gonna stay on the phone with me until you get here?” I say, still smiling.
“Obviously. You’re in the square?” From what I can hear on the other end of the line, it sounds like he’s outside now; catching a taxi, maybe.
“Yep,” I say, looking around again. I spot two or three couples, strolling along, keeping to themselves. “But I’m not the only person here. It’s not like I’m by myself.”
“That makes me feel worse,” he groans.
“You know what?” I say, biting my lip as my smile threatens to float right off my face. “It’s been a month, but you’re still pretty overprotective.”
A grunt is the only response I get.
“And you’re dropping everything in the middle of the night to come see me.”
Another grunt, and then, “Yeah, because you’re wandering around by yourself.” There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “And…”
“Because you missed me?” I say, the words popping out before I can stop them. I can’t stop the hope in my voice, either.
“Because I missed you,” he admits. “When does your study start? I was going to call you in the morning to see when you would be here.”
“It starts next week,” I say, sitting back down on the bench once more. I swing my feet, scuffing them against the paved stone as I talk. “I just wanted to come here first and see you once January was over.”
“Well, I’ll be to you in about two minutes,” Beckett says—and maybe I’m imagining things, but he almost sounds anxious, or nervous. “Just talk to me until then. How was January?”
“Meh,” I say after a second.
He snorts. “Yeah. Mine too.”
“Did you socialize?” I ask him. “Because I’ll have you know, I’ve been working very hard on not being a people-pleaser.”
He hums, a low, pleasant sound that runs down my spine and makes me jittery. “Details, please.”
“Well, I told a guy at the aquarium that I couldn’t cover his shift because I had some prep work I had to get done—”
“Good.”
“And when Wes kept trying to bug me about you, I told him to back off and mind his own business,” I say. “Which he eventually did.”
“I told him the same thing,” Beckett says. Once again I can hear the sounds of the night in the background; he must be close. “And I think I was probably ruder about it than you were.”
“Probably,” I agree, smiling. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you socialize?” I say.
“Kind of. I guess. Yeah. I’ve been trying. I got food with some guys after work earlier this evening.”
“Good for you!” I say. “I’m proud of you.”
He doesn’t answer; he just gives a little snort of laughter.
“So have you cut down on the glowering?” I say. “Because that’s a bit off-putting. I bet a lot of the other kids would want to be your friend if you didn’t look so grumpy all the time.”
“I don’t look grumpy all the time!”
“Okay, but you don’t look cheerful all the time, either,” I point out. “You sort of have resting grump face, I think.”
“No one looks cheerful all the time,” Beckett says.
