Page 31 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

I recognize your username! You submit captions to the contest, right?

Flora:

Hello. I didn’t know this was you! As you may have deduced, I already follow you. You’re cartoons are so good. And yes, I enter every week!

Urgh, a typo in your first DM. Call yourself a professional writer, Bell?

Flora:

*your

Ethan:

Love to see it. Still on for tomorrow at 9 a.m.?

Flora:

Yep, see you—

‘Why is your face all red?’ Anneka’s question interrupted my tapping.

‘Oh! Umm, just had some good feedback on a speech I submitted to a client a few days ago.’

I finished the message, pressed send and shut down the app.

‘Your clients send you feedback via Instagram DMs, eh?’

‘You’re so fucking nosy, Anneka!’

‘What?! You’re sitting right there!’

‘Even so. And, yes. This particular client happens to follow me on Instagram, if you must know.’

Which, strictly speaking, was the truth.

Anneka raised her hands in defence and pulled a random glass towards her. ‘Okay, okay, forgive me for showing an interest in my sister’s life. Are they hot, at least?’

I opened my mouth, and closed it again, suddenly noticing – and enjoying – the sensation of alcohol whizzing through my bloodstream.

Oh, fuck it.

‘Yeah, he really is.’

Chapter 9

Ethan was already at the coffee shop when I arrived at nine o’clock on the dot the next day, as I kind of knew he would be. I felt a little rough after last night’s drinking session, but also reasonably rested. After some average burgers and another round of happy hour cocktails at the bar, we’d agreed it made sense to make a staggered return to the hotel so staff were less likely to realise there were three of us in a room intended for two, so I’d jumped at the chance to go first. I’d got back to the room at just gone eight o’clock, immediately climbing into bed fully dressed and passing out the instant my head had hit the pillow.

Mum and Anneka returned as midnight approached, and even after just four hours of uninterrupted sleep on a mattress, I’d felt like a freshly hatched being. I’d moved into the bathtub a couple of hours later and had slept okay in there, too, eventually waking up when my alarm went off at eight a.m. I didn’t bother leaving a note for them this time: they’d made it clear when they’d burst into the room last night they’d be having a lie-in this morning. I’d message them in a bit now I knew a Wi-Fi connection was waiting around the corner.

Ethan was sitting at ‘our’ table, reading a pocket-sized novella as if it was already an in-joke.

‘Hey!’ he said loudly but a little self-consciously, after spotting me. He stood up to greet me, his glasses now perched on his head, almost buried in his nest of thick hair.

‘Hi!’ I said, matching his tone exactly.

Now it was my turn for my glasses to steam up. I took them off as he helped me out of my coat and hung it on a hook by the door. I dumped my rucksack down and relaxed into the chair, cleaning my glasses on a napkin.

I felt suddenly shy as I admired his weekend outfit of loose-fit grey jeans and a hint of a vintage band tee peeking through a forest-green overshirt. The lower half of his face glittered with dark blonde stubble.