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“We could both use a real vacation,” he answers. “One not for work.”

“Where would we go?”

Noah makes a thoughtful noise. “How about somewhere cooler?”

“Yes, please. This heat is almost unbearable. I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but eventually, you’ll acclimate.”

Dr. Martin said the same thing. He explained that by next summer, I won’t notice the heat as much. “Much” being the keyword. I suspect Florida is always going to feel like a steam room.

I sigh as we step through the doors and into the blessed air-conditioning. The lobby is huge—there are even full-sized palm trees inside. The ceiling is glass, dark now that it’s the middle of the night. I imagine it’s nice and bright in the daytime.

Or rather, bright and dangerous. I guess it’s a good thing we arrived now.

“Maybe Washington or Oregon,” Noah says, still thinking about our next trip.

“Why there?” I ask as we walk across the massive space to the check-in counters.

“The beaches are cold.” He smiles to himself. “And I’ve heard vampires like the Pacific Northwest.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?”

“Let’s stay for at least a week when we go,” he adds.

“I’m not much of a hiker. I’m not sure what we’d do for that long.”

He smirks. “I don’t intend on leaving the hotel room, and I assure you I can keep you entertained.”

“Ah.” I smile. “I know what this is—a K-drama getaway.”

“Naturally.” He grins. “What else could it be?”

What else, indeed.

Of course, we both know it won’t happen. There’s no way Noah and I could share a hotel room and behave ourselves. It’s hard enough living in the same house, but at least at home, there are boundaries. Noah has a room; I have a room. For the most part, we stay in those rooms.

But a hotel? Forget about it. I’d be nibbling his neck before you could say “room service.”

A fleeting thought drifts into my head, as fleeting thoughts like to do.What if it’s a honeymoon?

There I go again. Though technically, Noah’s the one who keeps putting these ideas in my head. If I looked up candlelit, garden-themed wedding receptions on Pinterest last night, it’s his fault. (I did, by the way.)

I slide my gaze to Noah, imagining him in a tux. A flush travels over my skin, and my stomach flutters. But like a responsible vampire, I push thoughts of honeymoons and shared rooms out of my head and focus on this trip—this trip where we havetworooms, and we’ll keep our hands and fangs to ourselves.

“Welcome,” the receptionist says, her voice loud in the hushed quiet of the still lobby. “Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Noah says. “Two rooms, booked under Montgomery York.”

As she types in his info, her smile gradually dims. “Two rooms?”

“That’s right.”

She nods, frowning at the screen.

The seconds turn into minutes, and the click, click, click of her keyboard begins to feel ominous.

“I’m so sorry. It appears there’s been a slight mix-up.” Finally, she reluctantly pulls her eyes from her screen. “I only have one room available.”