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“I’m sorry,”Noah says. “Could you repeat that?”

The woman frowns at her computer again, her eyes nervously flickering between us and the screen like she’s afraid we’re going to yell at her. “I see here you reserved two…but we only have one. I’m not sure what happened.”

My life has been like a movie this entire summer. I’ve lived through mobster plotlines, urban fantasy action sequences, and political intrigue.

And now we’ve entered…the rom-com.

Just.

One.

Room.

Surely this doesn’t happen in real life?

The woman taps her mouse, avoiding direct eye contact. “I do have good news, though. It looks like your room was upgraded. You’ll have an ocean view and a balcony.”

How utterly perfect. Of course.

“How much extra is that going to cost?” I ask, wanting to make sure they don’t rake Noah over the coals.

She looks back up at us, giving us a nervous smile. “It’s a complimentary upgrade.”

“How many beds are in the new room?” Noah asks, his tone surprisingly even.

The woman glances between us, and I swear she’s trying not to smile now. “There’s one king-sized bed.”

I press my lips together because I’m afraid I might do something embarrassing like giggle.

“All right,” Noah says. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s see if we can figure something out in the morning.”

Though I can usually read him, I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking.

We finish the check-in process, and the woman gives us our keys, looking relieved that we didn’t demand to speak to a manager. “I hope you have a pleasant stay.”

Neither of us says anything as we wait for our elevator, but the air seems to crackle between us. The doors slowly close after we step inside the lift and begin our ascent.

Noah stares at the buttons. I stare at the buttons.

When we reach the seventh floor, we roll our suitcases into the hall and begin the slow walk to our room.

Our single room.

With our single bed.

My emotions are a jumble, but they’re edging toward…exhilarated.

Oh dear.

“This is it,” Noah says when he stops in front of a door, checking the number against the one hand-written on our welcome packet.

“Looks like it,” I agree.

We’re pretending we’re very chill, but butterflies get the best of me. My heart beats too quickly, giving me away—and I’m not the only one with an elevated pulse. Noah’s heart is thrumming faster than usual, too.

He slides the card into the lock and then opens the door, holding it so I can go in first. I make the mistake of meeting his gaze as I pass him. Normally, he’d make a joke to diffuse the tension, but his honey eyes are doing that molten thing I love, and there’s no trace of humor in them.