Page 33 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)
“All set,” the hostess said as she labeled a sleeve with a room number, stuffed two keys inside, and slid it across.
“Your room is on the second floor.” She turned and gestured with her whole hand, “Elevator is immediately behind me on the other side of this wall, or you can head on outside and take the stairs. Would you like any help with your luggage?” She peered around cheerfully.
“No thanks, I’ve got it,” Trace said as she pushed to stand.
“Great. Help yourself to coffee and cookies anytime. Enjoy your stay, Miss Perry and Mr. Falk.”
Um…
Trace set her fingertips on the key sleeve and paused. “We’re both checked in? Room? Not… rooms?”
“Yes. That’s what the reservation said. Your friend Pippa is such a dear, so patient as we tried to get everyone on the second floor together—nothing but ocean in front of you, with the lighthouse to the north and a view of Rock Hollow Cove to the south.
Stunning. Of course, the bride and groom got the corner room.
Their loft is simply the sweetest. Your room is cozy with a high ceiling, a queen-sized bed, and there’s a table and two chairs.
There’s a minifridge and coffee maker. Gas fireplace of course.
Oh, and…” The woman blushed and beamed. “I didn’t want to give it away, but I want you to know it was all Pippa’s vision.
The romance package add-on. Rose petals on the bed and a picnic basket with wine—she said you prefer white, but she wasn’t sure about Cole, so there’s red, too—rosemary olive bread from the local bakery, an assortment of cheeses from the local creamery, fresh berries and chocolates. All locally sourced. Very elegant.”
The woman looked ready to cry, gushing over the romantic mess.
“Pippa’s idea, huh? Great. That’s… wonderful.” Trace’s smile was gritted tight, her cheeks straining from the effort. “So… wow, so last minute, I’m so impressed you were able to find rooms for all of us, there must not have been any more rooms… not even in the hotel next door…”
“Oh. No. We are always booked. This was a miracle. I mean, the party that canceled…” The hostess cringed an apologetic, gossipy smile that showed all of her bottom teeth. “They did lose their deposit on all ten rooms.”
The man who had opened the door for them wandered closer with a cookie wrapped in a paper cocktail napkin and nodded emphatically. “Ten rooms. Can you believe it? Your friend’s timing was perfect, as the other rooms all filled up right after she called.”
“Wow. Amazing,” Trace held her hand over her chest and marveled at the coincidence, but Cole knew she was aghast in a very different way.
“So there were more rooms available when she booked, and we just got that lucky, to have beaten the rest of the last minute vacationers?
“ Trace kept up the phony smile, nodding with delight.
None of the staff seemed to realize that Trace was absolutely not thrilled by all of this, but she was the queen of showing a polite face when everything went to shit.
“Let’s get settled,” Cole finally said, leaning around Trace and sweeping the keys off the desk.
“And the rest of town? For this place to be so full, is everywhere as… busy?”
Cole lifted his phony smile wider as Trace’s lack of acceptance burned louder. Was it really so horrible to share a room with him?
“Yes. Not so many families this time of year, as there’s not much for the kids to do when the weather is lousy, but Sunset Beach is a hot spot for couples this time of year. A glass of wine by the fire, surrounded by ocean storms? Stunning. We’re almost always booked months out.”
“Ha,” Trace’s phony smile was fading fast.
Cole tucked the keys in his pocket and slipped his hand into hers, dragging her along with him. The wind pushed back against the door as he leaned into it.
Their suitcases rumbled down the roughened concrete of the exterior walkway. Not much activity, but he could imagine the hotel would be hopping with dogs and kids in summer, sand everywhere.
He tapped the key over the door to their room, and the hostess was right. The room was stunning. And very cozy .
Walking past the vanity, closet, and bathroom, past the bed littered with red petals and the basket stuffed full of goodies on the table, he aimed straight for the slider and shoved it open.
Salty air washed over him. He stepped onto the deck and rested his elbows on the rail, adjusting so his weight was off his sore joints, and let it all sink in. A dull roar with scattered crashes, the ocean hummed its constant motion.
The tide was on its way in. Couples walked the length of the beach, bundled in raincoats and boots, some throwing sticks for dogs that ran circles around them, unfazed by the weather.
Behind him, he heard the pop of a cork, and he turned and walked inside.
Trace was uncorking the white wine and had two glasses set out. “Want some?”
“Yes,” he said on a long exhale. “Long drive.”
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” he admitted, realizing his blood sugar was in the toilet. “Think anyplace delivers around here? I’m not eager to get back in the car.”
“But your car is so pretty,” she said as she poured pale golden liquid into each of their glasses.
“It is pretty,” he agreed and accepted his glass.
She watched him as she took a sip, probing him with a look, but he could tell she was off. Clearly, the room was a problem.
He risked a look at the bed, then back at Trace. “Think people get rose petals jammed in their butt cracks while they’re getting it on?”
She snorted a laugh, immediately disarmed. “And who cleans it up? I’d hate to put out the room service request on the door just because my bed is covered in wilting, sex-crumpled rose petals.”
He took a sip of his wine, the tart zip of it biting him back. He flipped open the area guide and found a restaurant that delivered, and they were able to order and sit back and wait.
The room was nice, with high ceilings and windows that stretched the width of the room and from floor to ceiling.
Trace had set the fire going, the room already getting toasty despite the open slider.
The promised table sat in the corner with two chairs, comfy enough to settle in with a meal, but not a curl-up-in sort of chair for reading…
and definitely not comfortable enough to sleep on.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered simply.
“All three feet of it?” Trace said, gesturing to the narrow space surrounding the bed, abutted to wall, fireplace, or windows.
“I’ve slept worse places.”
“And you shouldn’t have to ever again. Especially on vacation.”
“Are you volunteering to take the floor?” he asked with a devious nod.
Trace snorted an as-if and dropped into the other seat. She pointed at him as she cradled her wine. “Pippa did this on purpose.”
“Maybe after she saw us at the bachelor party, she thought we were together? I mean, you were all over me,” he teased, watching her reaction over the rim of his glass. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. If nothing else, humor was a better strategy than to let the distance grow any thicker.
“And who was the one whispering all sorts of dirty things in who’s ear?” she fired back.
“And who’s boobs were in who’s face?” It was probably entirely his fault. When she’d ditched the sweatshirt, relaxed, and that tank top kept sliding down and she seemed to find every excuse to reach across him or gesture boisterously… yeah. He hadn’t slept a wink that night.
Trace cradled her wine by her face and took another sip, rolling her eyes at him. “I very specifically explained to her that we are not a thing.”
“Then why would she intentionally put us in a hotel room together?”
Trace nodded slowly, eyebrows lifting and lowering, all-knowing. “Pippa reads a lot of romance novels. The infamous ‘only one bed’ trope.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he gulped a swallow of wine, inhaling sharply at the buttery tart burn. “That’s a thing? Like we’re magically going to have sex because we’re sleeping in the same bed?”
“Apparently. I guess we’ll have to prove her wrong.” Trace lifted a single eyebrow as if ready to win a dare.
Ouch. Understatement to end all understatements, as the knife carved a hunk of hope out of whatever thread he’d had left in his heart. Maybe he could sleep in the car.