Ready?
Oh, right. The hotel.
I give him a sassy smile, like Iwasn’twishing this were real, and we climb the stairs together, passing the creepy wooden bucks that stand guard over the Velvet Antler Hotel.
At the front desk, a plump middle-aged woman dressed in cowgirl gear smiles at us. “Can I help you?”
“We have a reservation,” Patty says, smiling warmly, like those muscles havenotatrophied from disuse the way I assumed. “Mr. And Mrs. O’Shannan.”
I squeeze his hand, surprise registering, even though I know why he said it. The woman starts looking up the reservation, and at the same time, she gets a phone call.
“Why do we have to be a married couple?” I mutter.
He tugs our clasped hands, pulling me close as he inclines his head toward me and speaks in a low voice. “Why shouldn’t we be?”
“You can barely stand me,” I whisper, feeling a stab of pain at the admission.
Patty’s head turns to mine, and his eyes are searching. “You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?” I ask quietly. The woman is finishing her call, so I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. I sniff, hating the fact that the back of my throat and nose are stinging. “It’s no matter.”
Patty’s about to say something when the woman interrupts him.
“All righty, let me see here,” she says in a thick accent. “O’Shannan you said?”
“That’s right,” he says, wearing a confidence that feels strangely natural on him. “And the missus.”
He pulls my hand up to his mouth and stares in my eyes as he kisses it.
I can’t help but notice it’s the same hand Nash kissed.
And I can’t help but notice that while that kiss made my stomach clench, this one makes it flip.
His lips linger as long as his gaze does, and even though this was the only way for Alicia to get us this room, it’s impossible for me not to feel the heat of his lips travel up my arm, warming up my permanent chill.
“You two are so lucky we had a cancellation. I know we can’t technically discriminate, but the owner likes to keep the honeymoon suite for, y’know, actual honeymooners. What a coincidence that you called when you did!”
She’s looking atme, and it takes my brain only a split second to catch up. Alicia called in the booking, which means this woman thinks I’m Alicia. My assistant is from Tennessee, so I can get her accent close enough, but her voice is half an octave higher than mine.
“Ain’t it, though?” I ask in a voice as high as I can go without sounding like I’m mocking her.
The woman scrutinizes me a little too closely, and a cold, uneasy feeling washes over me. Her gaze sharpens, her expression a little too intent, and I feel the familiar stir of anxiety creeping in. “You look familiar. Do I know you from something?”
The corner of Patty’s lips quivers. “You think? Who does she look like?”
I squeeze the life out of Patrick’s hand as the woman studies me. I give her a wooden smile.
Then she slaps the desk. “Oh, I know! Winona Williams! You are the spittin’ image of her!”
Patty laughs. Out loud. A full, hearty laugh. “Nailed it in one! She’s actually a Winona Williams impersonator. You should see her with her wig and makeup. It’s uncanny.”
I want to stomp on his foot and grind it as the woman laughs.
She hands us our key cards. “I knew it! I tell my husband all the time—you show me a face, and I’ll figure it out eventually.” Then she looks at Patty. “And you know what? You look kind of familiar, too. Are you an impersonator?”
“No,” he chuckles. “I just have one of those faces.”
She snorts and hands Patty back his ID and creditcard, and then she gives us our key cards. “Not likely,” she says. Then she purses her lips and winks. “Enjoy your stay, lovebirds.”
