Small problem. The Porsche is an old school stick shift. I don’t even make it out of the driveway before the car starts making alarming sounds. It bucks under me and stalls.
Thirty-five minutes later, Rafe backs the Porsche into a spot in the small lot behind the Arbors Day Spa.
“I can’t believe you don’t know how to drive a manual!” he laughs. “What is it with all you American women? I can teach you if you want.”
We were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, but Rafe drives slowly. Like, really slow. Grandpa slow. It’s sort of funny given the number of high-speed chases his superhero character has been involved in.
“Will you teach me how to useallthe gears?” I ask.
“Of course,” he smirks. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you barely made it past third the entire way here,” I point out.
“I was driving the speed limit.” Rafe looks wounded.
“You and nobody else! A tractor passed us.”
“That’s only because I slowed down to give him the right of way,” he says.
“Rafe, nobody gives tractors the right of way.”
“It’s farm country,” Rafe argues. “Farmers should definitely have the right of way.”
“Sure, whatever.” Still chuckling, I step out of the Porsche and swing the door shut. It doesn’t slam but closes slowly and firmly with a luxurious ka-chunk. I can still smell the leather and new-car smell of it clinging to my hair as I’m walking in.
“You should keep arguing with me. By the way, don’t let me win,” Rafe leans to whisper in my ear.
“What? Why?” I rub at my neck, trying to erase the telltale goose bumps arising from his nearness.
“Because Lorelei would never let me win. She’d keep giving me shit all the way in.”
“Okay … Grandpa!” I do my best sarcastic Lorelei impression.
“Perfect,” he mouths and winks at me before sliding on his own dark aviators. They aren’t doing anything to conceal his identity. If anything, they’re just highlighting his hot mysteriousness.
“Sorry we’re a few minutes late.” Rafe lowers his glasses to look at the desk clerk, and there’s that blinding smile again.
The poor thing isn’t prepared for the full-charm assault. She turns beet red.
“Welcome to the Arbors. Hello, my name is Heather. And it is not a problem, Mr. Bar … I mean,Mr. Adams,” she says.
“Call me Doug.” Rafe dials the dimmer down on his smile from supernova to mere sunny day.
“And this is my wife, Morticia.”
“Riiiiight.” The desk clerk tries not to giggle. “Can I offer you some fruit-infused water before I escort you back to the changing area?”
“Thank you,” I say as I accept the proffered drink. “Thank you very much.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows at me, but Heather just keeps talking.
“We’ve reserved the Chardonnay Suite for your exclusive use. There are private changing areas and your own sauna, steam room, and oak-barrel hot tub. I hope you are both ready for a day of sybaritic delight?”
“So ready, Heather.” Rafe leans forward. Heather blushes again.
“Just to review the schedule for today, Ms. Du … I mean,Morticia, we have you booked with our estheticians for a facial, microblading, waxing, mani-pedi, and deep conditioner treatment—our Full Day of Beauty Package! We’re going to start with the mani-pedi and the facial right away, followed by a massage and detoxifying salt scrub. We’ll leave you to relax for a bit, and then rinse you off in the Swiss showers. And,Doug, I have you down for a sound bath and our signature sports massage?”
“Sounds dreamy,” Rafe grins.
