You know what? No. These aren’t new, mature feelings swirling around inside me. It’s just residual feeling memory (you know, like muscle memory but for your emotions) from a long time ago. My inner child is stepping up and having her way with my limbic system. That’s all it is.
That’s all itcanbe.
“Ready?” Julien hands the second key card to me, and I take it.
We roll our luggage over to the bank of elevators, where Julien taps on the up arrow. My gaze sweeps in front of me and—
“Oh my goodness gracious!”
“What? What is it?” Julien turns sharply, eyes alert for whatever caused my alarm.
The stainless-steel doors of the elevator reflect my image back to me. My hair is the embodiment of the Grinch’s heart after meeting Cindy Lou—both have grown three sizes. Atleast. If I’d taken a balloon and rubbed it all over my head, my hair wouldn’t stick out any more than it already is.
In vain, I try to smooth the frizz down, but the moisture-filled curls just blow right back up like a used-car-lot air dancer. “I look like Medusa.” Or Monica in that episode ofFriendswhen they go to Barbados.
Julien’s shoulders relax, then begin to shake. “It’s not that bad,” he lies through his teeth.
The elevator doors open with a ding. We wait for the people inside to walk off, then roll our luggage on and hit the button for the eighth floor. The doors on this side are just as reflective, and my wild hair continues to mock me. Good thing that crush is in the past and I’m not trying to impress Julien because hair like this is enough to scare anyone. Even I’m frightened.
We get spit out on our floor, and Julien holds our room door open for me. As soon as I walk in, I’m dazzled. Plush carpet under my feet and tray ceilings over my head. There are in fact two double beds, with very large tufted upholstered headboards secured to one wall and a chandelier dangling between them. The opposite wall is a floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door that leads out onto a balcony overlooking the ocean. The bedding is pristinely white and luxurious, and the open door leading to the bathroom gives me a peek that the hotel spared no expenses on the upscale finishes.
“Wow,” I say for what feels like the half-dozenth time since stepping foot on Florida soil.
Julien looks around. “It’s nice,” he says casually.
I whirl on him. “Nice? Nice would’ve been the palm-frond-printed duvet covers and framed stock photos of coconut trees that I was expecting. This is...”
“Not nice?” he teases when I can’t come up with the proper adjective.
I roll my eyes at him. “I take it you stay at places like this all the time?”
He shrugs. “I mostly only travel for work.”
“You don’t take any time off? Ever? When was your last vacation?”
He looks out over the ocean as his lips scrunch in concentration.
I can’t believe this guy. He has the means to travel anywhere he wants, and he can’t even remember the last time he took off work to relax? I’ve never gone anywhere far or fancy because of my financial situation, but I can tick off places I’ve been this year alone. Camping at Cade’s Cove. Camping at Fall Creek Falls State Park. Camping at Reelfoot Lake. Okay, so I do a lot of camping. But most sites are under twenty dollars a night, so it makes for an affordable getaway, and I don’t have to arrange for someone to take over my duties at the Andersons’ if I’m only gone a couple of days here and there.
“You should take more time off from work,” I tell him.
“I will. As soon as Dad hands over the reins and everything is settled with him and the publishing house, I’ll have time to pursue other things.”
He gives me a look I can’t decipher. Which is a little weird because usually I can read him like an open book. Before I can try to decode him, however, he turns and unzips his luggage.
“Do you mind if I take the shower first?” he asks.
“Go ahead. I like to take mine in the morning anyway.”
He grabs some clothes and a toiletry bag and shuts himself in the bathroom.
I follow his example and open my own luggage. I’m ready to get out of these jeans and wraparound top I’ve been wearing all day and into some comfy jammies. I grab the pajama set I packed, refusing to be embarrassed by the pink Kawaii teddy bears printed on the shorts and tank top. They are adorable, and I work with children all day, so it stands to reason that I still like cutesy things other adults would find kiddish or immature.
Just in case Julien walks out of the bathroom unexpectedly and unannounced, I’m not changing out in the open. That would be an embarrassment I’m not sure I can come back from. Instead, I take my clothes into the little walk-in closet and shut the door behind me. Once changed, I look down at myself. I hadn’t planned on sharing a room and so hadn’t planned on showing this much skin to anyone, let alone to Julien.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m decent. All the important bits are covered. And now that I think about it, more of me will be showing if I get a chance to take a dip in the ocean or in the hotel pool. Still. Thighs and arms, oh my.
A fluffy hotel robe snags my attention. I could put that on and cover myself up. Not that I’m not already covered. But if I wear the robe, will it look like I have nothing on underneath? Appearing naked would notch up the uncomfortable factor by one thousand percent.
