Page 66 of The Heartbreak Hotel

She felt another crack form in her chest. Perhaps the anniversary of Ella’s goodbye would have the same effect as Elodie’s, too, and she was destined to be haunted by the memories of people she loved who’d left.

She tilted her head to the shower stream, letting the hot water scorch her face. She wasn’t sure what she could do. Ever since the António triplet scandal, Senhor Arenoso had made the rules on client/staff relationships very clear. If she told him the truth, she’d lose her job, her home, her close bond with the man who’d helped her in her time of need.

But hadn’t she already jeopardised all that by pursuing Ella?

Fuck. She was torn. Her head and heart were tugging her in two opposite directions. What a mess.

She switched off the shower and stepped out, drying herself with one of the fluffy towels hanging on the back of the door. She wasn’t thinking about how she and Ella had dried themselves off after being caught in the storm. Or their first kiss at the ruins. And how all the world’s energies seemed to pull them together.

She wiped a hand over the fogged glass and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the shower, but her stare reflected sadness. She took in the circles under her eyes, her puffy eyelids, her blonde hair slicked down over her back. She sighed, fogging the glass again. She needed to get out of here.

She threw on some joggers and an oversized T-shirt and took the back paths down to the cliffs to avoid seeing anyone. Inside one of the crumbling and unused huts, she let out a happy sigh, hearing nothing but the waves crashing beneath her. She eyed the stack of surfboards piled in a corner. The storage space didn’t hold much apart from a workbench and the box of wax. Luckily, that was all she needed.

With painting out of the question—even that reminded her of Ella—she just needed something to occupy her mind. Rewaxing these old boards should do the trick.

She lifted the first onto the bench and dusted it off with an old towel before running her hand along the clean surface.

“A good wax is a surfer’s best secret,” her dad’s gravelly voice reminded her.

Riley’s only happy memories of her dad were when he’d taught her to surf. The rugged Irish coastline and the cold, fierce waves biting at her skin. When she was nine, they’d taken a road trip to the southwest coast with one of her dad’s poker buddies and his son, Kenan. Her days were spent dipping in and out of the sea, racing Kenan along the sand and building sandcastles. But the nights were long. She and Kenan huddled together, making earplugs out of pillows to try block out their dads’ vicious laughter as the bottles emptied and glasses smashed.

Riley blew out a breath, letting the memory leave with it. She picked up the wax and started drawing horizontal lines, cross-hatching close together up to the stringer in the middle of the board. She used to dream about her mum coming home and storming through the door, wrapping her up in the big purple coat she’d only seen her wear in photos, declaring they were running away together in dad’s camper.

But she never came. And her dad pawned the camper to pay off gambling debts.

Riley picked up the pace with her movements, feeling herself frown as she concentrated on the circular top coat. Before she knew it, she’d already finished two boards.

“I thought it was supposed to be your day off today?”

Riley jumped at the voice. She spun, almost propelling the surf wax at the man in the doorway. But it wasn’t the wide, barrel-chest image of her father. Senhor Arenoso lifted a hand in greeting, his deep green kaftan swaying around his ankles.

She plastered a smile on her face, thrown off by the interruption. “Bom dia, Senhor,” she greeted, brushing her hands on her trousers.

“Good morning, Riley.” He combed her with his eyes before landing on the stack of boards behind her. He gave a gentle nod. “But you know you don’t have to call me that in private.”

“Right, sorry, Danilo.” Riley was so used to calling him by his work name that his first name still felt terribly informal.

He’s checking up on me. She swallowed, feeling nervous.

Since they’d had their meeting yesterday, agreeing to Riley’s day off for the anniversary, she hadn’t expected to see him, never mind him turning up here. How did he know where I was?

His surprise visit had her wondering if he suspected something was out of the ordinary. Had Romeo told him about seeing Ella at the groves? Or Pauline about the flowers? Had someone been following her? Oh, Jesus.

“I’m sorry to intrude on your day, but I thought I might find you here when your cabin was empty. I know you prefer the quieter places on days like these.”

“It’s alright.” Riley’s chest tightened. His other-worldly senses always caught her off guard. It made her all the more nervous he might know something else was amiss.

He regarded Riley with careful eyes. “How did you sleep?”

“Not great,” she admitted, unable to hold the man’s dark gaze.

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know how hard today is for you. I wish there were more I could do to help.” He reached out and squeezed her hand, and tears immediately pricked Riley’s eyes.

The small act of comfort meant the world to her. She felt most people couldn’t understand the way the anniversary haunted her, but Danilo always made her feel seen. He was the complete opposite of her own father.

“I feel I’ve failed you in a way, Riley.”

“What?” She shook her head. “That’s not true.”