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CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Nick
The hotel was a stark contrast to the cabin they’d been staying in. Extravagant with sprawling gardens, they’d be sure to have a comfortable stay. But it blurred the lines again. Two rooms. A locked door between them. No ghosts to scare her into his arms. No reason to fall back in bed together. If anything happened between them, it wouldn’t be over some wild circumstances. There would have to be a choice. A deliberate decision to strip each other down and fall back into the sways of pleasure.
There wasn’t a single barrier to his decision. Every ticking second he was in her presence, thoughts of Cleo’s body filled his mind. He had a sense the same was true for her. The tension between them was building again, like a whistling kettle that needed to either be poured out or cooled off.
“The gardens are beautiful,” Cleo said as she took her room key from the front desk agent.
“We are having a party there tonight. You two should join. It’s a celebration of the hotel’s one hundred twenty-fifth anniversary. The real party starts this weekend but tonight is a sort of kickoff.” The young man’s sharp cheekbones and old-soul eyes were captivatingly unique. There was a gold stud in his nose and a crimson silk shirt peeking out beneath his uniform jacket. His name tag read Pablo and his eyes screamed authenticity. He was himself. Completely. From the high and quick cadence of his voice to the rings on his fingers.
Nick always admired people who went on whatever journey it took to end up where Pablo was. Being unapologetically real and enjoying the hell out of it.
Cleo looked to Pablo and then at Nick. “We’re not really prepared for a party. We’re here for work.”
Pablo leaned across the high desk and whispered, “It’s going to be something special. No one knows yet, but Florence Crenshaw is coming to do a reading from her latest book. They didn’t advertise it. It’s a surprise.”
“Florence Crenshaw,” Cleo said, squeezing Nick’s arm. “I love every single one of her books.”
“The latest is based here in Savanah, and our little hotel makes a cameo. You won’t want to miss it. It’s formal... cocktails in the garden. Then some appetizers and champagne on the back patio with a small string ensemble. Very romantic.” Pablo winked. “You picked a great night to check in.”
“How formal?” Nick asked, drawing a little smile from Pablo who reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card.
“Go see my friend Elton. He’s iconic in the underground fashion world. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll set you up. You’re a gorgeous couple, and he’d love to dress you.”
Nick waited for Cleo to correct him about them being a couple, but she didn’t.
“Thank you so much,” she said, sliding the card off the desk and tucking it in her bag. “Will she be signing books as well?”
“She’s requested not to,” Pablo informed her apologetically. “Florence is a bit of an eccentric. Well, they call her that. I think she has social anxiety and stage fright. She wrote a good portion of the novel in the gardens, and I’ve had a few fun interactions with her. But she’s not looking for a long line of people to chit-chat with. She’ll read, barely mingle, and then dart away.”
“I understand,” Cleo answered, looking disappointed.
“I hope I see you two tonight.” Pablo waved the next person checking in forward. “Elevators are down that hallway to the right.”
“Florence is an author you like?” Nick asked as they stepped into the elevator.
“One of my favorites. She writes novels I’ve been reading since I was thirteen.”
“What kind?” Nick asked, feeling out of his depth suddenly. “I mean, what genre?”
“It’s all coming-of-age stories. That early kind of romance that feels like falling and never knowing when the ground is going to come up and meet you. Through the darkest times in my life, I fell headlong into her books. She’s iconic.”
“Then we have to meet her tonight.”
“It sounds like she’s not much of a people person, which I understand. You can feel it in her writing. It's all from the sidelines. Does that make sense? She writes more like she’s watching things than experiencing them.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I’m not much of a reader. Nothing ever seemed like it was meant for me. No stories I could really relate to.”
“I get that,” Cleo said gently as the elevator doors opened. “We all grow up with such different experiences. It’s hard to find yourself in the pages of books. But when you do, it’s like being seen for the first time.”
“Maybe I should keep looking for a book about a poor kid from South Boston with a boatload of siblings and a penchant for trouble.”
“Or you could write one,” she said with a smile. Her confidence in him was misplaced, and he almost told her that. But instead, he just held up the key to his room and waited for a few beats before speaking.
“I’m not really sure I want to go back to sleeping in different hotel rooms.”
“I don’t think I want to either,” she agreed. “But Brian did book two. He expects we’ll be working down here, and right now the only plan we have is to go to a party tonight. I’m sure that isn’t what he had in mind for us.”
