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I take my dress and return to the living room setting it across the arm of the chair and settle on one of the barstools tucked under the counter.
“Perfect timing,” he says. “The food is on its way up.” A knock punctuates his words. He retrieves the bag. A friendly conversation ensues before he tips and returns to start unpacking the food on the counter in front of me. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.”
“I’m surprised you wanted Italian food again.” The lids are removed, and he sets plates beside the dishes.
“Last night was pizza. Tonight is pasta. I love Italian.”
“You just said you love Italian.”
I gasp, covering my mouth. But I start smiling too big. “I did say that. Wow, I love Italian food. Of course, who doesn’t?”
A smile that puts me at ease spreads slowly across his mouth. “I think you’re recalling memories.”
“You think?”
“Seemed like it to me.”
I catalog the tidbit along with the few others. I notice how his smile lingers as he looks at me. “What is it?”
“Earlier, I wasn’t just talking about the dress.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I said you look beautiful in the dress, I was talking about you. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman. No matter what you’re wearing.”
This man saw me at my worst. He saw me without makeup for two days, in a ragged hospital gown, dressed up last night and tonight as well as casually. He’s seen every version of me, including before everything changed, and he stands there looking at me like I’m the sunshine who broke his rainy-day streak.
I slip off the stool and walk around the counter until I’m standing next to him. I whisper, “Thank you.”
He angles to face me, reaching across the small space I left between us and wraps his large hand around the side of my neck. The pad of his thumb rubs along the underside of my jaw, and he moves closer. With a tilt of his head, he’s closer to me than ever before.
His breath kisses my skin, sending a shiver up my spine. I close my eyes just as my breathing picks up, matching the beat of my heart. With his lips so close to the shell of my ear, I can feel his lips when he whispers, “How hungry are you?”
I tug him close, fisting his shirt, and whisper, “What’s food?”
Our mouths crash together in a frenzy of hands groping for purchase against each other and heavy breathing.
Buzz . . .
Buzz . . .
His mouth slows, his fingers stilling in my hair.
Buzz . . .
I steal a breath and slowly pull away when he does. Licking my lips, I look up at him. If he was to ever fall apart, this is how I imagine he would look—messy hair, a wild look in his eyes, his shirt askew. Loch kisses me gently, and then says, “I need to answer it. It’s the front desk.”
“Okay,” I reply, pushing my hair back from my face.
He puts the phone to his ear. “Yes?” Glancing at me, he says, “Te ll them to come up. Thank you.”
When he sets the phone down again, disappointment comes in the form of his lack of eye contact. “Your belongings from the hotel are here.”
Now I understand why his mood changed. It was fun while it lasted, but that call was all it took for his disappointment to become contagious.
15
Tuesday
Everything is perfect.
Or should feel that way, but it doesn’t.
I need nothing . . . other than my own pajamas, though I’ve become partial to his clothes.
My clothes hang on the hangers.
My shoes line up at the bottom of the closet.
The hotel bags are in the trash bin, though I debated if I should hold on to them for my next move.
Even my accessories and make-up are organized on the dresser.
The bed and pillows, the lamp and nice furniture, nothing is less than luxurious. Like a checklist at the end of the night where I’ve ticked each box, we ate dinner while I uselessly searched for the heat we shared before that call. I’ve said good night, brushed my teeth, and washed my face.
I’m not sure what my expectations were when Loch went sexy protective over me back at the hotel. I can’t say I had any next-step thoughts of what would happen next, but it wasn’t lying in Loch’s guest room at two seventeen in the morning all alone.
Since I forgot to buy myself pajamas, I’m still wearing his clothes. It makes me feel closer to him, which is odd since he feels farther away than ever.
I reach for the glass on the nightstand before remembering I’ve already drunk the water. Holding on to it, I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the door. I pull the door open as quietly as I can and pad down the hall through the living room and into the kitchen.
