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“That’s right. You’re all set. Please enjoy your stay.”
“Doubtful, at this rate,” I mutter.
The man passes us a paper folder with two keys. When I don’t take it, he extends it to Lally.
Her brow creases with confusion.
“We have you in one of our premier rooms. California king-size bed, which is perfect for a tall couple like yourselves.” The receptionist smiles.
As if in sync, both of our jaws drop and our gazes meet in a mixture of damp dismay, given the unintended swim, and something else I can’t put my finger on.
Lally
CHAPTER 5
Today has slowly unraveled and then tangled into a confusing web. Now, I’m caught in its net.
Turning away from Magnus, aka MM, I’m glad the butterflies fluttering in my belly have damp wings.
To the man behind the registration desk, I say, “Sir, I think there has been a mistake. I’m Lally McGuiness.”
“And I’m Magnus McGregor.” The deep timbre of his voice is soothing, reminding me of the pine forests where I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Now I live diametrically opposed, almost as far away as I could get from my hometown where I met Ethan. And I’d really like to be at my little island oasis south of here right now.
“You kept your maiden name? A lot of women do that these days,” the man says politely, shuffling some papers, and eager to be clear of the two people who decided to “swim” in formalwear.
“No, we’re not—” I wave my pointer finger between myself and the tall man by my side—my handsome and would-be rescuer had I not known how to swim and hadn’t been purposely trying to delay my humiliation in front of Romy and Ross.
“We’d like separate rooms,” Magnus says.
“Unusual request, but okay. Let’s see.” He clicks something on the computer. “We are all booked.”
“But I had a room,” I say.
“And I had a room,” Magnus echoes.
“Nope. You’re together.”
“We’re not—” he starts to repeat.
“My apologies. We have a big wedding party staying here this weekend. And the bride,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “is a particular kind of delight.” His smile is as plastic as Romy’s—she has lip fillers, to be clear.
“I know,” I mutter.
“This is the best I can do. I am sorry about the name mix-up, but you can see how that might happen. McGuiness and McGregor sound very similar.”
“No, they don’t,” Magnus and I say at the same time.
The man offers us a tired but conciliatory smile. “Next, please.”
A few people stand behind us in line and we move aside.
“What do we do?” I ask vaguely.
“I’ll sleep in my truck.”
“No, you can’t do that. It was your room first. Romy must’ve—or her wedding planner—made a mistake.”
Magnus hefts his duffle bag. “Good night, Lally.”
