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Because I had no idea what might happen with Calla as the day progressed, I picked up the keys, got in my car, then called a hotel I knew of a couple of blocks away on Ocean Drive and asked if they had any vacancies allowing for averyearly check-in. I arrived a few minutes after confirming they did and gave the guy behind the desk a couple hundred bucks to have my clothes picked up from outside my room in five minutes, laundered, and delivered back to me as quickly as mechanically possible.
I inquired about the toiletries in the room and requested a toothbrush when one wasn’t mentioned. The guy, who probably hadn’t counted on a tip of that size first thing in the morning, went into the backroom and came out a minute later with a bag and a cup of coffee.
“I collected some extra things to make your stay more comfortable, sir,” he said, handing both things to me. “Cream and sugar are on the sideboard behind you if you use them. Your clothes will be returned to you within forty-five minutes of you leaving them outside your door.”
“There’s another hundred in it for you if you can make it happen in under thirty.”
“Yes, sir. You got it.”
Once in my room, I removed my clothes, put them in the laundry bag I found in the closet, and set them outside my door. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, then donned one of the two robes I also found in the closet.
There was a pastry in the bag, which I set aside since I’d be taking Calla to breakfast, but I opened the pack of ibuprofen he’d given me and chased the pills with a full bottle of water. What I wouldn’t do would be to sit or lie down. If I did, I might fall asleep, risking missing returning to Calla’s place at the promised hour.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. When I opened it, the same guy who’d been behind the front desk handed me my clean clothes. I reached into the pocket of the robe and gave him a hundred bucks. For the first time in my life, I was thankful for the undercover assignment I’d had in a Vegas hotel, when I learned how fast commercial machines could launder sheets and towels.
“I’d like to keep the room at least one more night if it’s available,” I said to my friend from the front desk.
“It’s yours as long as you want it.”
After thanking him and dressing, I rushed outside to my car the valet had parked and ready to go.
I arrived at the guardhouse with two minutes to spare, and while I knew the code, I wouldn’t use it unless Calla told me to. I waited while the attendant called, relieved when he opened the gate a few seconds later. The insecure part of me worried she wouldn’t answer, and if she did, she wouldn’t let me back in.
I felt a sense ofdéjà vuwhen I parked in the same spot I had last night and walked to the door, wearing the same clothes. I knocked, then wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. Seconds later, the door opened and Calla waved me inside.
“I feel a little underdressed,” she said.
I looked her up and down, loving how her snug jeans hugged her legs and how the black sweater she wore did the same to her curvy upper body. “You’re perfect.”
“Um, how?” she pointed at my clothes.
“I had a spare set in my car. And maybe I forgot to mention there’s a bathtub in the trunk.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not that it’s my business, but I’d love to know the real story.”
“I’ve got a new friend at the Peabody on Ocean Drive. It’s amazing how fast you can get a room and have your clothing laundered if you’re willing to shell out a few bucks. God, I hate how much I just sounded like my dad.”
Calla, as I was beginning to think of her, raised a brow. “Have you witnessed your dad after the walk of shame?”
I laughed. “No, but I have seen him grease more than a few palms to get something he wanted. So, uh, are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Got a favorite breakfast spot?” I asked.
“Sure do.”
“Lead the way.”
Rather than walking toward the door, she approached the breakfast bar and pulled out a stool. “Have a seat.”
I did as she told me and kept my eyes on her when she went around it and into the kitchen. “I make spectacular buttermilk pancakes, and I just so happen to have blueberries, raspberries, and fresh peaches.”
I leaned against the stool and rubbed my stomach. “Sounds amazing. Can I help?”
“I’ve got it.” She pulled a covered sheet pan out of the refrigerator, then turned on the oven.
“What’s that?” I asked when she set it on the counter.
