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“I take my preparation seriously.” She flips up the duvet next to me and slides into bed, grabbing the remote. “Did you get us coffee?”
My heart clunks in my chest. “I was on a call,” I say. “I have to go to Colorado for a dinner.”
She snaps her gaze to mine. “Today?”
I nod. “I have to leave here just after eleven.”
She points the remote at the TV screen but doesn’t look at me. “Looks like I’m bed rotting alone.”
“You get half a day off,” I say, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.
“Lucky me,” she says, still not looking at me, as she scrolls through the channels on the TV.
I feel stupid, but I want to suggest that maybe we catch up when I’m back. But I don’t. She’s here because she wants me to help her out with Boston—not because she wants to be. This week has just been the result of a stupid, drunken bet that I thought I could turn to my advantage and figure this woman out. Get her out of my system. But Avril’s not out of my system. I’ve learned a little more about what makes her tick, but it has only made me want to know more about her, to spend more time with her.
She’s way deeper in my system than she was when we started out. And I’m not ready for it to end.
“I’ve had a good time this week,” I say, as if dipping my toe into the water.
“Yeah,” she says. “It hasn’t been as terrible as I expected.”
I chuckle and bring up my DoorDash. Maybe the woman just needs her coffee before we discuss anything serious.
She turns to me, a vulnerable expression in her eyes. “Will you help me with Boston?”
I just nod. There’s no way I couldn’t help her, even if I didn’t want to. But I’m going to. Not because it’s not messy—it definitely is—but because I want to help her. I want her to be happy.
“You’ve got a friend for life in me, Avril,” I say.
She looks forward at the TV as she keeps endlessly scrolling through the channels. She just nods. “Same.”
I order the coffee, and popcorn and various other unhealthy snacks, and I toss my phone onto the bed.
“Maybe I should start to pack,” she says, throwing back the duvet, still avoiding my gaze. “I should leave at the same time you go.”
I grab her wrist, stopping her from getting out of bed, and she stiffens. “Let’s rot together a little while longer.”
Her body relaxes and she pulls the duvet back over her. “I need some coffee.”
“It’s on the way.”
“And something to eat with no nutrients but dense in calorific value.”
I chuckle. “On its way too.”
We lie side by side, our arms almost touching. She picks up the remote and finds The Real Housewives of New York immediately. She presses play and tosses the remote back onto the bed.
I catch her hand and slide my fingers through hers. And we both lie there not saying anything. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but all I can focus on is how much I like the woman next to me. How much I’m going to miss her trying to bake me cookies and snoring beside me. The problem is, I’ve been building walls so long, I don’t know if there’s room inside this fortress I live in.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Avril
I get to Hotel on Ninth Street early on Monday after a terrible night’s sleep in my own bed. Poppy was out all day yesterday with some old school friends, and I was in bed by the time she got back. Which is good, because I was in the mood to wallow, and I wouldn’t have been able to explain to her why. I’m not sure why I felt so sad. I got what I wanted. I endured eight nights living with Ben without falling in love with him and secured his help getting the Boston site.
I wave and smile to the two women at reception. It’s quiet at this time of day. I like it. I can always get a lot done without the inevitable interruptions that crop up when the day is in full swing.
I slump down behind my desk and turn on my computer. I really want to go through the financials for the Boston hotel. I wonder how long it will take Ben to do whatever it is he does. How long will I have to wait before I get in front of the seller and make them an offer?
