Teddy: How are you doing, Lotte?
The text was the first contact I’d had with anyone all day, feeling incredibly lonely and too much of a whiner to actually speak to my friends back home. I told him I was fine, and set my phone down. I didn’t blame them for going on without me, because what other choice did they have? But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel lonelier than ever.
A knock on the door interrupted me from fanning my lashes and I stared at the shadow figure standing outside my room. I wasn’t expecting anyone. After the doctor had told me my injury wasn’t as bad as I thought, I’d told Ames and Mila not to worry about me. I could make it another four days until it was time for me to return to my home. Besides, it would be much easier to do so without my tail between my legs, like it would be if Mila or Ames had to accompany me home.
“Just a second,” I called and checked my lashes in the mirror. Once I was assured I looked somewhat back to normal, I hobbled my way to the door with the boot and opened it.
And then my breath caught in my throat.
Sam.
He was standing on my hotel room doorstep, arm leaning against the doorway. “Lots,” he said, and before I could stop myself, I flung my entire body into his arms.
He didn’t hesitate and wrapped himself around me as I burrowed my face into his chest. He smelled so good, like home, and he felt like it too.
It was the first time I’d felt at home in a month, and though I’d known I was homesick, I didn’t realize just how badly I was until that moment.
“You’re here,” I said with wonder against his jacket. I didn’t want to let go of him. My hands fisted the fabric and curled him in.
“I’m here.” He ran a hand down my back.
I wanted to sink right into him and not come up for air. I forgot about everything in that moment and just held onto him like he might let go before I was ready.
I was the first to pull away, gliding my hands over his chest. It’d only been a month since I’d seen him, but part of me had thought that maybe I’d imagined most of my feelings for him. Now, touching him, having his hands on me, there was no doubt of my feelings. I was still in love with him, painfully so, and he was here.
“Hi.” I gave him a small smile and he looked me over, a frown around his eyes.
“You okay? Your face is a little puffy.”
I withdrew from him and pressed my cold palms to the skin under my eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’m not sleeping well.” I gave him a smile and stepped back. “Want to come in?”
He stepped through, taking in the state of my hotel room. It wasn’t as tidy as I would have liked, but it didn’t look like a tornado had breezed through either.
“Did you come all this way for me?” I asked, suddenly realizing that Sam was here, in America, in my hotel outside of the Salt Lake City airport. Not back in London, where I expected him to be.
“No, I flew all this way to take in the amenities of this fine establishment.” He ran his hand over the plastic dresser and then looked over at me with one of his easy grins, the kind that made my heart pitter patter. “You’re surprised to see me?”
I shrugged and sat down on the bed behind me. Lifting my boot to the bed, I said, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come. I told Ames and Mila I was fine.”
“I know. I heard. But I’d already purchased my ticket.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued looking around the room. “I would’ve come anyway, though,” he added softly, glancing at me and then at my boot. “How’s the leg?”
It was surreal, to be thousands of miles from home, but with Samson here. I had to blink, to make sure he wasn’t a product of my subconscious.
Regret fluttered through me in remembering how we’d parted and embarrassment chased that, up into my cheeks. It was easy to temporarily forget that night when he’d stood on my bedroom doorstep, but now that he wandered around my room, I could do nothing but watch him and remember all the ways he’d touched me.
“My leg?” I asked. “It’s okay.” I rapped my knuckles on the hard plastic shell. “I can walk on this, but it’s not terribly comfortable.”
“Okay.” He nodded like he’d decided the room was adequate. “I’m hungry. Are you?”
My jaw went slack. This was so unusual. Sam was here, in America, with me. Our last conversation, in London, wasn’t going to be continued—at least not yet. And he was asking if I wanted to eat.
“Uh, sure.”
“What’s good to eat around here?”
I looked blandly at the garbage can in the corner. Boxes from pizza places, Chinese takeaway, and sandwich shops were practically, but neatly, overflowing. “Pizza. Sandwiches. Lo mein?”
“Let me guess,” he said, turning around and taking me in. “You haven’t had a proper meal outside of this room in a while.”
“You’d be right.” I laughed lightly. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t delivered to my door, or cooked over the fire.”
“We can’t have that continue now, can we?” he asked and stepped toward me, holding a hand out. “Let’s go. We’ll get some dinner in, and then you can fill me in on your adventures thus far.”
“Thus far,” I said, placing my hand in his. “This is the end of the line for me.”
“Ehhh,” he replied, tilting his head back and forth as he looked me over. “Not yet. You’re not going to waste the next few days inside this place.”
I bit down on the argument I wanted to have, because I knew it’d be an argument for the sake of arguing. Sam could be pushy. I’d forgotten that. “What are you in the mood for?” I asked, deflecting.
“I saw a waffle and burger place on the ride in.”
I nodded and my stomach responded with an audible growl.
“Need a piggyback?”
“No.” I laughed at its absurdity. “I can manage quite well on my own.”
“As I can see,” he said, swiping a foot at the rubbish bin that held all my delivery garbage. “Let’s go, I’ve got a car.”
I grabbed my purse and stepped outside of the room into the sunlight. Sam walked ahead of me to one side of the car, and opened the door.
“Is this safe? You driving on these roads?”
“Perfectly safe,” he said, and waved a hand for me to sit. “Get in, Lots.”
I paused and rubbed my chin. I wondered how many times I’d been taken aback by how incredibly, terribly beautiful he was. He wasn’t dressed in anything excessive, and his eyes looked a little tired. But with the sun at his back, illuminating his figure in front of me, I was struck by how good he looked. And it wasn’t the kind of beautiful you saw on a stranger walking on the street—this was from a place deeper than what my eyes beheld. He shined with it, and there wasn’t even the smallest piece of him that I found unappealing.
I climbed into his Jeep rental with his assistance, nervous at the prospect of Sam behind the wheel of a car that drove on the opposite side of the road he was accustomed to.
“I can’t believe you rented a car,” I told him. “How long until you leave?”
“I’m staying as long as you are,” he said, buckling in. I noticed he had changed the verb of my question from leave to stay, and I marveled at the impact such a minor word choice could have upon me. “Four days.”
“Well, there’s lots of stuff to do. The group I was with was headed down to this park that’s full of arches. So, if you want to do that, I’m sure you could catch up.”
He pulled onto the main road with such ease that I was a little jealous. Here I was, one month into my American holiday, with one leg already injured from the littlest bit of recklessness, and he was driving a foreign car on foreign soil like it was something he did all the time. “Is that what you want to do?”
I laughed and motioned at the boot wrapped around my leg. “I can’t. My leg.”
“I didn’t ask if you could. I asked if you wanted to.” We were stopped at a red light and I was aware of how much space w
e occupied now that we weren’t in my hotel room, and were in a Jeep instead.
“It doesn’t matter if I want to or not. It’ll be too difficult to lug this leg around.”
“You’re not going to this park because it’ll be difficult?”
He was pressing my buttons, much as he’d done before in his interrogations the night before I left London. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got a fracture in my leg.”
“I’ve not forgotten. But I recall you telling Ames it was a non-weight bearing bone, which means it’s perfectly fine for you to walk on it, right?”
Irritation lit through me. “That’s not the point.”
“Oh, I know.” He smiled at me in a way that made my stomach dip. “You’re ready to spend the next four days coasting in that room until it’s time to go, right? Well, too bad. We’re leaving that room. Tomorrow.”
“Wh—what?” I sputtered. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. We’re going to finish out your trip. Do the stuff you don’t think you can do, in the time we have left to do it.”
It rose my hackles, I couldn’t help it. “I’d rather not push myself to exertion.”
“I’m not saying we’re going to climb a fifteener, Lots. But you didn’t come all this way, enduring that injury, to sit back and wait it out. And I’m not content to sit by for the next few days, doing nothing.”
“You don’t have to. You can go, I’ll wait.”
“Don’t be a coward, Lotte. I know you’re not one.”
I gritted my teeth. “So what if I am? I came to America and realized that I’m happier at home. I came here chasing this idealized vision of being some adventurous twenty-something and it turns out that adventure isn’t for me. So. I’ll be a coward who sits at home and that’s okay. I’ve accepted that I’m tucking tail and running.”
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching his hand over and cupping the back of my head. “Do you hear what you’re saying? You are not a coward, because you tried it. Just because it wasn’t for you doesn’t make you a coward.” He dropped his hand. “But I’m not letting you leave without finishing the things you still should do, since you’re here.”
I groaned. “I don’t want to do them.”
“You’re a liar.” The way the ‘r’ curled on his tongue made me want to kiss him. I was struck blind by the want, and fisted my hands to stop me from doing so. “Besides,” he said, “I want you to.” He pulled into the parking lot and leaned across me. I pushed against the seat back, caught by surprise from his closeness and he opened my door from the inside. “Be careful getting out. It’s a long drop.”
I knew all about long drops. I’d been falling for half of my life.
Chapter Fifteen
She looked pale, like she hadn’t slept well in a while. That could’ve been caused by the contraption wrapped around her leg, or by the fact that she’d clearly had a miserable time the last few days.
I rounded the Jeep before she could climb out and, from a gesture that was pure instinct, I put my hands on her waist and pulled her down.
She was so small in my hold. That bird again. And in my clumsy hands, I felt like it’d be too easy to break her. Once I had her on solid ground, I stepped back. “Ready for some waffles?”
She brushed down the front of her white summer dress as she followed me into the building. She was quiet, all the way through the doors and to our table.
It was odd, being in a whole different country with her. Without anyone watching us. No one knew who we were, and that was such a foreign feeling to me, to be with her without anyone we knew as an audience.
Once she slid into the booth, I patted on my seat across from her. “Want to prop your foot up here?”
She angled back, but her boot under the table didn’t come close to making it on the seat. With a laugh, she sat up straighter. “I’m not tall enough.”
“I know. You’re like a bird,” I said, not meaning to.
She blinked, those damn Botticelli eyes all doe-like; soft and inquisitive.
God, I’d missed her. It struck me then, in this dark little corner of the restaurant, just how much. She laid her hands on the table in front of us, palms up as she worried with her thumbs. Like the night in her bedroom, I found myself distracted by them and wanted to reach over, run my fingertips through the creases in her palms.
Instead, I clutched my hands tight together, eyes searching over her. “You look good, Lotte,” I told her, not because I thought she needed to hear it but because I needed to say it.
She rolled her wrists over, hands flat on the table, and gave me a shy smile. The tension I’d felt from her in the car seemed to dissipate. “Thanks,” she said, and her eyes met mine. “You do too.”
I wanted to ask her how she was, how she really was. So many things I wanted to say, to apologize for. Just being in her presence was like being sated. And after weeks of frustration, I felt the most profound pleasure just looking at her.
“What can I get you?” the waitress interrupted, standing at attention with her pad of paper in hand.
“Water,” Lotte said.
“Coffee, please.” It’d been a long eleven hours to get here, and I knew I needed caffeine before I fell asleep at the table.
The waitress disappeared, leaving us alone.
And I couldn’t wait anymore. I reached my hands across the table and wrapped them around her narrow wrists. To soften my hold, I rubbed a finger across her soft, milk-white skin. “Lotte,” I said. “I’m sorry. For what I said before you left.”
I felt her flinch and knew she wanted to pull away. I slightly tightened my hold, making it impossible for her to escape my grasp.
“I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have made you feel like that.”
“Sam,” she said quietly. “I’m just glad you’re here. That’s it. Let’s not talk about it.”
Pink stained her cheeks, and for that reason I obliged her. But it wasn’t a conversation I was finished having, not yet. “All right.”
“Why’d you come here?”
She’d effectively steered the topic to the one thing I wasn’t comfortable talking about. So, I deflected her by giving an answer that wasn’t entirely untrue. “I needed to get out of London for a bit.”
She pursed her lips. “Is it because of Della?”
She tried, I’d give her credit, but I saw the way her eyes darkened just mentioning Della’s name, like a mental slap, and my mind went to the first time I’d kissed Lotte—the night her sister had died—and how I’d lied about remembering it.
But now didn’t feel like a good time to bring that up. “Partly. She’s poison for me, so being away from her is … ideal.”
The waitress returned and set our drinks on the table. “Ready to order?”
Lotte laughed softly and tugged out of my hold. “We haven’t even looked at the menu,” she confessed, grabbing the giant laminated menu beside her. She looked at me when I didn’t make a move to get my own menu.
“Order for me,” I asked her. It wasn’t a test, but if it had been, she’d have passed.
“Cheeseburger, medium, with tomatoes but no onions, and chips.”
“Fries,” I gently corrected her, realizing that chips in America weren’t chips in the UK.
She blushed. “Fries.” She handed the menu to the waitress. “I’ll have the same. But…” She chewed on her lip for a moment, contemplating, “This might sound unusual, but could I also have one waffle? On the side.”
The waitress didn’t appear to find it unusual at all, took our menus, and left.
“Just one waffle?” I teased her.
“Well, I did order a burger too. I hardly need a waffle as well.”
“You’re on holiday. You can have whatever you want.”
That brought pause to both of us, with her looking at me before her eyes darted away. I wanted to touch her again, to see if she could feel the fire she was stoking within me. It was such an immediate reaction that I curled my fingers into fi
sts to keep from doing just that.
“So, how far is this Arches place we’re heading to tomorrow?”
She blew out a breath. “I think about four hours south of here. Near the Colorado border. Why do you want to go anyway?”
“Because it was part of the plan. Because what else are we going to do?”
She began worrying her thumbs again, running her nails over themselves. “Okay. Just a day trip?”
“Why? Did you have other plans in mind?”
Her hand moved to just behind her ear and she played with a strand over and over. Twisting one way and then the other. “I haven’t done the hot air balloon ride yet.”
My stomach pitched. The flight over had been one thing, but the idea of being that high in the air, in a basket for Christ’s sakes, made me feel like I’d just done a belly flop. “Ah, well, I guess we’ll have to see you off to do that.”
“See me off? I don’t think so. You’re going to join me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not made for being that high, Lots. I’ll upswallow the whole time.” I patted my stomach to illustrate.
“If you’re going to make me do it, I’m going to make you join me.” She raised her eyebrow in challenge, daring me to tell her no.
“Fine.” The happiness that lit up her face at that made me feel like an arsehole. She was so good, so pure. I couldn’t stay away from her, and the harder I tried to be casual about this, the more I wanted to not be casual. The more I wanted, the more I realized I didn’t deserve.
A sleepy song played on the speakers above us and it reminded me of the song she and I had danced to in London. I wanted to see her dance again, see the way her entire body changed from someone who was demure in appearance but wild at heart. Music was more than just dance for her, it was religion.
“You remembered how I liked my burgers,” I said. The abrupt change in subject threw us both off, but she looked at me like I was daft.
“I’ve prepared enough of them for you, I ought to know how you like them.”
The Sounds of Secrets Page 14
