Hearts Inn

by Lilly R. Mason

  When they got to the caravan, it was already teeming with people. Alex walked beside Rosalie, hands to herself, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the evening sun. Rosalie took it all in—the bright colors and smells and the heat weeping off the vans and people crowded around them. It smelled delicious. For the first time, she felt like she was experiencing the Southwest outside of the dried-up corner she’d been banished to and the cultivated oasis that was Corte del Cuervo.

  Alex elbowed her way through some lines, securing them each a plate of food. They found a section of curb in an area without too much traffic and sat. There was an air of frenzied competition around them; each truck boasted something more imaginative than the next. Rosalie devoured all of it, relishing her precious time away from Hearth with Alex.

  This town was nicer than Ashhawk. It still felt quaint, but there was less dust and trash and peeling paint and other signs of disrepair. The area they were in seemed like it had been intentionally curated to represent what Rosalie would call Southwestern Boutique.

  It was crowded and noisy, and their mouths were so busy scarfing down food they didn’t talk much. Rosalie supposed it didn’t matter; Alex was a woman of few words to begin with. Still, eating beside each other was different from eating with each other. Rosalie hoped the next part of their date would be more personal.

  Once they’d finished their food, Alex took their plates and threw them away, snagging a few wet wipes for their hands.

  “Want to take a walk?” she asked, rubbing a towelette into the crook of her thumb before throwing it away.

  “Sure.”

  As they left the noise of the food caravan behind, Rosalie felt herself relax. This was what a date was supposed to be: walking together, observing the sights, opening themselves up to whatever happened. Yet it felt a little empty.

  Alex seemed to think so, too. She stepped closer, keeping her gaze ahead, and in a low voice said, “I would take your hand if you wanted me to. But I understand if you want to just walk like this. It’s different here than in Philadelphia.”

  Rosalie digested Alex’s words. She knew things were different here. The clash of Catholicism and Native American spirituality yielded conflicting attitudes about same-sex couples. Had they been in Ashhawk, Rosalie would have known for sure she wasn’t ready to out herself. But since they were a few miles removed, she slipped her hand into Alex’s, giving a momentary squeeze before sliding her hand back out. It was a promise for authenticity wherever she felt safe.

  Alex smiled, understanding. “Let’s go in here,” she said, pointing at a shop.

  Rosalie had seen dozens of similar shops with a combination of cheap tourist trinkets and authentic New Mexican wares: turquoise rings and necklaces, woven baskets, blankets and throws in colorful tribal patterns. Rosalie wasn’t sure she knew the difference between the cheap trinkets and the real goods, other than how they were displayed. The clothing toward the back of the store was less flashy, more like the desert in its color schemes. Dusty oranges and blues and tans, hats without logos or names of cities emblazoned on the front. Alex gravitated back there, as well, and leaned over a lit case of jewelry.

  Alex didn’t wear jewelry. Rosalie figured it was a good thing; a ring or bracelet could catch in one of her tools and pull off a finger or hand in a split second. But Rosalie wondered if she would have if that hadn’t been the case.

  Not wanting to appear clingy or insecure, Rosalie turned to a rack of dresses with bold patterns on them. One in particular caught her eye: halfway between orange and red, like a violent sunset, with large, black shapes traced vertically over it in an indistinct tribal pattern. The material was a stretchy blend, something that would fit effortlessly over her curves, breathing in the heat her other clothes seemed to suffocate in. Its thin straps made it questionable to wear for work, but a cardigan could remedy that and protect against the air conditioner’s chill. She looked at the price tag—twenty dollars. Not bad for a little piece of color and style.

  “You should get it,” Alex said, appearing over Rosalie’s shoulder.

  Rosalie tried not to startle; she hadn’t noticed Alex had moved away from the jewelry case. “I don’t know,” Rosalie hedged.

  “It’s pretty. The color looks great with your skin.”

  Rosalie looked at her hand holding the soft material and saw it did make her skin look like it was glowing. “Where would I wear it?”

  Alex’s breath stopped for a second before she whispered, “Out on a date with me.”

  Rosalie’s heart raced, and she bit down a smile. Alex had plans for more dates together, which made the prospect of whatever sentence she had to serve in Ashhawk almost bearable.

  Rosalie took the dress off the rack, deciding twenty dollars wasn’t worth making a full pros and cons list in her head.

  Alex grinned, hovering an appropriate distance away from her as Rosalie paid the cashier. She stuffed the bag and receipt into her purse and gestured with her head for Alex to follow her back out onto the sidewalk.

  They walked up and down the streets of the town for a little while longer, finding few places open besides the bars. Alex strode casually with her hands in her pockets while Rosalie’s hands shifted from her purse strap to her sides to her face.

  Even though she was basking in a rare break from the stifling responsibility of Hearth, Rosalie couldn’t help thinking about her parents. She didn’t know much about their courtship, but she imagined they’d gone on dates like this, where her father, quiet and kind, accompanied Marisol all over Philadelphia, indulging whatever whimsy struck her. Rosalie thought of him sitting alone at home now, watching whatever National Geographic Channel program piqued his interest that day.

  “What are you thinking about?” Alex asked, a weakening softness to her voice.

  “My dad,” Rosalie admitted. She was struck by the swiftness with which Alex had picked up on her shift in demeanor.

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “I got a weird email.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I’d asked him about what kinds of owls are indigenous to this part of New Mexico, and he said desert owls are burrowing and I shouldn’t worry because owls are crafty and find ways of thriving even in the harshest conditions. But I never said I was worried about desert owls.”

  They strode along quietly before Alex said, “Maybe he wasn’t talking about owls.”

  Rosalie stopped in her tracks. Of course. Her father had been telling her he was okay in his own way. She gave Alex a shaky smile before she resumed walking. “Thank you.”

  Alex gave her a soft smile. “No problem.”

  The car ride back was quiet. Rosalie wished they’d had time to see a movie or walk around longer, but Susan had made it clear she needed to be home by ten. As they neared Hearth, the silence between her and Alex began to feel less easy.

  “You’re quiet,” Rosalie said.

  “Always,” Alex said with a brief smirk.

  “I like it. Except when I don’t know how you’re doing.”

  “Doesn’t get much better than a night out with a pretty girl.”

  Rosalie smiled, her flush precluding her from speech.

  Alex pulled into the parking lot, putting the truck in park. “I believe one should only speak if it improves on silence.”

  Rosalie nodded, studying Alex in the fading light mixed with the spooky glow of the exterior lights of Hearth.

  Alex shut off the engine, leaving them encased in quiet.

  Rosalie thought about all the quietness surrounding Alex and how she was learning to read when it was tense and when it was calm. It was calm now, Rosalie realized, and she leaned into it.

  Rosalie stared into Alex’s dark, serious eyes. Unbuckling herself, she scooted toward her, asking with her eyes if she should continue.

  Alex stared at her, leaning forward so Rosalie knew she was welcome.

  Rosalie brought her hand up to Alex’s cheek, kissing her soberly this time, drinking in th
e softness and taste of Alex without the muffling noise of the alcohol. She felt each nerve of her lips, each muscle moving beneath, each fraction of breath on her upper lip. Her heart rushed, and her ears prickled to hear the tiny smacks of wet against wet, the pull of fabric against fabric where their arms and chests pressed together. The kiss was slow and soft, full of everything their previous kiss had lacked.

  When Rosalie pulled back to gauge Alex’s face, Alex followed her forward before opening her eyes and giving Rosalie a soft, drunken smile.

  “That improves on silence, too.”

  Rosalie grinned, heat spreading through her face and chest. She leaned forward again for a few more strokes of lips against lips before she pulled back and reached for her door handle. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alex said, eyes trained on Rosalie’s face. She seemed to contemplate something but decided against it. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Rosalie replied.

  Alex paused before opening her door and slipping out, giving Rosalie one last nod. Rosalie grinned like a fool as she got out of the cab and walked to her room.

  Rosalie was giddy at the way Alex treated her. Had she been more zealous, she might have invited Alex back to her room with her.

  But the silence of the night was perfect as it was.

  Chapter Ten

  Turndown Service

  Rosalie pulled up to the bar, nerves tingling in her stomach. She never went to bars like this and certainly not with someone she was newly dating to meet her friends. She’d agreed to go because she wanted to know Alex better and because she felt guilty for always turning Alex down for such outings prior to their weekend in Corte del Cuervo. Perhaps getting to know a few locals would help her feel better about being stuck in Ashhawk. When Shelley had been available to cover the desk, Rosalie had jumped at the chance to leave the hotel.

  Rosalie wondered if she was dressed too formally; her button-down shirt and khakis might make her look uptight in front of Alex’s friends. But it was too late now. She switched off Gran’s car, glancing at her purse in the passenger’s seat. It looked too stuffy to bring into the bar. Surveying her surroundings and deciding it was safe, she took a twenty out of her wallet, stuffed it into her bra, and shoved her purse under her seat.

  She got out of the car, wilting in the heat. She tried to look confident as she walked up to the bar, holding her head high and ignoring the men huddled beside the door smoking and speaking in rapid Spanish.

  Inside, she found what would have been called a dive bar in Philadelphia but was simply a bar in Ashhawk. The walls were so heavy with old photos, vintage signs, hats, mirrors, and ads for beer, they seemed to be curling in on Rosalie. It wasn’t crowded, but it was the most populated place Rosalie had been to in Ashhawk. Mustached and bearded men of all ages cradled sweaty brown bottles and glasses in their hands, speaking both English and Spanish. There weren’t many women, but they were there, frizzy hair and faded clothing making them blend into the dated scene. Several televisions hung in corners of the room, garnering fragmented attention from the people in it.

  Rosalie spotted Alex at one end of the bar, hanging on the fringe of a group of men Rosalie would never have approached on her own. They were wearing jeans or basketball shorts and worn tees with grease stains on them. A few wore baseball caps. Two were sporting stubble on their cheeks, and all were drinking beer. Alex would have blended in with them, with her worn, straight-cut jeans and black muscle T, except Rosalie found her so attractive—her lean muscle and bronzed skin set her apart from the ruddy, sun-parched, deep-fried, stubble-covered bodies of her friends. Rosalie slipped up beside her, grateful to have Alex’s protection as she navigated such foreign terrain.

  Rosalie put her hand on Alex’s arm, feeling how smooth and warm it was.

  Alex turned, a smile blooming across her face, a private greeting for Rosalie. “Hey.”

  Alex’s whole body turned, and Rosalie froze as she realized Alex was turning in to kiss her. She didn’t know how to respond—was it safe for two women to kiss here? Had she not made it clear she wasn’t ready to be out in Ashhawk?

  Thankfully, Alex turned past her lips and past her cheek, placing her lips near Rosalie’s ear. “You look great, babe,” she whispered.

  Rosalie’s body surged with Alex’s compliment and the anxiety of having almost kissed in front of all these strange men. “Same.” She giggled, giving a subtle glance down Alex’s body.

  Alex grinned and turned back to her friends. “Guys, this is Rosalie,” she said, gesturing in Rosalie’s direction with her beer.

  Rosalie realized she shouldn’t have been worried about Alex outing her. Alex was careful and polite in all exchanges.

  “She just took over the Hearth Inn for Estelle. She’s cool. She’s also my boss, so don’t give her any shit.” Alex glanced back at Rosalie with a proud expression that would have included a wink if Alex had been more expressive.

  Rosalie gave a little wave.

  “What’s up, Rosalie?” said a guy in an American Spirit T-shirt. A few others nodded, lifting their beers without moving to shake Rosalie’s hand. Rosalie wasn’t sure how to greet them in response.

  “Sorry to hear about your grandma,” one guy said, standing tall with his chest puffed out in a confident manner. “She was a real nice lady.”

  “Thanks, she was.”

  The bartender leaned toward their side of the bar, asking if he could refill anyone’s drink.

  “Rosalie wants a drink,” Alex said, gesturing to Rosalie. “You can put it on my tab.”

  “You got ID?” the bartender asked, raising his eyebrows at Rosalie.

  Rosalie looked at Alex and the boys in disbelief. Surely, she didn’t look that young.

  “She’s with me,” Alex said.

  “Still need to see some ID.”

  “Um…it’s in my car,” Rosalie said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Rosalie walked out to the car, already worried about what she would talk about when she returned. She leaned into her car, taking out her ID and tucking her purse back under the seat.

  As she walked back into the bar, the presence of the men at the door made her feel too aware of her body. She felt where the fabric of her shirt pulled across her chest, where her khakis strained against her backside and thighs. She felt as unnatural here as a neon balloon drifting into the desert only to pop.

  She thought she’d passed them without incident when she heard one of them mutter something that ended in, “Ay, mami.”

  Rosalie cringed. She knew she’d stick out here. She was a useless city girl in a town that didn’t want her any more than she wanted it.

  As she approached the end of the bar where Alex and her friends were clustered, she heard Alex speaking to the guy in the American Spirit shirt, fingers casually tapping her beer. “You’ll have to ask Rosalie.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “If you’re single,” the guy said.

  Rosalie’s gaze darted to Alex, trying to convey her panic without being too obvious. She wasn’t ready to out herself in Ashhawk, but she also didn’t want to make it seem like she was available to any of the guys in the bar.

  Rosalie took comfort in Alex deferring to her to respond but wished she knew what to say without undermining their new romance. She decided to play it safe and not mention dating at all.

  Rosalie gave a forced, pitiful laugh and said, “I’m pretty busy with the hotel right now, and I just went through a breakup, so…”

  “Damn,” the guy said, glancing at Alex as though to express mutual disappointment.

  Rosalie gestured to the bartender, showing him her ID and receiving a beer she hadn’t requested in response. She looked around and saw all the guys and Alex were drinking the same beer.

  “Sure you’re not looking for a rebound?” the guy said with a grin. It wasn’t creepy or lecherous. Just misdirected.

  “Sorry,” Rosalie said with a conciliatory smile.

  She
shot Alex a smile she intended to be conspiratorial but conveyed some of her panic.

  Alex took Rosalie’s cue and turned toward the guy. “So how are things at the shop?”

  “Good,” the guy said, seeming bored with the topic. “My dad’s letting me do more customizing work, which is fun.”

  Alex nodded and asked subsequent questions, from which Rosalie gathered the guy worked in some sort of auto body or mechanic shop. Rosalie tried to ask questions and participate in the conversation, but she was at a loss for questions and contributions. She hovered on the edge of the group, anchored only loosely by Alex, who kept a safe distance to protect Rosalie’s secrets.

  Rosalie learned several of the guys worked in a casino the next town over. One particularly burly man was a security guard. He seemed to be the most arrogant of the group, the most unconcerned with the poverty of the town. Another worked in construction in Albuquerque, commuting at ungodly hours. The rest were unemployed.

  Rosalie finished her drink, feeling little relief from the alcohol or the looseness of everyone around her. She wondered if another drink or three might help but didn’t want to venture close to getting drunk around Alex again. Rosalie wondered why she didn’t know how to navigate conversation with these people. She realized it had as much to do with being around small-town folk as it had to do with being closeted.

  Alex seemed aware of her discomfort, glancing at her often, seeming to encourage and apologize with her eyes. When Rosalie set her empty bottle on the bar, fidgeting with her sleeve for lack of something else to do with her hands, Alex drew closer.

  “You want to split?”

  Rosalie tried not to seem too eager as she nodded.

  Alex bobbed her head in response, paid her tab, and turned to the guys. “We’re gonna head out, but I’ll catch you guys on Friday for the game.” Alex tipped her chin up in a gesture of familiarity.

  The guys hitched their chins up in response, raised a few sweaty bottles in farewell, and turned back to their conversations. Alex headed toward the door without getting too close to Rosalie.