Page 44 of Trip Me Up

Niall stood and fell into step beside me. Bilbo Baggins had other ideas. Confident now with Niall as his protector, he moved at a snail’s pace, sniffing at bits of trash on the sidewalk. At this rate, it was going to take us half an hour to walk the two blocks to the hotel.

“You have a dog, too, right?” I remembered the one in his author photo on the back flap of his book. “A big, dark, hairy one?”

He grinned, his teeth flashing in the streetlight. “An Irish Wolfhound. Thorin Oakenshield.”

I laughed, the sound surprising the quiet street. “What a coincidence.”

“Hardly,” he said. “You and I are both Tolkien fans. It makes sense that we’d name our pets after our favorite characters.”

“I guess so.” I looked down at Bilbo Baggins in case my expression cracked. I almost always thought about Dad right before I went to bed. Remembering how I used to cuddle up against his wide chest, his black-socked feet hanging off the side of my narrow twin bed, the book in my lap. He’d sat silent, letting me struggle to pin down the words before I shouted them out in triumph. Other times, when school or Mother had been too much, he’d read them out himself, his steady, low voice weaving tales about warriors, adventurers, and a burglar.

“You all right?” Niall asked. “I thought for sure when I brought up Tolkien, you’d have something to say.”

I winced, remembering that first signing when I hadn’t known how to answer the question about inspiration. Since then, I’d learned to talk about Tolkien. It wasn’t even a lie, really. I’d loadedThe Hobbitand theLord of the Ringsseries into CASE to teach it about language. Although the answer seemed to resonate with the readers, it didn’t make me feel less like a fraud. “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” His body tensed. “Your bed, I mean. Alone. Shit,” he muttered. He whistled, an eardrum-piercing sound in the quiet street. “Come on, Bilbo.”

Bilbo Baggins trotted up, and we walked faster toward the hotel.

As we passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Niall asked, “Have you been to New York before?”

“A few times.” Dad used to come for work, and when a trip lined up with a school holiday, sometimes we’d all go together. After Mother had married Charles, I’d come once with them, but I’d refused their next invitation.

“Any plans while you’re here? When we’re not doing events?”

“Central Park. I’ll take Bilbo Baggins there tomorrow.”

“What about shopping? Museums? Shows?”

“Not exactly dog-friendly. Bilbo Baggins and I haven’t spent a lot of quality time together this week, so I want to make it up to him.”

At last, we walked through the automatic door into the light of the hotel lobby. Niall said, “I like parks, too. If you need a—a companion, let me know. I throw a good tennis ball.”

The elevator door was already open, and we stepped inside. Niall hit the button for our floor. I’d stopped questioning all the neighboring rooms. It must’ve been a Happy Troll policy.

“Thanks for the offer. I’ll consider it.”

He smiled, but his eyes were glassy with fatigue. He’d been up early that morning—yesterday morning—for a phone interview. The tour was just as hard, if not harder, on him. The expectations were higher for him than for a newbie. Plus, he was saddled with having to coach me through those miserable Q and A sessions.

The doors opened on our floor, and I pulled the key card from my pocket. “Well, good-night.”

He walked with me to my door. “Just—just peek inside. Check that your bag made it up and everything’s okay.”

“Really?” He’d protected me since that first day in Chicago, but this was something more. “We’ve stayed in hotels every night this week. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“This is New York. Humor me.” He leaned against the wall.

I opened the door. How far did this protective streak go? “Do you want to come in?”

His sleepy eyes widened. Shit! That sounded like I was inviting him in for sex. Which he’d made clear he didn’t want.

“I meant to look for trolls or serial killers, whatever you think is hiding under the bed in scary New York. Not, like, a nightcap. Do people even have those anymore? Do you think this place has a minibar?”

He pushed off the wall with a huff that could’ve been a laugh or exasperation. “With the prices in New York, you might be safer with the trolls than the minibar.” He took two steps into the room and shoved his hands into his pockets, as if to avoid touching anything in my space. The door swung shut with a thump and a click.

The room was tiny, with only enough space for a double bed, a compact bathroom, and a shallow closet. I dropped Bilbo Baggins’ leash so he could sniff it out and tossed my coat on the bed. I opened the closet door. Nothing but empty hangers and one of those little safes with the keypad. I flipped on the bathroom light and even pushed back the shower curtain. Next, I checked the lock on the door to the adjoining room.

It wasn’t until I turned around and saw Niall watching me that I remembered it was the door to his room. My cheeks heated. “Sorry, I—”

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