Page 82 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

“I’d like to come back in the morning.”

“Of course. Let’s go get some sleep then we can come back first thing tomorrow. I got us a room at the hotel across the street.”

“You did?” she asks, staring up at me with those ever-present tears lingering in the corners of her eyes. She’s so taken aback by the simple gesture that I don’t think she even notices the fact that I said ‘a room’ and not ‘rooms.’ It’s a gamble, but I can’t tell what she needs right now. If she needs me, or if she needs space.

Marlow hangs back in the lobby while I check in at the front desk of the hotel. She’s been texting Abby ever since we left the hospital. Her nose is still glued to her phone as we take the elevator up to the fourth floor and walk down a long hallway of identical doors. When we arrive at room 436, I swipe the keycard and hold the door open for Marlow. She looks up, glancing at the single keycard in my hand and then at the dark room. I follow her inside, switching on the lights as we move past the bathroom and to the edge of the bedroom. It’s dead silent as Marlow sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and stares at the two identical queen beds.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone or not,” I tell her. “I asked at the front desk and there are other rooms available, so if you’d rather…”

“No,” Marlow interrupts, her features softening. “This is fine.”

We take turns in the bathroom. I brush my teeth, undress to my boxers, and crawl into the farthest bed. Marlow takes a long shower. When she finally steps out of the bathroom, her face is flushed with the steam of the shower and she’s wearing the pajamas I packed for her. Only then do I realize that they’re the same pajamas she wore the night we shared a hotel room after Blair’s wedding. That was the last time I’ve seen her wear more than a tank top and panties to bed.

Marlow glances at me then at the empty space next to me in the bed. A beat of hope thumps against my sternum as I wonder if she’s considering crawling into my bed. If there’s some chance that I might get to feel her warmth next to me tonight, even if it’s only a friendly gesture. Even if it means letting her break myheart all over again in the morning. At this point, I think it’s safe to say that I could just leave the broken pieces behind on the cheap carpet of this hotel room. If Marlow doesn’t want it, then I don’t really need it either.

Her gaze drifts back to the empty queen-sized bed between us and my chest deflates. She crawls beneath the blankets and switches off the light, leaving the room completely dark.

Time passes in imperceptible increments as we both lie still in the quiet, dark room. We should both be exhausted. It’s been a long day and a long drive. But I can tell that Marlow is as wide awake as I am. Occasionally, the sheets rustle softly as she tries to adjust.

“Ryan?” Marlow says quietly into the dark.

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t respond right away. In fact, so much time passes that I start to wonder if she dozed off.

Then, finally, she speaks again. “Thanks for coming with me today. I know things have been weird between us, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

There are a million things I’d like to say, but Marlow has too much on her plate already, so I respond with a simple, “No problem.”

Marlow sucks in a breath as if she is about to say something else, but the words never make it past her lips. A few minutes later, her breathing changes and a single, tiny snort tells me she’s finally asleep.

The truth is: I’m glad I’m here, too. But I hate that we’re speaking half-truths into a dark hotel room from separate beds. That’s how this whole thing started, and I’m worried that this is how it will end.

If the events of today have taught me anything, it’s that I care too much about Marlow to let her go.

Chapter 31

MARLOW

For once, I’m awake before Ryan. I tip-toe around the hotel room with only a sliver of hazy morning light to guide me. By seven o’clock, I’m dressed and ready to head over to the hospital.

After digging through my purse for away too long, it occurs to me that Ryan was the last person to touch my car keys. Glancing around the room, I conclude that they are most likely in the pair of jeans crumpled beside his bed. I pad quietly across the carpet and try to search the pockets of Ryan’s jeans without jiggling the belt buckle too much, but I accidentally wake him up anyway.

Ryan’s voice is groggy and deep as he lifts his head slightly and says my name.

“Sorry,” I whisper in reply. “I’m just looking for my keys. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Left pocket,” he says just as my hand lands on the bundle of keys.

“Thanks. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

But Ryan is already sitting up in the bed. The blankets fall away, revealing a glorious expanse of muscles that makes the soft pads of my fingers tingle with familiarity. I remember the feeling of each ridge and every plane. And while my fingers may tingle with hope, the rest of me aches with regret.

He didn’t have to come with me. In fact, there probably isn’t another man alive who would have come with me under these circumstances.

A wave of guilt rushes through me, confusingly mixed with regret, arousal, shame, exhaustion, and the irrepressible sadness over my mom’s condition. I want to crawl into Ryan’s arms and run away at the same time.

“Visiting hours aren’t for two more hours,” Ryan rasps after a quick glance at his phone.

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