Page 48 of Philly
“And I can’t imagine that transition left you any breathing room.”
She hesitated again, then shook her head. It hadn’t been until two weeks ago that she’d ever really slowed down. Not since she’d made her decision at the age of fourteen about how she wanted to live. A sad statement about her ability to cope with life if ever there was one.
Gabriel studied her. Then, just as his scrutiny began making her want to squirm, he chuckled. “It’s a good thing we’re going on this ‘vacation.’” he said, reaching into the snack bag. After popping the top on a familiar-looking canister, he tipped the can of Pringles her direction. “Even though we’re chasing a potential suspect, I’m guessing it will be the most downtime you’ve ever had.”
27
“Here are your keys,” the receptionist Jarrod said, handing them over. “Dinner is from five thirty to eight each night. We find that guests are pretty tired by the evening, but if you’re looking for a later night, the cave bar is open until eleven.”
“Is it really in a cave?” Philly asked.
Jarrod grinned and nodded. “The story is that a couple hundred years ago, a family migrated west and tried to brave it through the winter by taking shelter inside a deep cave.”
“Not a bad thought,” Philly conceded, glancing at Callie, who seemed more taken with the view behind the reception desk than the story. Hard to blame her when the valley stretched out, filled with scrub pines and the occasional cactus before running into a mountain that shot up into the sky in all its red glory.
“It wasn’t. No bodies were ever found, so we all assume they lived,” Jarrod continued. “Although evidence of their winter was scattered around. People have found shards of jars, the occasional utensil, things like that. There’s even a painting hanging on the wall that’s been there all this time.”
Philly frowned. “Why go to the trouble of hanging a painting on a stone wall only to leave it behind?”
Jarrod shrugged. “And it’s kind of amazing that no one’s taken it since.” Philly conceded that point with a tip of his head. “There’s parking in front of the cabin, and you follow this road to get there,” he continued, highlighting the path on the map. “You’ll want to sign up for the week’s activities tonight. There are morning and afternoon sessions—pick and choose as many as you like. We also have a spa if that’s more your style.”
“After a couple of days of these activities, it might be,” Philly said, eyeing the schedule. In addition to what he’d read on the website, they’d added skydiving (for an extra fee) and two all-day hikes into the canyons. Too bad they weren’t there to play—not entirely.
“How many people are here this week?” Callie asked, joining the conversation.
“We’re full at twenty,” Jarrod replied. “Enough people that folks usually find a few other guests they click with, but small enough to stick to yourself if that’s what you prefer.”
Callie nodded, then looked at him. “Ready?”
Philly pushed away from the reception desk and handed her a key. After thanking Jarrod, they made their way back to the SUV. The row of cabins wasn’t far from the main building, and they passed several walking paths crisscrossing the grounds. A few minutes later, they pulled to a stop outside a square, single-story adobe building. Two similar structures sat a couple hundred feet away on either side of their “room,” with several more dotting the grounds farther away. None had windows looking into the others and, from where he stood, it looked as if most, if not all, had northwest-facing patios walled in for privacy. Although judging by the shadows, the areas weren’t fully enclosed, allowing the occupants unobstructed views of the iconic towering red mountains and canyons.
Grabbing their bags, they meandered up the short walkway. He eyed a prickly pear cactus and wondered if the resort used its own fruit in their drinks—he’d spotted a prickly pear margarita on the drink menu that he had every intention of ordering.
Callie opened the door, and he followed her in. Or tried to. She came to an abrupt halt inside the door, and he stumbled as he caught himself before barreling into her.
“What?” he asked, instantly on alert.
She made a strangled sound, then pointed. He peered around her shoulder into the good-size room. Filled with one bed. A king-size bed, but only one.
He registered it, but his attention strayed to the wall of windows on the other side of the room and the vast, sweeping view. It wouldnotbe a bad place to wake up.
“There’s only one bed,” Callie said, walking the rest of the way inside.
“I see that,” he replied, following her. He glanced through a door on his left that led into a walk-in closet. The next door along the left opened to a huge bathroom with a soaking tub, separate shower, and views of the mountains through a big picture window.
“There’s only one bed,” Callie repeated.
He fought a laugh and decided to cut to the chase. “We’re adults, it’s a big bed. I’m not going to go through the whole facade of offering to sleep on the floor, and I’m certainly not going to let you sleep on the floor.” The Saltillo tile probably had radiant heat but would be hard as fuck. “So let’s skip all the dramatics and accept that we’ll be sharing the space for the next six nights.”
She turned and stared at him.
“If you’re that concerned, you can use those approximately two thousand throw pillows they’ve decorated the bed with to divide it,” he added, wagging his finger toward said pillows.
“There are five,” she said, automatically correcting him.
He hid his smile by turning back to the view. It might make him an asshole, but he liked that the idea of sharing a bed with him made her a little uncomfortable. Twenty years ago, he’d made the first move. According to the unspoken rules between two people attracted to each other, it was her turn. She’d know this. And she’d know he wouldn’t so much as let his toe brush hers. And yet, still, she was uncomfortable—as if she didn’t trust herself.
A full thirty seconds passed before she exhaled and turned away. “Fine,” she said. “I get the side by the sliding doors,” she added, walking over and setting her purse on the nightstand.
