Page 2 of Townshipped
“I am staying in a honeymoon suite alone,” I confirm, feeling my Diet Coke make its presence known. Why did I get an extra large before sitting through customs? Now I’m fidgeting like a toddler learning to potty train.
I adjust my posture so I’m facing the desk head-on, hoping to avoid the stares of an increasing number of hotel patrons. We’re drawing a crowd.
“Do you still want the champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries? They are complimentary.”
I pause to let the guilt wash over me. Yes. I called off the wedding. But I am covering all the costs of this trip as well as the cancellation fees of any vendors.
I straighten myself and say, “Yes. I want all aspects of the package we booked originally. Thank you.” Though, the thought of a bubbly beverage right now only increases my need to rush check-in and get to my room. Maybe there’s a lobby restroom?
My comprehensive answer apparently isn’t good enough for Ryne. He proceeds to iterate every option we booked and waits for my response to each one. I try to picture arid deserts and take short breaths while I avoid making any sudden movements. Instead, my eyes land on the words Niagara Falls. Images of rushing water do not help my situation. I shift again, trying to be discreet.
“Couples massage at our luxury spa on the third floor?” Ryne asks with a raised brow.
Is he enjoying this inquisition?
“That can be for one,” I say.
“Obviously,” he concurs with a light snicker. “Unless you want both masseuses to work on you at the same time. Wouldn’t that be an experience!”
“I’ll pass,” I say with the gracious smile of a Southern Belle even though I’m a Yankee through and through.
Buck didn’t want the massages in the first place. He said the idea of strangers rubbing his bare flesh creeped him out.
I chuckle to myself. Buck. A part of me wishes he were here. His steadiness gave me a mooring I naturally lack. Maybe a platonic marriage is the best some people can hope for. Maybe it was all I should have hoped for. Gabriela always accused me of being overly romantic despite my independent spirit.
I accidentally take a glance behind me at the line of other guests. Most of them are starting to not-so-conspicuously eavesdrop on the conversation between me and the boisterous desk clerk. A few aren’t even hiding the fact that I’m their main source of entertainment.
“So, honeymoon suite for one, champagne for one, strawberries for one, massage for one, breakfast in bed for one.” And a restroom for one. Please. Soon.
The song about one being the loneliest number starts to ring through my head.
“You got it,” I say.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay at the Hilton. You have a stunning view of the falls from your suite, Miss O’Brien. Let us know how we can serve you while you are here.”
My room key and a paper bag to put over my head would be great right about now.
Ryne hands me the card to my room on the thirty-fifth floor and I turn to smile at my now audience of people waiting in the line of shame behind me.
I give them my best imitation of a parade wave followed by a Miss America smile. Then I quickly make my way through the lobby, up the elevators and to my room.
Buck and I had planned a winter hike behind the falls and some other sightseeing for tomorrow before leaving for the rest of our trip. I’m content planning to unwind in the comfort of a heated room while enjoying the falls from a remote and dry aerial view.
Opening the door, I park my suitcase, set my purse on the desk, and barely take in the luxurious room. The king bed sits at the center of one wall, facing an opposing wall with a built-in fireplace. Straight past the bed, on the far side of the room, floor-to-ceiling windows look out over a full view of both falls. Around the corner from the room’s foyer is a full bathroom (thanks be to all things porcelain!). I pass the tub that could fit all five people—if the room were fully occupied.
After using the restroom, I fish out my phone. Pulling up Gabriela’s number, I walk toward the windows, collapse into one of the overstuffed chairs, and call my best friend.
“Hey, chiquita! How’s the road trip?” Gabriela asks as soon as she answers her phone.
“Beautiful. Lonely. Introspective. And filled with more caffeine and Red Vines than I’ve had in years.”
“That’s how it should be.”
I spin a little in the chair. It swivels with me.
“I’m all checked in at the Hilton. The view is beyond stunning. Canada’s so crisp and clean. It’s like they must have a whole colony of nocturnal elves who come out and spiff up the landscape and buildings at night. And the falls are breathtaking. I’m a few blocks away, but high enough up in the tower to see the mist rising from the spray down below.”
“Take pictures! I want to see it all.”
