Page 13 of At First Smile
“Life isn’t a trope from a romance novel. Also, I’m not having sex with someone I just met.”
“Maybe you should. You haven’t had sex since Alex—” she makes a barf noise. “Might be time to get the pipes clean. You know…use it or lose it, sister.”
“Goodbye, JoJo.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. Can you get a pic of hot guy Rowan? There are like a hundred Rowan Iversons coming up.”
“Goodbye, JoJo.” Laughing, I hang up.
Reaching me, Rowan dangles the keys. “Ready to head to the hotel?”
“Yes.” My belly swoops just a bit, wondering if there’s only one room at the inn and secretly hoping my life is like a romance novel.
It’s not a romance novel.Not at all.
Discontent sighs through me as Lola, the peppy clerk at Three Dog Night Inn, drawls, “You’re just in luck, we had a last-minute cancellation, so we have two rooms available.”
“Great,” Rowan says, tapping his long fingers on the reception desk’s dark wood surface.
Eyebrow arched, my head tilts to him. Was there a faint trace of disappointment in his “great”?You’re hearing things that aren’t there, Pen.
It’s been at least two hours since he caressed my cheek and peered into my soul with those eyes that look either gray or green. Since the almost plane crash, he’s had ample opportunity to make his move. Rowan doesn’t strike me as the type of man to hold back. Like the flight attendant said…he’s commanding. Even without the low rumble of his voice and Viking-like physique, a quiet confidence radiates from him. If he wants to kiss, he’ll kiss. And I remain very much unkissed.
I need to let this schoolgirl fantasy go. To quoteSex and the City, he’s just not that into me. This isn’t a pity party. I know I’m cute. Like best friend’s little sister or the unthreatening gal pal ofyour boyfriend cute. It’s an aesthetic I embrace. There’s justonething that sometimes shades that cuteness.
“Will the two of you be checking out the Milford Waterfall while in town?” Lola asks, handing me back my credit card and ID. “It’s a big tourist attraction a few miles outside of town. I can give you a map and mark the various trails to get you to the waterfalls.”
Lola continues checking us in and going over the inn’s features. The small inn, tucked into the brick building-lined downtown street, is a restored colonial-style mansion. Landscape oil paintings in ornate gold frames, a nod to the town’s past, decorate the wood panel walls. Antique sofas and chairs with red velvet fabric trimmed in gold fill the cozy lobby. Despite the décor, there’s not a stuffy museum vibe. The sweet scent of vanilla wafts in the air, as if someone is baking delicious treats. Alongside the uncomfortable-looking furniture, there are life-size statues of different dog breeds.
“That’s adorable.” I giggle, elbowing Rowan to check out the pug statue, tongue poked out, flat on their back in front of the lobby’s unlit fireplace. “Someone wants belly rubs.”
He twists. “What in the hell?”
“They’re all over the inn,” Lola explains. “The owner’s wife makes them. Some are for sale. She donates the proceeds to a local animal rescue.”
“Oh my god!” I squeal, shuffling over to a bulldog statue, leg raised, in front of a potted Ficus tree in the corner. “This is amazing!”
“That’s Pisser,” she calls.
“Of course you are, aren’t you.” Bending, I coo at the statue. “Is he for sale?”
“You’re not buying that.” Rowan’s laugh-filled words pull my attention.
“Excuse me?” I straighten and offer an indignant of an expression.
Sauntering towards me, he motions to Pisser. “Why on earth would you want a statue of a pissing dog?”
My body hums with the Irish brogue lacing the way he says “pissing.”Mental note: find a way to get him to say pissing a lot.
“Why on earthwouldn’tyou want one?” I narrow my eyes, fighting a blooming grin.
“Sound argument.” He winks, reaching me. Crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes drop to Pisser for a beat and then back to me. “Do you really want it?”
“Sir! Pisser is not anit; he’s ahe.” Bending, I cover the bulldog’s ears.
“Adorable,” he rasps.
“What?” I blink.
