Page 18 of The First Kind of Love
The interior is grandiose, washed in a sunset-orange film that scalds the pinkening sky and seeps in from a wall-less back—one that showcases an aqua, bioluminescent-looking inlet sandwiched between a ring of saw-toothed mountains. Thefloor is glossy and pristine, and hazy ceiling lights coruscate off the flickering flame of a smokeless, propane fire pit situated in the middle of the foyer. To add to the decadence, seating areas constructed from mesquite wood and bohemian cushions line the main walkway, complete with miniature candles on each lacquered table.
Off-white, ceramic vases are scattered throughout the area, as well as tall monsteras that add a pop of color to the otherwise monochromic background. And palm trees of varying sizes sway down near the weather-beaten dock, inviting weary travelers to sink their feet into the fine silt that composes a golden shore. It’s constantly being eaten away by white-capped waves, the symphony of running water crashing beyond a tropical cabana. There are even small flocks of wild chickens running around outside.
This will be the perfect environment to get closer to Shiloh: long walks on the beach, late-night swims, the tastiest, most flavorful food money can buy. I mean, who wouldn’t want to vacation in Cabo for three weeks?
Baby Eda’s fast asleep on Kit’s shoulder, and the rest of the crew is in good spirits. Shiloh and I watch as everyone retrieves their separate room keys, bidding farewell for the rest of the night.
Gage and Cali are giggling like a couple of troublemakers; Hayes has Aeris in some kind of hug chokehold as enviable love surrounds the two of them like a second skin; Bristol’s whispering something into Lila’s neck while she laughs with her full chest; and Casen’s standing at the edge of the overlook with Josie.
I can’t really tell if Shiloh’s as nervous as I am. She blearily rubs at her eyes, stifling a yawn into her arm out of politeness. God, she looks stunning. I mean, she always does, but it’s hard to believe that I’m really this lucky to have her here with me.
We’re the last ones to sign in, and grogginess chokes mywindpipe when I voice our presence. “Reservation under Cazzarelli.”
The receptionist—a middle-aged man dressed in a flashy Hawaiian shirt with a (questionably) tasteful amount of chest on display—checks us in, handing off the room key with a smile.
“Enjoy your stay. Breakfast is from six thirty a.m. to nine thirty a.m. You’re free to indulge in our pool and sauna from ten a.m. to eight p.m. Room service is twenty-four-seven, and there are a handful of local activities in the pamphlet located in your room’s nightstand. If you’re interested in catching some decent waves, might I suggest taking advantage of the early-morning tide. You might also be able to see some of the natural wildlife if you’re lucky.”
“Thank you,” I say, my fingers curling around the plastic card with the cherry-red hibiscus printed on the front.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Shiloh whispers in awe, trailing behind me as we pass a wide hallway fringed with intricately designed doors. “I’ve never been out of the States before.”
“Never?” I ask, looking down at her and camouflaging a smile while I talk to what’s essentially the top of her head.
“Nope. Work has always been the top priority for my family. And, I mean, we’ve lived in Riverside for so long that we don’t really crave adventure anywhere else.”
Something unidentifiable sours in my stomach at the prospect of Shiloh being tethered to her job like some kind of herding dog, and it takes a few sensible brain cells for me to bite my tongue. “I feel that. Traveling can be a lot.”
We’ve been maneuvering through a labyrinth of identical hallways before she stops in her tracks, her pupils blown wide underneath the dying haze of the orange-tinted sconces. “Sometimes I feel like running away, even though I’m content with where I’m at. It’s this…inherent urge I get. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispers shamefully.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I blurt out a little too intensely.
I’m so close to her that I can see the faint shine of tears pricking at her eyes—can see the uncertain way her chest balloons with a tightly held breath. I may suck at reading social cues, but when it comes to Shiloh, I can read her as easily as a book.
I nudge her to keep walking, offering her some privacy as I turn my attention toward the flawless, hardwood floors. My sneakers make this awful squeaking noise with every step. “I know being in control is important to you, but maybe your conscience needs a break from all of that responsibility.”
Shiloh’s face screws up like she hates the bitter taste of the truth. It’s cloying even from here, a noxious poison coursing through her veins, but the real, long-working disease is the regret that lurks beneath.
“Doesn’t everyone fantasize about running away at some point in their life?” she volleys.
My heart rabbits in my chest. “I think it’s different for you, though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I can see the pain in your eyes.”
I must’ve caught her off guard because her shoulders immediately curl inwards, her confidence liquefying right in front of me, and her stature crumbles into debris, a juxtaposition to the steady plinth I know it to be. She doesn’t rebut my statement—doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. All she does is nod toward the giant 304 on our hotel door with half her previous enthusiasm.
What the fuck, Fulton? Way to make her feel like shit. Who says something like that? This is obviously a sensitive subject for her. She didn’t agree to your weird psychoanalysis. Just shut up before you say something youreallycan’t come back from.
I hold the key up to the card reader and watch the littlegreen light blink to life, then I shoulder the door open for Shiloh. And if I thought making some unwarranted comment about her work life was bad, the sight that beholds us makes my idiocy look like a fucking cake walk. Because despite the room being big enough to house an entire hockey team, the interior designer decided that a single, king-sized bed would be fitting instead of two queen-sized ones.
One bed.
There’s…there’s onlyone bed.
Shiloh’s jaw practically falls to the ground, and I don’t know why, but I feel the need to cover the suggestive eyesore with my body. “It’s not what it looks like!”
She crosses her arms over her chest, looking far more amused than I expected. “Itlookslike you booked us a room with a single bed.”
