Page 7 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
I let out a laugh and shake my head.
“Fang?” His smile widens. “It’s Fang, isn’t it?”
He’s listing dog names from the Harry Potter series, which means he’s noticed my Hogwarts shirt. It also means he’s more than just casually familiar with the books. Where on earth did he come from? Did I somehow conjure him with my theme park wand?
“It’s Buttercup, actually. But I’m rethinking that now. Fang is a much better fit. Thanks for the suggestion.”
It’s suddenly unbearably warm in the stairwell. I’m consciously aware of the fact that I’m staring at him. I’m studying him so closely that I notice the dimple in his left cheek, hidden beneath the stubble that lines his jaw. I notice the dark rim around his irises—such a contrast to the clear light blue of his eyes—and I even manage to take in the fine weave of his suit jacket.
What am Idoing?
“Is the elevator broken?” he asks, glancing up the stairs in the direction I’ve come from.
“No. Just trying to avoid all the pageant hoopla.” I tilt my head. “You?”
He shrugs a single muscular shoulder. “Same.”
Now I’m certain he can’t be real. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want to be trapped in an elevator with one or more beauty pageant contestants. I know this for a fact.
Buttercup squirms in my arms. She’s getting impatient, which is fine. The longer I stand here, the more likely I am to say something ridiculous. “I should probably get Fang downstairs. It’s been a while since she’s been out.”
“Of course.” He steps out of my path, and Hamlet obediently follows him.
The two dogs may look alike, but that’s clearly where the similarity ends.
“It was nice chatting with you, Hamlet’s dad.” I give him a flippy little wave.
He winks. “Later, Hermione.”
And then he’s gone.
There are butterflies flitting around my insides. A whole geeky, book-loving swarm of them.
Later, Hermione.
I’m so besotted that I let Buttercup drag me around the perimeter of the hotel three times so she can pee on every palm tree on the premises.
When we get back to the room, Ginny is sitting up in bed, putting lotion-infused gloves and socks on her hands and feet. “What took you so long? I was about to send a search party after you.”
“Oh, it’s kind of a crazy story...” I unclip Buttercup’s leash, and the dog bounds straight for my sister.
Only then does the charmed, fluttery feeling fade.
The dog can’t get away from me fast enough, which really shouldn’t bother me. There’s no love lost between us, that’s for sure.
But the rebuff reminds me that certain things are better left unsaid between Ginny and me. And even though I’ll probably never see the man from the stairwell again, I have a fierce need to keep our brief, meaningless interaction a secret.
Mine and mine alone.
“Never mind,” I say. “It was nothing.”
3
Sometime in the middle of the night, I’m awakened by a loud gasp.
At first I think I’m hearing things. It’s late. The clock reads 3:00 a.m., and after flying to Florida, hitting the theme park, and the slumber party with Ginny, I’d been up for almost twenty straight hours by the time my head hit the pillow earlier. To say I’m disoriented would be an understatement.
So I let my eyes drift closed again, but within seconds, Ginny is shaking me. “Charlotte, wake up.”
