Page 36 of Things I Overshared
“Absolutely false.”
“Okay, second time. You did smile at Lydia.”
“At who?”
“Lydia at the front desk. You know, the blonde who, uh, wanted toshow you to your room,if you know what I mean.” I waggle my eyebrows. I’m being ridiculously goofy, and I can’t help it. I’m so tired, and this whole smile-showing-teeth incident has made me downright giddy.
His scowl deepens. “Are you drunk?”
“On the taste of sweet victory, yes.” He shakes his head some more, which just encourages me. “I can’t wait to tell Skye I saw your actual teeth. She won’t believe it.”
“You’re cut off,” he says as he grabs my phone out of my hand.
“All I had was some weird-tasting 7 Up! Cut off from what?!”
“From functioning. Just sit there.” He’s still almost smiling. “Quietly, if possible.”
“You’re really just going to take my phone like I’m not going to freak out and try to—”
“Have you eaten?” His deep, smooth voice cuts me off as he shrugs his hands out of reach.
“I had a snack hours ago, but, uh, wow. Now I don’t know which is worse: the hunger or the tired . . . tiredness. Tiredness? Fatigue.”
“Right.” He hands me back my phone with the hotel room service menu pulled up. I’m so tired I forgot he’d had my phone hostage for a minute. Instead, I’m thinking about how he already pulled up a menu and is once again taking charge of our situation.
“Wait, we had the whole afternoon free—shouldn’t you be with your family?”
He just shakes his head.
“Ooookay. Let’s see.” I scroll through the menu. “Oh, man. I’ve let myself get too hungry. Now I’m in the Everything Zone where all the choices sound amazing and I can’t choose. I should probably make myself get a salad, but there are three delicious-sounding options.” I catch Emerson moving his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Sorry,” I loud whisper at him. “What are you getting?”
“The salmon,” he says as he releases his brow.
“That comes with veggies. Bummer, I was hoping it came with fries, and then I could steal some. If I order some fries, will you split them with me?”
“No.”
“Jeez. No sugar and no fries. What a sad, sad life. All right, I guess I’ll get the chicken Caesar salad and—” I cut myself off when his hand resumes another exasperated position, holding his forehead. I must give Snowy a constant migraine. My turn to sigh. This is going to be such a long trip.
I add my food to the app and realize he’s already put in his order. Again, I’m impressed. I’ve had men order food for me before, at a restaurant, in a presumptuous sort of way, which I didn’t mind. But I don’t think I can remember a guy ever pulling up a menu on my phone and taking care of ordering. It’s always been more of a “Will you order us some food, babe?” type of situation. I keep my mouth shut for the sake of Emerson’s head the last ten minutes of the drive.
Back at the hotel, I head to the bathroom to splash my face and use the facilities, and then the suite doorbell chimes with our food.
“Yaaaaasssss!” I call out as I head for the door. “Thank you!” I tell the attendant as I gesture for him to come in. He wheels the cart to our dining room table and transfers the covered dishes. As he moves the cart back to the door, I realize I don’t have any cash on me. “Oh, I haven’t found an exchange yet—”
“Cheers.” Emerson appears behind me, quickly handing the guy a few pounds. I give them both a big, relieved smile as he leaves and Emerson shuts the door.
“It smells so good, I think I’m gonna die.” I skip back over to the table. I start to open up the dishes to see what’s what. “Oh man, these look like good fries. You never know if fries— Chips? Crisps? Whatever. You never know if they’re going to be soggy duds, ya know? But these look perfect. I won’t tell anyone if you have some.” I smile at him, but he doesn’t look up. He gathers his dish and cutlery and starts to head toward his room.
“See you in the morning, Miss Canton,” he says softly.
I feel a fresh sting of disappointment, even though just hours ago I told myself Emerson would spend all his time introverting in his room, and that that would be fine with me. I take a breath and pull out my phone, eager to look through the day’s photos. And I’ll text my sisters, who will keep my company.
Wait. No.
I don’t need company to enjoy my meal. I need to get used to this. This will be my reality for the next few weeks. My eyes start to burn, but I tell myself it’s just the fatigue. A few meals alone in this gorgeous hotel room won’t kill me. And he’d be terrible dinner company anyway.
After I finish eating and recover my plates, I head to bed. I can’t fight the fatigue anymore, even if it’s only just after 5:00p.m. I put in a valiant effort. After my sacred six-step nighttime facial routine, I hit the sheets. I plug in my phone and decide to double-check with The Cold One.
