Page 11 of Falling Slowly
Charlie leaned over the desk. “Of course you have. And you also have a last-minute reservation for me.”
The receptionist fluttered her eyelashes. “Are you… an actor?”
“No. Do you get a lot of actors?”
“During the film festival and sometimes outside of it. They visit, fall in love and later return. Then of course we have Grayson Ames, born and bred in Cozy Creek. He always comes back for the Fall Festival.”
I recognized the name while Charlie blinked. “Who?”
The receptionist turned back to her computer screen, so flustered that she placed her hand on a stack of sticky notes instead of the mouse.“Yes, I can see both reservations. You’re both at the Cerulean. All chalets are named after colors.”
“We’re not… sharing, are we?” I squeaked.
Her eyes flashed with uncertainty, and my throat tightened. Had they really booked me with Charlie? I’d have to drive back home, navigating those steep hills and tight curves in the pitch dark.
I nudged closer, trying to establish a pleading eye contact. “Listen. I’ll take any other color. Puce. Chartreuse. Burlywood. Gamboge.”
“Impressive.” Charlie raised his brow at me, then turned to the receptionist. “I did request separate lodging.”
The receptionist’s face took on a deeper shade of puce. “There must have been a misunderstanding. Cerulean is the only chalet we have left.”
“Is it a two-bedroom one?” Charlie asked, and I swallowed hard.
Maybe that could work, for one night.
Miss Rainbow looked so torn that I almost felt sorry for her. “It’s a… um… open plan. But there’s a loft.” She dangled a key attached to a giant key ring—a piece of plank that had been painted blue. Cerulean, obviously. I’d had fun learning the more obscure colors when I’d helped Teresa prepare for a designer pub quiz. Apparently, she’d wiped the floor with the guys, which incidentally hadn’t helped her break into the bro club.
I looked out the window. The sun had dipped behind a line of tall spruce trees. It was getting darker by the minute.
Charlie took the key, his eyes on me. “Can’t hurt to look?”
Looking could definitely hurt. Like the way he looked at me with that unnerving intensity, eyes sparkling like we shared a secret.
It was his way, I reminded myself. That’s how he got everyone on his side and could sell any idea to any client. I simply hadn’t been the recipient of that look before. It was easier to avoid that sort of thing at the office—keep your eyes on the screen, or the printout. Always stay busy and focused on the job. I fixed my gaze on the bowl of pinecones, trying to calm my nerves.
“Turn left and follow the path along the house, it’s the third cabin with a blue door.” Harleu, if that really was her name, gestured at the door.
I followed Charlie outside and down the winding path, fingers wrapped around the shoulder straps of my backpack. The rest of my clothes were in the trunk of my car, packed in two reusable shopping bags I wasn’t planning on letting anyone else see. Maybe I could sneak back to my car and repack what I needed into my backpack. Toiletries, a change of underwear—enough to get me through the night. Charlie would never have to see my sorry travel gear.
We passed two cabins, one with an orangey red, another with a greenish door. Probably vermilion and sage or something. Ourblue door came with a matching blue welcome mat, framed by pot plants that had long ago finished flowering.
Charlie held the door open, and I snuck past him, feeling awkward like a schoolgirl with my backpack. He didn’t seem to have any luggage. Maybe someone would bring them in.
The cabin was decorated in shades of blue and white, giving Greek island vibes. It was obviously a new build, but featured so much weathered and distressed material you could have almost been fooled. A gorgeous wood carving sat on the hall table, as if formed by nature itself. Art around here was high caliber.
The receptionist hadn’t been kidding about the open plan. Everything was visible at a glance—the sitting area featuring designer chairs, kitchenette and the enormous bed. Even the bathroom had one partially frosted glass wall. Whoever had designed this didn’t believe in walls or privacy.
What would it be like to live with this much room height, I wondered. There was easily space for two stacked apartments, but the second level had only been utilized by a small, open loft.
“There’s a couch up here,” I reported as I rushed up the floating staircase. “I’ll take this.”
Charlie followed at my heels, staring at me as I set down my backpack and sunk into the low 2-seater, patting it with conviction. “I mean, just for tonight. I’ll drive home tomorrow. I’d go right away, but it’s getting dark and I’m not that confident driving at night, especially on these windy roads.”
He frowned at me, or maybe at the couch. “That’s not big enough for you.”
“Oh, it is. Absolutely. I always sleep curled up like this.” I lay down on the navy velvet, propping my head on the armrest and folding my legs so tightly that there was enough room for another person at the end.
“Nobody can sleep like that. You’ll mess up your neck and won’t be able to drive anywhere. I’ll get my camping hammock and set it up somewhere downstairs. I’ve been wanting to test it.”
