Page 570 of One More Kiss

Chapter4

Rexton

“Where is a good place to eat?”I ask the woman at the front desk.

“Oh, there’s a pub down the road. Or you can walk downtown,” she suggests.

“Which way is the pub?” I inquire. I’m tired and I don’t want to go far. I want to make sure I can be at the train station first thing tomorrow.

She motions with her hand and tells me the directions. I thank her and head out to get some fish and chips, because when in Rome.

I make it to the corner and see the pub across the street, but then I hear sniffling. I turn and my heart sinks. It’s the woman I keep running into. She’s sitting on a park bench, clearly crying. Shit. Guilt creeps into my veins. I look back at the pub. I could ignore her and go eat. Who am I kidding? I’m not an asshole, although some would argue with that.

I take the ten paces towards her and sit down. Her head pops up at the movement of the bench. When she locks gazes with me, she frowns and quickly wipes her nose and eyes and looks away.

“Just…go away,” she whispers.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Does it look like I’m alright?”

“Sorry, I mean, is there something I can do to help?” I rephrase as I stare at her profile. Even with her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy red face, she’s still breathtakingly beautiful.

“I think you’ve done quite enough,” she huffs.

Fuck. Now I feel like an ass. I lean forward and put my forearms on my thighs, clasping my hands together, I twiddle my thumbs. “What can I do to make amends?” I ask as I cock my head to the side to look at her. I fucking hate seeing women cry. I let out a long breath.

“You can have my room,” I mutter.

Her head whips to face me. “What?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“You can have my room,” I repeat. I reach into my pocket and pull out the key. “Here.” I offer her the key. “I just will need to come back with you to grab my things.”

“But…it’s not your fault that the reservations got messed up,” she protests.

“I know that, but I’m trying to do the right thing here,” I urge, shoving the key in front of her face.

She glares at me. “No.”

“No?” I ask. I feel my eyebrows rise. What the hell is she playing at?

“No.”

“Do you have some other place to sleep tonight?” I ask as I look at her suitcase and backpack.

She cringes. Well, that’s a no.

I run a hand through my hair. “Listen, I can’t in good conscience let you sleep on a park bench.”

She rolls her eyes. “So, you’re alright with ‘you’ sleeping on a park bench?”

I shrug.

She leans back on the bench and bites her lip.

“Let’s start over,” I suggest as I set the key on my lap and hold out my hand. “I’m Rexton Crawley. I’m not a serial killer. I was in fact here to spread my parents’ ashes. And…well, you saw that it didn’t go exactly according to plan.”

“Parents? As in plural?” she asks, her lower lip trembles. Fuck, what did I say now?

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