I triedto broach real topics on our drive, but Logan was a steel lock box. He smoothly transitioned away from talk about family or friends and instead asked about my classes, then happily rehashed the game from the night before after I made my excuses for missing it.
The trip went by in a blink, and I couldn’t hide my pure delight when we pulled up to the Banff Springs. I’d seen it before, but not since I was a kid. Up close, it was a fairytale castle with stone turrets, sloping roofs, and warm, glowing windows. The mountains rose behind it like they were posing for a photograph.
Logan pulled into the circular drive and waited in the valet line. I’d never done valet parking in my life.
“Ready?” he asked, handing one of the staff his keys.
I nodded. He insisted on unloading the bags, and we headed inside the lobby.
The stone arches and plush carpets took my breath away. A fireplace crackled in one corner. Someone’s child climbed a leather chair and got gently peeled off by a woman who, by how young she looked, had to be the nanny.
Norman had arranged our reservation and left our names with the front desk staff. The attendant typed a few things into the computer and handed over two keycards in a branded cardboard sleeve.
“Standard king room. Third floor. Mountain view.”
My eyes widened. Umm, only one room? I was about to protest, when Logan took the keys. “Great. Thanks.”
We stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, and I stared at the buttons.
“All good?” Logan cocked his head to the side.
“Uh, no. Not all good. I wasn’t planning to—I thought we’d both have our own room.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
I started at least three responses in my head, but didn’t answer.Why had I thought that?Norman believed we were together. I was suddenly regretting not going the Amish route with my refusal to do photographs.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I didn’t think it through, I guess.”
The elevator dinged.
“It’s a sleepover. It’ll be fun.”
Everything out of Logan’s mouth was something he would’ve said before the Palliser. Before I told him about Alice and Norman. But now, his words didn’t hold the same warmth. They were empty shells, sketched outlines, and I was desperate to reel in a sliver of that old connection.
“My parents didn’t let me have sleepovers,” I murmured.
Logan laughed as we stepped out into a gorgeous carpeted hall. Our room was at the end. He swiped the keycard and pushed the door open with his shoulder.
I stepped in behind him, my heart fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a jar. One king bed. Headboard. Fancy pillows. One kitchenette, an armchair. One small table. One bathroom door to the right.
“You’re very calm about this,” I said, as Logan set our bags down.
He shrugged, wandered over to the window, and pushed the curtain aside. “Grew up sharing rooms on the road. Bus bunks, motel double beds, couches. Not that different.”
I tried not to take offense to him comparing me to his hockey boys, but the snark still snuck into my voice. “You’re right. This isn’t different at all.”
He gave me a look. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it’s what you said.” I couldn’t help getting a little snippy. Why couldn’t we just talk about what happened? Get back to where we were before?
Logan walked into the room, leaning a shoulder against the window frame. The mountain view behind him was painting worthy. Peaks, trees, little rivers of light from the town below. His silhouette didn’t hurt the view one bit.
“Relax, MacMillan. We’ll figure it out. You get the bed. I’ll take the chair. Or the floor. I’ve slept on worse.”
“You are not sleeping on the floor of the Banff Springs.”
He turned, a smirk on his lips. “We could have a pillow fight if that would make you feel better. That’s what you and your roommates do, right?
