“We don’t serve that here.” The bartender glanced at my glass and then back at me. “But we have champagne, soda products, and water.”
“Really? Then how…” I frowned as my hands played with the damp napkin under the glass. “Never mind. Thank you.”
They didn’t serve sparkling grape juice here.
Yet I just had a glass of one.
Noah had said…
Leaning against the edge of the bar, I let out a small laugh, the realization hitting me. Noah must have purchased it from the on-site convenience store.
He picked up on my amusement as soon as I returned to the group. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Let’s go try the brownies.”
10
NOAH
My body ached when I woke up the next morning, and I immediately regretted not fighting for the bed. Here I was, limping toward the kitchen and rubbing at my back like I was an eighty-year-old man. This ankle was the real problem. I’d rested it for days and still no improvement.
I poured a glass of water and searched for the itinerary, which was buried in the mess of papers on the kitchen table. We’d only been here one night, and the table looked as packed as the one in my apartment after chucking a week’s worth of forgotten mail onto it.
When we left the opening ceremony yesterday, a bunch of vendors shoved flyers and packets into our faces. Macey took them all with a smile, while I declined each. Now brochures for restaurants, activities, and photography services cluttered our space.
Before I could find the itinerary, there was a knock at the door.
Suddenly glad I woke up early and put on a shirt, I greeted the resort employee at the door. He held a large tray filled with dishes in the palm of his hand.
“Good morning, sir,” he said, looking far more pleasant than someone should in the morning. “I’m here to drop off breakfast and luggage. Your suitcase arrived a few minutes ago.”
That would make Macey’s morning.
When we checked in yesterday, after the disaster of learning we were sharing a suite, we filled in breakfast forms for our three mornings here. Veggie omelet for me, French toast for Macey. She had also ordered four different coffee options, and as the waiter set up the dining table, I was thankful she did. Extra photo content.
“Thank you.” When the waiter finished, I held the door open for him as he exited the suite.
I pounded on the bedroom door. “It’s time to wake up, Scribbles!” I heard a grunt of frustration on the other side, muffled by a pillow. “Your luggage is here.”
Immediately the sounds of frustration turned into excitement. Macey threw open the door and rushed out to hug the suitcase. Her hair was messy, frizzy on the top but as long as ever. Only a robe covered her body, and one side playfully fell off her shoulder.
Kneeling next to the suitcase, she whispered, “I knew you would come.”
“I never left,” I drawled.
“I was talking to my suitcase.”
Once I removed the covers of the dishes, the smell of honey and chocolate filled the air. “Macey.” I distracted myself by taking photos of the breakfast spread. “Why are you wearing a robe?”
The distraction didn’t work as she grabbed her phone and joined me. “I didn’t have any other clothes, so I slept naked.”
My phone fell out of my hands and into the vanilla latte. Fuck. I pulled it out and dried it on a dishtowel.
But my feverish brain only cared about one thing.
Macey Monroe.
Slept naked.
