“Everything’s booked,” he finally says. “Within twenty miles.”
Which makes sense. Maya’s wedding is kind of a big deal. And this isn’t exactly Minneapolis—it’s a small town that probably has, what, three hotels total?
I take a breath. “You can stay with me.”
The words come out before I can think about whether they’re a good idea.
Brody looks at me. “Chloe?—”
“The room has a couch that pulls out. It’s big. There’s plenty of space.”
“I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” I try to sound casual. Like this isn’t making my heart race. “Besides, it’s either that or you drive three hours home and three hours back tomorrow morning. Which seems excessive.”
He hesitates.
Because he’s a gentleman.
Because this is complicated.
Because we’ve been walking a fine line between friends in a fake relationship and more than friends in a doomed one.
Another beat passes before he gives in. “All right, then.”
“All right?” The receptionist lets out a relieved breath as though she’d been bracing for a disgruntled customer. “Great. I’ll make you a set of keys.”
A few minutes later, Brody’s grabbed his bag from the car, and we’re headed up to the honeymoon suite.
“Wow.” Brody sets his bag down inside the suite. “I didn’t realize we’d be staying in the Taj Mahal.”
I didn’t pick the room, but I’m embarrassed just the same, as though I somehow dragged him into the fever dream that is the honeymoon suite. There’s still a trail of petals leading from the door to the bedroom.
“I should have asked housekeeping to come by and pick this up.”
“What?” An amused smile plays at his lips. “You don’t want flower petals all over your room? I can’t imagine why not.”
I give his shoulder a little smack. “Stop it, you.”
He laughs, catching my hand.
And I’m suddenly hyperaware of how small the room feels with both of us in it. “I feel bad. You’ve been traveling almost all day. I should…Let me take the couch,” I offer, gesturing to the sofa.
“Absolutely not.”
“Brody—”
“Chloe.” He looks at me. Really looks at me with those stupidly blue eyes. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you take the couch?” He’s already moving toward it, testing the cushions. “I’ve slept in worse places. Team bus after a double overtime game in Dallas? This is luxury.” He’s already flopping down on the couch, tossing his feet up on the coffee table. “Surely you wouldn’t take this away from me.”
“All right, fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll allow it.”
He smirks, and my heart does a full pirouette.
A beat passes while I’m still standing there, staring at him, my brain turning to mush, and Brody clears his throat. “So, are you gonna turn in, or…” He pauses, and I swear I see something hopeful flicker across his face. “We could hang out? If you want.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest.
There is quite literally nothing I’d like more than just a few more minutes together.
