The lobby was packed, mostly with show participants. Brightly colored shirts with dogs printed on them, lanyards with breed logos, laminated IDs swinging from necks.
People carried grooming kits, travel crates, and overflowing tote bags with slogans likeFluffy But Mighty.
It was chaos. I adjusted Pampi’s carrier against my hip, and nearly dropped it. Because I finally noticed what was on Chris’s shirt… What the hell.
I pointed at his chest, horrified. “What are you wearing?”
He looked down like he genuinely didn’t see the issue. Which was impossible, because the shirt was absolutely hideous.
It was a blinding shade of turquoise, covered in badly photoshopped sparkles, and in the center was a giant, wide-eyed, fluffy-eared Papillon.
Before I could rip into him again, he leaned in, far closer than necessary. His breath brushed my ear, sending a shiver down the side of my neck.
“It’s from Peter and John,” he murmured. “Figured it would help sell the cover. I got them to give us shirts. I’ll give you yours later.”
“I’m not wearing that,” I hissed.
“You will if we need to convince anyone?—”
“Absolutely not.”
Before he could argue, the receptionist cleared her throat gently. “Um… hello? Checking in?”
We both jolted like she’d caught us doing something inappropriate, and Chris stepped forward quickly. “Yes. Sorry. Checking in.”
And even then, I could still feel the ghost of his breath on my skin.
Chris switched moods so fast it gave me whiplash. One second he was irritated, the next he was turning on a bright smile as he leaned over the counter to read the receptionist’s nametag.
“Morning, Janet,” he said, voice smooth enough that I almost rolled my eyes. “We have a booking under Hill.”
While she started typing, Chris dug through his bag with both hands, muttering something about “promotional materials.” A second later, he triumphantly pulled out another one of those hideous shirts.
Before he could even breathe in my direction with it, I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it deep into my duffel bag.
Janet blinked at us. “Hill… Mr. Peter Hill?”
“Yes,” we both said at the same time.
We stared at each other like idiots. Then I cleared my throat and forced what I prayed passed as a normal expression.
“Yes,” I repeated. “Iam Peter Hill.”
Janet nodded politely. “Check-in starts at three, but you’re welcome to leave your luggage here until the room is ready.” She clicked a few more keys. “Would you prefer a king bed or twins?”
“Twin beds,” I said immediately.
Chris hesitated—actually hesitated—and shot me a look. I could see the argument forming behind his eyes.
Something about how married couples were supposed to pick the king, how this would make it suspicious, blah, blah, blah. I refused to let this become a debate.
“We prefer two beds,” I repeated, louder this time, and added blandly, “Right,honey?”
His jaw tightened. I could feel him getting ready to test me, but unless he planned on sleeping on the hotel couch, I wasn’t budging.
Finally, with the fakest smile I’d ever seen, he turned to Janet. “Twins are perfect.”
For some reason, the way he smiled at her rubbed me the wrong way.
