Sasha glanced at her screen, then back at me with a small, knowing smile. “Actually, Isabel already reserved one for you.”
“Isabel?” I repeated.
“The owner,” Sasha said. “I mentioned her earlier. She flagged your name this morning and told me to hold a long-stay suite, just in case.”
Wyatt dragged a hand down his face. “What?”
“And,” Sasha added casually, as if she were mentioning the weather, “Isabel’s married to Ryker Dane.”
Another name. Another hit.
I turned slowly to Wyatt. “That’s?—”
“My brother,” he said flatly.
I blinked. Once. Twice. “Natalie’s last name is Dane, too.”
Sasha nodded. “She married Ethan Dane.”
Wyatt closed his eyes. “So, the mayor is my sister-in-law.”
“And the hotel owner,” I said weakly, “is also your sister-in-law.”
“Yes.”
I laughed. It came out a little hysterical, a little breathless. “You’re going to have to explaineverything.”
Wyatt opened his eyes and looked at me then—really looked at me—overwhelmed, wrecked, and so clearly out of his depth, it almost hurt.
He nodded, already moving toward the elevator. “I will.”
The doors closed behind us. And I felt him settle.
We stepped into the suite moments later.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The suite was quiet in that expensive way. Pale walls. Tall windows with the harbor glinting beyond them. A small kitchenette. A sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. It smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and something floral, like the hotel was trying very hard not to intrude.
I took it in with a different lens now—not as a splurge or a temporary indulgence, but as a bridge. A place to land while everything else shifted into place. Somewhere I could stay for a few weeks—maybe longer—while I got settled, started the job, and looked for something permanent that actually felt like home. No rush. No pressure. Space to move deliberately instead of scrambling.
Wyatt stood inside the door, hands braced on his hips, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes were on me, but unfocused, like he was seeing several versions of me at once and trying to figure out which one was real.
And I realized I didn’t feel transient anymore.
I felt … anchored. This was my city.
I took a step closer.
“Hey,” I said softly.
That did it.
He dragged a hand down his face and let out a sound that was half laugh, half wreckage. “Jesus, Soph. I thought—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t find you. Sasha said you’d be back soon, but your phone was off and I?—”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to disappear.”
I didn’t mention the irony. He had disappeared on me only hours ago.
