“Sleeping beauty gets cranky when he’s awoken.” Travis chuckles, leaning against one of the palm trees that welcome us to the front of the hotel. The rest of the group laughs as Devon moans and rolls onto his side, leaving no room for anyone else to sit as he takes up the entire bench.
The alarms continue inside as the staff starts to file out of the hotel. Multiple fire trucks and law enforcement pull up, exiting their vehicles with purpose. I hear the girls whisper to each other, commenting on the different firefighters, comparing them, and pointing out the “cute ones.”If I roll my eyes any harder, they will roll out of my head and roll across the ground, which might not be a bad thing. Maybe it would shut them up about the“arms on that one.”
“I’m sure you were just as passionate as a teenager,” Kate whispers to me, giggling at the irritation plastered on my face. “Just be patient with them. They’ll grow out of it.” She beams at the girls, probably thinking their heart eyes are adorable or something ridiculous.
“These teenage hormones are a plague to the inner well of my patience,” I grumble to her.
Kate lets out an exuberant laugh that lights up her face and startles the peanut gallery from their creepy ogling. Her eyes gleam under the streetlamps that line the parking lot as she grabs onto my arm, laughter rolling out of her in a rush, leaving her out of breath. When she bends at the waist, I have a deja vu moment.
The mistletoe.
The same bashful glee from that night overtakes her. This tends to happen when she’s starstruck, like when she met Kevin Jonas at a concert a few years ago. Her entire demeanor becomes giddy and exposed, which usually results in her responding hysterically, like she can’t believe what is happening to her.
It’s adorable.
And it’s never happened with me. Until the mistletoe. Now it’s happening again, and I can’t help but hope it’s because I’m the one making her giddy. I can’t fight the smile that stretches across my face as she clings to my arm, sheer joy pouring out of her.
“You guys seem to be having too much fun over here.”
Thatvoice.
My back goes taut, and Kate goes quiet as Eric approaches us.
“Usually, a fire alarm results in fear or anxiety, not belly laughs,” he speaks again.
I clench my jaw so hard it threatens to snap in two, which might go in my favor, because then Kate can rush me to the hospital and not let go of my arm to go talk to her ex like she’s doing right now.
“Have to have fun somehow,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. He eyes her pajamas, giving her a slow smile that makes me want to hang him by his toes from the top of the palm tree hovering above us.
“Well, lucky for you guys, it was a false alarm,” Eric says to the group, and a few heads look up at him, uninterested. “Someone thought pulling the alarm would make for a good prank.” He laughs, and I want to rip my ears off.
“It wouldn’t be camp without the kids trying something,” she jokes.
The sirens and alarms shut off simultaneously with the firefighters giving the crowd of guests a thumbs up to go backinside. Our group scurries inside, but Kate and Eric don’t budge, feet firmly planted as they continue talking.
Instead of sticking around to hear their poor attempts at chit-chat, I graze my hand across Kate’s back and turn back toward the hotel, only acknowledging them with a wave over my shoulder.
I let the echoes of the alarms drown out my thoughts as I make my way back to the room. I see Kate’s phone still sitting on the bed and send her a text.
Sleeping on the couch tonight. You hogged the covers last night ;)
I move the coffee table so it’s out of reach and cocoon myself securely in a blanket, fully preparing myself for a nightmare. Knowing the chaos from the evening is trigger enough, I sabotage myself even more by letting the overstimulation of my brain fuse with the overstimulation of my body and fall asleep replaying what happened on the balcony.
Or…almost happened.
Chapter eighteen
Kate
“Would you like thathot or iced?” the young cashier,Chad, asks in a monotone voice, eyes glazed over with boredom. Like me, he is probably less than overjoyed to be at a coffee shop before 7 a.m. But lucky for him, he’s getting paid to be here. I am not.
“Iced,” I say, my response equally monotone. It’s almost 90 degrees outside, and the sun is barely up. Of course I want it iced,Chad.I blink away my cynicism and force a smile, leaving him a five-dollar bill in his tip jar. My generosity is met with an eye roll and a crumpled-up receipt. I mouth,“Thank you,”and quickly turn to find a seat.
The coffee shop is housed in a tiny cottage a block from the beach. It’s quiet, with a few early risers reading the paper, scrolling their phones, or sitting in silence. The place is filled to the brim with old-fashioned black-and-white photos, vintage knickknacks, and retro-styled posters. Nostalgia oozes from the walls, slightly calming the pinball nerves that are bouncing in my gut.
I check my watch a tenth time in a matter of thirty seconds. It’s only 6:43. Eric said we could meetaround seven, and because I am a chronically punctual person, I got here the moment the open sign was faced out. The ever-so-lively Chad calls out my order, making it sound even more boring than it already is.
Coffee with a splash of oat milk.
