“I got you, man,” Adrian replies, giving me a sympathetic smile as I follow him out the door and into the blazing heat.
“Thank you for the save,” I say, thankful to be out of that room. “I swear Susan has this uncanny ability to suck all the air out of a room. The joy too.”
“My mom can be that way,” Adrian says. “You should have seen her when I brought Vanessa home. A non-Catholic American girl. I thought she was going to have a heart attack.”
“Unfortunately, my mom likes Katherine too much.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, seriously.
“In my case, yes.”
8 Mira
The lobby is thick with the scent of artificial pine as I roll my luggage across the birch-colored laminate. Rows of doors line the hallway, separated by well-worn couches and threadbare rugs that must have been purchased in the nineties from the looks of their outdated patterns. Muffled conversation permeates through the thin walls as I pick up my pace, in no mood for more unnecessary small talk.
Locating my room, I insert the key and turn it, only to be instantly assaulted by a pungent wave of floral perfume. The artificial, chemical stench is nauseating as I set my bag down to open a window. Besides the queen-size bed in the middle of the room, there are two end tables, a dresser, and a set of wooden bunk beds pressed against the far wall. If they added a handful of knick-knacks, this place would look more like an antique mall than a hotel.
Pushing back the green-and-gold dust-covered curtains, I unlatch the lock on the window and attempt to glide it open but the glass doesn’t budge. I try again, moving the lock in the opposite direction. Still nothing. It isn’t until I notice the white chips breaking off onto the windowsill that I understand the issue. The window is painted shut.
Great. Not only is my room slowly poisoning me to death, but it’s also a fire hazard. Scooting around the bed, I unlock the patiodoor, throwing it open. Bears be damned. But I’m offered no relief, as the heat combines with the fumes, creating a tear-gas-like stench that ignites a coughing fit.
I bump a nightstand and send something crashing to the floor. From the clamor I expect a remote or cordless phone, but I find a toiletry bag lying open at my feet. Bending down to retrieve it, I’m overcome by the faint scent of rain, Hudson’s scent, and I’m dizzy with raw emotion.
Bad clients, bad haircuts, I always let it go, I move on. I put it behind me, I buy a hat, but I’m still hung up on this. Maybe I just need to give it more time. Maybe it’s because I’m so fresh off my fight with Phoebe. But a small part of me wonders if maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is punishment for getting too close. For letting my guard down. For not anticipating every outcome, even the ones I didn’t know to look for.
Collecting the items from the floor, I place them back in the bag, setting them on the nightstand to bring to the Activity Center’s lost and found later this afternoon. Eager to unpack, I lift my suitcase up onto the bed, and catch sight of a neon-pink garment bag hanging in the closet, a set of two purple suitcases resting underneath.
I navigate through the Tetris-like decor to inspect it. It’s one thing to forget makeup, but there’s no way anyone left their luggage here by accident. I go over to inspect them, seeing a name I don’t recognize on the tags. Katherine Moore. And then it hits me. This isn’t my room.
Of course the girl at the front desk gave me the wrong key.
How is she supposed to focus on her job in that overstimulation station?
Tamping down my irritation at making another trek across the property, I grab my luggage and reach for the door, but the handle twists underneath my fingers, giving me only a moment to moveout of the way before Hudson Hayes pushes inside, almost falling on top of me.
The alliteration of his name is stuck in my brain in the same way I memorized the feeling of his mouth against mine, and I take another step back. The scruff against his cheeks I’ve come to love is gone, and his hair is wet and unruly, the soft curls that nestle at his nape starting to form as water droplets fall down his neck and freckle-covered shoulders. My eyeline trails down his torso to the towel around his waist and I realize he’s practically naked. This is a scenario I’ve only conjured up alone, in my bed, with my favorite vibrator—definitely not one I imagined actually living through after our disastrous hookup—and the sight makes me unsteady.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice dripping with disdain.
“I’m in the wedding party.”
“If you’re in the wedding party, shouldn’t you be in one of the cabins up front and not skulking around the common areas half-naked?”
I’m used to the unexpected: a sudden rainstorm on a sunny day, a bridesmaid passing out in the middle of a wedding ceremony, but Hudson Hayes standing in front of me feels like a cosmic joke.
Hudson runs his hands through his hair, and in the daylight, I’m able to take in all the things I missed in the darkness. The broadness of his shoulders, the delicately placed freckles along his collarbone, the dusting of hair along his abdomen. There are also a few tattoos I had no idea were hiding underneath all those layers: a line of foreign script I can’t quite make out on his chest, and a broken sword sitting on his ribs.
“My shower is broken and ...” He trails off before focusing his attention on me. “Wait, what areyoudoing here?”
“I’m the photographer,” I reply, unsure of it myself.
“You’rethe last-minute replacement?” he states, in a combination of bewilderment and delight.
“Is that an issue?”
He shakes his head. “No. I, uh ... I just need to put some clothes on,” he says, grabbing a few things from his bag on the bottom bunk. “Give me one sec, okay?”
I should bolt. I should run straight out of the door and up the hill and hitch a ride back to the airport because this is a sign. A glowing neon light in the darkness telling me that I should not be here. I should let my career die. I should sell my cameras and start a new life as a truck driver or lighthouse keeper. Something where I never have to deal with people ever again. But instead, I give him a nod, as he steps into the bathroom.
