“I’ll be beside you the entire time. It’s safe, and who knows? You might actually enjoy it.”
Wyatt takes my hand as he speaks and slowly leads me closer to the floatplane. A man waiting there gives Wyatt a nod. I assume this is our pilot because he takes our bags and loads them into the plane as Wyatt turns me to face him.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Paige. I promise.”
It is completely illogical, and there is no reason for me to believe him, but I do. Wholeheartedly. Which is why I let him help me step up and into the plane, I let him adjust the headset over my ears so we can talk to each other, and I let him take my hand in his as the plane begins to taxi over the water. He flinches slightly when I squeeze tightly as the plane lifts up into the air, but when I mumble an apology, he simply covers our hands with his other one and rubs his thumb across my knuckles comfortingly.
Eventually, I am able to relax, and to my surprise, Wyatt is right, I do enjoy the flight. It’s over far too soon, and the landing in Vancouver is a lot bumpier than I would have liked. But the views crossing the Georgia Strait are spectacular and seeing the coastal mountain range come closer and closer is awe-inspiring.
After we disembark the plane, Wyatt leads us to a parking lot and straight to a car that he unlocks with a fob from his pocket. When he notices my curious expression, he comments, “I paid for long-term parking when I came over to the island.”
The drive to the hotel is blessedly short, but it’s when we pull up to the valet station at the Fairmont Waterfront hotel that I realize I had no idea we were staying here.
“Wyatt, this is uncomfortable for me to admit, but I truly cannot afford a place like this, nor do I wish to be indebted to you.”
Wyatt ignores me, climbing out of the car, coming around, and opening my door. I ignore his hand when he reaches in to help me step out. “Did you hear me? I appreciate your efforts, but this cannot stand.”
Finally he speaks. But it isn’t what I expected him to say. “Paige. Can you do one favour for me this weekend?”
I ponder what he could possibly want from me. “That depends on what the favour is,” I reply.
He shakes his head ruefully. “Can you not worry about the money? I’ve got it covered, I promise. I don’t want to get into the specifics, I just don’t want you to worry about it. Just enjoy yourself. It means a lot that you’re here with me, even if we are here for different reasons. I’m looking forward to spending time with you, and I hope you can relax and have a good weekend with me. That’s all I ask.”
Well. How on earth am I supposed to formulate a response to that?
Wyatt doesn’t seem to need one, as after a second or two of staring at me, he appears to reach an internal decision. Taking my hand in his, he grabs the handle of my suitcase, places his bag on top, and walks toward the entrance of the hotel. He checks us in quite quickly, and soon we’re in the elevator heading up to the tenth floor. I have yet to say a word, and truly, I am still at a loss on what to say to Wyatt. It’s not that I wish to appear ungrateful, I simply am unused to having someone bestow lavish gifts on me, such as he is doing. And while I appreciate that he does not see them as gifts, I do.
We reach our adjoining rooms, and Wyatt hands me the key card for mine.
“Would it help if I let you pay for dinner tonight?” he asks, his voice light with humour. But I can see something more significant brewing beneath the surface. Something that tells me I am most definitely not alone in feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of whatever is growing between us. Which makes my necessary reply all the more awkward.
“It would, however, I have already made arrangements to have dinner with my colleague who provided the ticket for tomorrow’s event. Could we perhaps meet for breakfast tomorrow instead?”
Wyatt’s face falls, but he recovers quickly. I see a mask of indifference cross his features, a shield of sorts. It almost seems as if he feels rejected somehow. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll just grab some room service. See you in the morning.”
The door closes behind him and I stay in the hallway for several minutes, trying to process what just happened. The chime of my phone breaks the spell, and I look down to see a message from Seth instructing me where to meet him. I unlock the door to my room, deposit my suitcase, and after a quick moment in the bathroom to freshen up, I’m on my way out again for dinner. Something makes me pause outside Wyatt’s door, but I don’t linger.
That would be a mistake.
A short while later, I realize my previous statement was incorrect. The real mistake turned out to be coming to dinner with Seth. The man is insufferably boring. He’s at least twenty years my senior, divorced, and clearly under the mistaken impression that this evening was intended to be more than dinner between two fellow bookstore owners. I immediately dissuaded him of the notion that there was a romantic element to our meeting when he attempted to draw me in for an embrace. What followed was an awkward, stilted conversation that I marginally improved by consuming copious amounts of wine.
When at last our dishes were cleared and the bill was presented, I quickly pulled out my emergency cash and placed it on the table before standing up.
“Thank you, Seth, it was enlightening meeting you in person. I do appreciate the invitation for the conference. Perhaps I shall see you at one of the panel discussions tomorrow. Goodnight.”
I hurry out of the restaurant before he can reply, instantly regretting my over consumption of wine as my gait is unsteady and my eyesight somewhat blurry. When I return to the hotel, it has only been an hour since I departed. I make my way to the bar situated off the lobby and order a gin and tonic. Perhaps imbibing more liquor is not wise, but I need something to distract myself from thinking about the fact that Wyatt is here, upstairs, alone.
But I consume the drink far too quickly and find I’m still thinking of it. Of him.
I’m thinking of him as I ride up to our floor in the elevator.
And as I walk down the hall toward our rooms.
And as I try to swipe my key card over and over, cursing the damn light that will not turn from red to green, until the door opens suddenly and I tumble forward into strong arms.
“Paige? What the hell?”
I blink up at his face. “You’re fuzzy.”
