Page 10 of Love in the Time of Conversation Hearts

By the time we pull up to the Golden Horizon Inn and Convention Center, the sun is almost setting behind the Sierra Nevada mountains. Even in the haze of the winter snowfall, the sunset throws the sky into a breathtaking palette of watercolor pinks and yellows and blues with the snowy peaks of the mountains in a stark silhouette against it.

The hotel itself is situated just outside of the downtown area with a gorgeous view of the landscape. It’s beautiful, with little cabin-type houses among the trees that dot the walkway leading up to the main building. Everything is centered around what must be a pool in the summer, though it’s covered and out of use now. On our way inside, we walk past a group of about eight over-loud people in a steaming hot tub tucked back near one of the cabins. They all seem to be sipping various beverages and having a great time, if their raucous laughter is any indication.

There are people everywhere—milling around enjoying cocktails at the bar, braving the cold to stand outside on the front terrace, filing in and out of a ballroom to the right of the concierge desk. Much to my delight, the hotel lobby is decorated for Valentine’s Day with shiny hearts and bouquets of red flowers tastefully accenting the space. Three uniformed workers—none of which look a day older than twenty—stand behind computer monitors checking people in and fielding various questions. Adam and I wheel our suitcases to a stop at the end of the line that has formed in front of the desk.

I let out a low whistle as I take in my surroundings. “Damn, the Association for Small and Rural Towns doesn’t fuck around.”

Adam chuckles heartily, the picture of casual confidence with one arm resting on the handle of his suitcase and the other hand in his pocket. He’s in his element here, and as much as I hate to admit it, it looks good on him.

“I tried to tell you,” he says in a teasing sing-song. “This conference is fun.” And then he winks at me again, and all thoughts of how good he looked are thrown out the window. That wink is really starting to irritate me.

“I’m not here to have fun,” I remind him. “I’m here to learn.”

He all but rolls his eyes at me. “Cora, you’re here because Sturge the Burge made you come with me.”

I raise my eyebrows as we take a step forward in line. “Excuse me, what did you call him?”

“Sturge the Burge,” he says as if it’s obvious, or as if repeating himself pains him. I can’t tell which. He laughs at whatever expression I’m making now, which must be one of disbelief. “Oh, come on,” he says. “You’ve never heard that? It’s what everyone in my office calls him.”

I sigh as I turn toward the back of the head of the person in front of us. “That explains it, then.”

“What does?”

I eye him sidelong. “I’ve never heard it because I try to spend as little time in your office as possible.”

He clicks his tongue, and my shoulders tense at the sound. He leans toward me conspiratorially, and the spiced scent of his aftershave invades my senses again. “It’s because of Bianca, isn’t it?”

“Bianca?”

He blinks at me a few times, then frowns. “My secretary?”

“The fresh-out-of-high-school girl who pops her bubble gum no less than eight times a minute?” I ask.

Adam snaps his fingers and points at me, beaming. “That’s the one.”

“She seems nice,” I say half-heartedly.

He huffs a laugh, finally leaning out of my air space. “She’s incompetent.”

I don’t know why I continue this inane line of conversation, but I can’t help but ask, “Why did you hire her, then?”

I fully expect him to say something about her having an excellent interview or at least minimal competency at administrative tasks, but his shoulders slump a bit as he winces and says, “Believe it or not, Cora, it’s very difficult to staff an office full of part-time workers who only get city-level government paychecks.”

There’s a dig about him being a part-time mayor right there on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. I don’t know why he’s giving me a rare moment of vulnerability here, but he is, and it doesn’t seem right to kick a man while he’s down.

Thankfully, it’s our turn to check in anyway. We both step forward together.

“Good evening. How can I help you?” The young man behind the counter smiles disingenuously. The poor kid looks exhausted.

“Hi there”—Adam leans forward to look at his nametag—“Eric. We are here to check in. There should be two reservations. One for Adam Sullivan, and one for Cora Bennet.”

Eric types in a few things on the keyboard in front of him. Then pauses and types a few more things. He scrunches his face up in concentration as he types a bit more, then looks at Adam as he shrugs.

“I’m sorry, sir. We have a reservation for Adam Sullivan, but there’s no reservation for Cora Bennet in our system.”

I elbow Adam to the side as I rest my forearms on the counter in front of me and shoot a knowing look to the young man. “It’s Cora with a C, and there’s only one T in Bennet.”

He nods vigorously. “Yes, ma’am. I tried that.”