Page 11 of Love in the Time of Conversation Hearts

A dull stone of panic starts to settle in my stomach. “Can you try it again?”

Eric looks at me skeptically, but he must see the anxiety written all over my face, because he resigns himself to more searching. As he types, Adam pulls out his phone and starts quickly sending a message. I do some mental calculations. Even though it only took us a little over an hour to get here, the snow we drove through was difficult in the daylight. Now that the sun has set, it would be dangerous to drive back, even in Adam’s fancy SUV. Honestly, now that I’ve gotten a look at this place, I wouldn’t mind a weekend full of seminars punctuated with gorgeous views and yummy food on the city’s dime. And would they reconsider their decision if I didn’t follow through with this conference?

I don’t have any more time to spiral, because Adam shoves his phone back into his pocket with more force than necessary and curses under his breath. “Bianca,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Which is how I know before Eric even lifts his head to speak that they are not going to find a reservation under my name, no matter how they spell it.

Sure enough, Eric shakes his head slowly, giving me a helpless look. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Well, can we book another?” I ask.

Eric’s eyes dart from me to Adam and back again. “We’re completely sold out for the conference.”

I swallow hard. “Are there two beds in his room, at least?”

Eric clicks his mouse a few times, then squishes his eyes shut. He opens one in a tiny sliver as he says, “Looks like one king bed.”

“Shit,” I breathe.

The receptionist must see my panic written plainly on my face, because he raises his eyebrows hopefully. “There is a couch in the room?” It tips up at the end like a question, which should probably set off some warning bells, but Adam’s hand lands on my lower back, his large palm warm even through the coat I’m still wearing. I hate to admit it’s comforting, and I have to stop myself from leaning into it.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says, his voice low and rumbling in my ear. “It wouldn’t be smart to drive back in this snow.”

I swallow again and nod, my anxiety being edged out by anger. “You will absolutely take the couch, because it is your fault we are even in this situation.”

He snatches his hand away from my back like he’s been burned.

Sharing a room with Adam Sullivan was not on my bingo card for this weekend, and especially not a room with one bed. No matter how good he smells or how warm his hand was on my back, I do not want to deal with this. I separate myself from him and move off to the side of the lobby as he takes care of the details and gets our room keys. At least now, I can take a few deep breaths and get it together. Eric said there’s a couch. How bad could it be, right?

Resolved, I follow Adam to an elevator. Once inside, he presses the button for the third floor, then we ride in complete, awkward silence.

We wheel our luggage down the hall to room 309, and I allow Adam the honor of tapping the key card to the door and opening it. He walks in first and turns on a few lights before he huffs and faces me with a helpless shrug. I peer around his broad shoulders to see a tiny armchair and ottoman in the corner next to a desk.

“That’s not a couch,” I insist.

He shrugs again as he studies it. I step up beside him so we are both standing in front of the armchair, our heads tilted in thought.

“It’ll be fine for two nights,” he says, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. He eyes the tiny thing, as if measuring it against his giant frame.

I glance at the bed. It’s huge—or, at least, it seems so compared to the queen-size bed I sleep on at home. I never saw the point of a king if it was just me sleeping in it, though I have to admit it would be nice to have a mattress this big all to myself.

When I turn back to him, his brow is furrowed and he’s shifting this way and that as if scrutinizing the chair from different angles could somehow make it bigger. Or compact his large frame to fit.

My shoulders sag a bit, dejected. “I’m smaller,” I say on a defeated sigh. “It only makes sense that I take the chair.” And then I grumble under my breath—but loud enough for him to hear, “Even though this is totally your fault.”

Adam frowns at me, his gray eyes sparkling. “If you think my mother taught me to carry a woman’s luggage but she’d be okay with me allowing her to sleep in a chair, you’re dreaming.” He claps his hands together as if it’s decided. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Let’s get dressed and head down to the bar so we can mingle.”

“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I toss my suitcase on the bed so I can get out the dress I brought, but I don’t know if any of this is a good idea. Given the way his eyes are focused on me, and the memory of his hand at the small of my back, the last thing this situation needs is alcohol.