Great Big Beautiful Life(16)

“Alice?” His expression wavers. “Is everything okay?”

I step back abruptly from him and bend to grab the tea and croissant off the ground, holding them out at arm’s length. “Didn’t you see these when you got back from your run?”

His gaze dips, then rebounds to my face. “Yes?”

I balk. “Then why didn’t you take them?”

“Because I didn’t know where they came from,” he says, “and I’m not in the habit of eating and drinking things I find on the ground.”

I feel myself wilting. “I brought them for you.”

His dark brows flick upward, the light catching his eyes for a second, turning his irises the color of whipped coffee. Despite the latte sitting in my stomach, it sends a burst of thirst across my tongue.

He clears his throat. “I didn’t realize.” He reaches out one hand to accept the cup and bag from me, his other still clutching the towel against his damp hip.

Which, of their own accord, my eyes drop to, before snapping back to his face.

“Thank you,” he says.

“No problem,” I force out, keeping my eyes pointedly not on his water-speckled chest. Or the rivulets running from the dark hair tucked behind his ears down his neck. Or his stomach and hips and legs and towel and whatever’s under the towel and—“Anyway! Today’s our last day as neighbors. I booked my rental for the month.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it on a nod.

“Sorry again, if my snoring kept you up,” I say.

He hesitates before answering. “It was actually sort of soothing.”

I guffaw. “Are you serious? You could hear it through the wall?”

He lifts one shoulder, my eye tracking the motion, my body impolitely informing me that I might have a shoulder fetish. “I’m a light sleeper,” he says. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, I try to take almost nothing personally,” I tell him. “I actually could probably afford to take a little more personally.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, and I have no idea whether it’s a gesture toward a smile or a grimace.

I take a half step back. “Anyway, in case I don’t see you again…”

“It was nice meeting me?” he says, parroting my words from last night, with one brow hooking upward.

I break into a grin. “Enjoy your stay.”

As I walk away, his low thunder roll of a voice says, “Nice meeting you too, Alice.”

That, I decide, is definitely a win.



* * *



? ? ?

    That night, I awake to a screech. To flashing lights. To sheer confusion.

I jolt away from the sound and half tumble out of bed, bleary eyes darting around the dark room.

On the wall behind the bed, a mounted device flashes and blares, alternating strobes of red and white streaking across the room. My first thought is ambulance. My second is Audrey!

My sister. Pain spears through my chest right alongside the panic, and then I piece my surroundings together.

Fire alarm, I realize.

You wouldn’t think that would trigger such a wave of relief in me, but it does. My chest loosens, my heart very gradually slowing as I clamber to my feet and snatch my laptop and phone from the side table on my way to the door.

I step into my sandals, grab my room key, and dart out onto the walkway, joining the crowd of sleepy kids and grumpy adults stumbling toward the stairs.

The night is sticky and warm as we make our way down to the parking lot, hotel staff spilling out from the lobby, a manager shouting for us to “REMAIN CALM. THE FIRE DEPARTMENT WILL BE HERE SHORTLY.”

I join a group of guests standing on the sidewalk. With my laptop tucked under my arm, I check the time on my phone—just before four a.m.

Someone stumbles into me, and I look up to find a man about ten or fifteen years older than I am, swaying on the spot, his red-rimmed eyes fixed dully on me.

I reach out to steady him. “Are you okay?”

His toothy grin blasts me with the smell of liquor. He’s drunk, not simply tired. “Better now, baby.” His gaze drips down me like slime.

I’m wearing a blue nightgown from the sixties, loose and long enough to cover my knees, but he manages to make me feel like I’m naked, and not in a good way.

I try to step back, but he’s latched on to my elbow now. He seems more solid, steady, than I first thought. “I think we might be neighbors,” he says, squinting at me. “What room are you in?”

“I…” I look uncertainly over my shoulder, hoping for a friendly face, or even just proof that there’s anyone else watching, but no one’s looking this way. “I don’t remember.”

His expression darkens, the smile melting off his face. “You don’t remember?”

“There you are,” says a low, cool voice behind me.

I spin around, the drunk man’s grip loosening on my arm but not entirely letting go.

Hayden towers over me, his face stony. “Hi!” I try to signal with my eyes what’s going on. I’m not sure whether it’s working, because Hayden’s face remains exactly the same.

He turns toward the interloper as he asks, “Who’s your friend?”

“He’s our neighbor, I guess,” I say.