Sewanee stepped over. “Since when does it snow in Las Vegas?”
“Like, never,” the waitress replied. “Last time I was in first grade and we got a snow day. It was awesome.”
Nick and Sewanee both took out their phones.
“The airline sent a text an hour ago.” He looked at his luggage as if it might have more information. “I need to get a room.”
“Ooh, yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” The waitress rested her tray on a cocked hip. “Just heard we’re sold out tonight.”
“What? How?”
“Take a fight night at MGM, Beyoncé in concert, and that book convention thing and the town’s nearly at capacity. Cancel a few hundred flights on top of that?” At Nick’s stricken look, she tapped his forearm. “You want that drink now?”
“No, no thank you.”
“Well, casino’ll be poppin’ all night! Good luck!” She beamed and left.
Sewanee, still looking at her phone, mumbled, “All flights are canceled. In and out. My friend can’t leave LAX.”
Nick raked a hand through his hair. “I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since uni.” He laughed. “Snow?! Really?”
“Okay,” Sewanee muttered, putting away her phone. “I’m about to do something and I don’t want you to take it in any way that could be . . . whatever. I have a room.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is this your turn at the Romance version?” She snorted. “Let me guess. There’s one very small bed.”
“Two, actually. Very large beds. In very large rooms. Very large separate rooms. It’s all very large. Hotel-room-from–Rain Man large.” She impulsively created a bit more space between them. “I’m comfortable offering you a place for the night. But only if you’re comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable. But are you comfortable? You’re awful kind, but are you–”
“The place is so big I could be sleeping in another state. It’s fine. I’m fine. If you’re fine.”
“I’m fine!”
“Then we’re good.” Sewanee straightened. “You’re good?”
“Good.” Nick nodded. “After you.”
He followed Sewanee through the casino and around the bend.
SHE LET NICK enter the suite first. The butler had been by to turn on some lights. Low. Moody. Sexy. Nick took in the expanse of the room before taking in the view. He smirked at her. “This’ll do, I s’pose.”
He ventured deeper into the space, into the living room, his broad back silhouetted against the window. “It’s a bit magical, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she answered as she moved toward him, rounded his right side, and looked out into the neon night. The flashing colors of the city, like gels on theater lights, continuously shifted the tint of their faces. They stood side by side, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the ghosts of their own reflections, the Strip lay sprawled, a white blanket collecting over it. Soft flakes confettied from the sky. It was a sight Sewanee knew she would never forget.
Nick murmured, “I want to say something. Something profound. Poetic. Spirit of my ancestors and such. But for the first time tonight, I have no words.”
“You’ve run out of foreplay?”
“Cheeky.” More silence. “It looks like a pointillist painting, doesn’t it? That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Well. Que Seurat, Seurat.”
He threw back his head. Then his laugh melted like the snow hitting the window, sliding down the glass, and she watched, in the refracted reflection, his eyes slide down her body in kind. “I’m fairly confident this is as close as I’ll ever come to being in one of your novels,” he murmured. “This must be some sort of trope, yeah?” He waved his hand about, taking in the room, the lights, the falling snow. Her.
She continued looking out. She felt as though everything she was wearing–every last thing–had slipped off her. She had never felt this way. She had always wished she would. “Guess what it’s called.”
“Something epic, I’m sure. Divine Providence? Celestial Intervention?”
She chuckled. She finally turned to face him. “It’s called Snowed In.”
Part 2
Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it–don’t cheat with it.