Chapter Two
On second thought… I had spent a ton of money on the flowers and they were too pretty to waste. Wiping away the river of tears, I hoisted the bouquet free of the garbage and set it on the little bistro table in the corner of my motel room, adjusting a couple of the bent stems. The vase was a gorgeous emerald-green contrasting perfectly with the bouquet of yellow lilies, white roses, and the tall spires of liatris. The fragrance was almost overpowering, but after a minute, it was warm and welcoming, like a spring day.
Sitting back on the queen bed covered in a thick comforter that once belonged to my great-grandmother Dorothy, I pulled my knees to my chin and stared at my accommodation.
Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction to Derek’s uncalled-for accusation on my living standards, but it worked, and at the heart of it I did like where I lived. Yes, I lived in a motel room; the kind that rented monthly. I loved my little space, shabby chic though it was. But Derek’s words still itched under my skin, as if a part of me feared he was right. It wasn’t a penthouse, but at least it was mine—a little patch of peace after years of living out of trailers and hotel suites on set.
Many of the monthly renters were seasonal workers; young adults working at the ski hill who were only here in the winter and most of those workers had recently left as the ski season was nearly finished. There were some long-term renters, like myself and Jordyn – who picked up every odd job she could find so she could say she was making it on her own. Something I totally related to.
My motel room wasn’t large (and it wasn’t a trailer!) but it accommodated what I needed to get by: a bed, a dresser, and a flat screen TV with full cable. In addition, it had a decent four-piece bathroom and a great, laid-out kitchenette considering the size. A few months back, I bought a couple of short, yet long bookshelves for under the window. It wasn’t perfect but it was homey.
Jasper itself was quiet and thus far, the most perfect place I’d come to call home since I escaped fame nineteen months ago.
No more 5 am wake-up calls.
No more demanding schedules.
No more being chased by photographers and paparazzi.
In Jasper, no one knew who I was.
Here, I was Molly Griffiths, barista and jazz flute player. Long gone was the cute, red-headed child actress Holly Gaudreau, who rapidly rose to fame but furiously stomped out her career after Shadowed Realms came to a disastrous end just twenty months ago.
However, leaving that all behind wasn’t even the best part of Jasper. Hands down, that went to the view. No skyrises, no noisy downtown core, and no ridiculous commutes. The gorgeous Rocky Mountains surrounded the twenty-unit motel, and within a lazy walking distance of my room was the Athabasca River. A sweet place to sit, think, and listen to the soothing sounds of the rushing water.
Oh beans. The thought of running water reminded me how I needed to do laundry. Like yesterday. But with a broken machine, it meant toting my clothes to the laundromat in town, and I was willing to wait a couple of days more for it to be fixed.
And … I’d been negligent in my grocery shopping too as evidenced by the lack of nutritious food in my suite.
Taking a chance on finding something palatable in the motel office, I left my room and meandered my way to the motel check-in where there was always a basket of fresh fruit and packets of peanuts, a coffee machine with a wide variety of flavoured pods, and a small fridge with cheese strings.
“Hey, Jeremy,” I said as I entered and headed straight for the food.
The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and citrus cleaner, the kind that promised a shine it could never quite deliver. Jeremy’s desk was a battleground of receipts and sticky notes, a battered coffee mug teetering near his keyboard.
“How are things going in here today?” I pocketed a packet of nuts.
A raspy inhale, followed by a breezy exhale. “Busy, can’t you tell?”
Was I missing something? He and I were the only ones in here, and the parking lot was fairly quiet, maybe a half dozen vehicles.
Going by Coffee Loft’s expectations, this place was deader than dead. Perhaps the motel business was a far cry from a bustling coffee shop.
Still dressed in his white tee and grey hoodie with Riverside Motel embroidered over his heart, his ball cap was noticeably missing. It was a nice change to see his unencumbered wavy, brown hair all askew—a sharp contrast to the perfectly manicured beard. It gave him an irresistible rugged kind of look.
Trying not to let my gaze linger too long, I shrugged and rooted through the red apples, searching for the perfect one. I found it and gave it a quick toss in the air. “Busy is good for business, am I right?”
He didn’t bother lifting his eyes from the computer screen. “If business was good, sure. What I wouldn’t give for an injection of cash. Renters are leaving for the season, costs are skyrocketing, and things keep breaking.”
“Like the washer?” I asked with sweet curiosity and sashayed my way across the small space and over a beam of sunlight peering in through the big window.
“Yeah, among other things.”
I hadn’t noticed what else he could be referring to, but then again, I wasn’t in the motel business. “Is the laundry room going to be fixed soon?”
No need to share with him how yesterday I’d purchased a fresh pack of underwear, which was now drying in my bathroom. Colours in dusty rose, blushing beige, and matrimonial white were hanging on full display for all non-existent visitors to my motel room.
I gently rested on the counter, garnering a long, lingering look from him while I twisted the silver ring on my right middle finger. I too stared down at my unmanicured hands, wondering what had captured his attention so firmly.
Our monthly rates understandably did not include room services so there were two washers and dryers on site for the regulars to use in a locked room. There was also a supply closet with basic cleaning supplies tucked into the laundry area.
Refocusing back on his computer screen, he clicked away. “Part’s coming Friday morning. Should have everything good to go by Friday afternoon.”
For a fraction of a heartbeat, he lifted his gaze and made the briefest of eye contact. Why had I never noticed until now that his left eye was blue and his right was a light brown? It was enchanting. The blue was a darker shade, like a ballpoint gel blue, and the other was a light brown, like a light roasted coffee bean.
“Friday, excellent. Friday’s great.” Two days away. I smiled and as much as I wanted to keep staring and studying his eyes, I tore my gaze away to his hands poised over the keyboard as it felt deeply personal to make that connection. “Thank you. I appreciate you a latte.” I couldn’t help myself; it was as ingrained in me as breathing. Most of the time. Tapping the counter with a slight smile, I turned and started toward the door. “See you around.”
Tomorrow was my day off, so I wasn’t going to see him at the Coffee Loft, but I more than likely would see him tinkering on something around the motel.
“Oh, Molly?”
“Yeah?”
“Idris Elba played Heimdall in some Thor movie.” He rose from the desk and walked toward the end of it.
I blinked and searched around the room, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“This morning? The crossword?”
I nodded, feeling more than a bit stupid. “Right. I told you to do some research on him.”
“And I did.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Jeremy carried on, moving to lean on the back and cross his arms over his chest. “Also, he races cars, is a disc jockey, and has a foot fetish.”
My brows knit together, and I took a couple of casual steps backward. “Two of those are interesting, one is just plain weird.”
“Well, I did my research.”
“Ten points to you. Well done.” I gave him a quick friendly clap and he bowed his head. “Well, now you have a little more trivia to tuck into your back pocket. Maybe someday we could play it at the bar?” It was a tongue-in-cheek statement, the same kind of thing I’d offer to Elliot. Something said to be friendly.
Thankfully, Jeremy didn’t take the bait and walked over to the bar fridge and pulled out a cheese string.
We both stood there as breaths passed between us. Finally, I inhaled sharply. “Have a brewtiful day,” I called out, half-expecting Jeremy to roll his eyes. Instead, his lips curved into the smallest of smiles—a quiet acknowledgment that somehow left me feeling more seen than I wanted to admit.