Chapter 21
“I’ve changed my mind,”I call out, voice a little on the whiney side. Okay, a lot on the whiney side. “I hate skiing. It’s the worst thing ever, and I’m never doing it again.”
I’m lying spread-eagle on my bed, which is pretty much where I’ve been since waking up this morning. Every muscle in my body aches like I attempted a triathlon yesterday with zero preparation. It’s all skiing’s fault. I will never forgive the stupid sport. I may never forgive Owen either, but he’s doing a pretty good job of trying to make up for it, despite all his chuckling and teasing.
“Never’s an awfully long time,” he calls from the hallway.
“Yeah, well, I mean it. Nothing is worth feeling like this.”
“Nothing?” His voice is closer, and then he’s in my room, carrying a tray between his hands and a devilish look in his eyes that makes me blush.
I clear my throat, remembering the kisses we shared yesterday in the snow. Now that’s a sport I could participate in every day and never get tired of.
“Um, whatcha got there?” I say, groaning a little as I pull myself into a seated position.
“See for yourself.” He brings the tray over, revealing a mountain of Bananas Foster French toast, a pile of bacon, fresh fruit, and a tall glass of orange juice.
My jaw drops. “These are all my favorite things.”
“I know,” Owen says, looking a little embarrassed. “I may or may not have gotten a list of your favorite breakfast foods from my sister and then ordered them from room service.”
Warmth fills my chest, and I lift myself up enough to brush a kiss against his lips. He looks momentarily stunned, and I gotta say, it’s adorable on him.
“What was that for?” he asks.
I shrug. “Because I wanted to.”
He smiles, slowly at first, as if he can’t quite believe it. I almost can’t myself. It’s like this place has put a spell on me. It doesn’t matter what was going on in our lives before we came to Vail or what will happen after. All that matters is now. And the more I lean into that, the more my usual fears seem like distant, trivial things.
It’ll all end after the flight home though.
I shove the errant thought to the back of my mind where I can almost forget it exists. No way am I letting doubts ruin today.
And who says those doubts are right anyway? Maybe I never settled down before because I never found the right guy. Owen could be the right guy.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks a few minutes later. He’s got his own identical tray, and he nods to the vacant spot beside me on the bed. Heat fills my belly, but I nod because I’m a big girl and I can totally handle sitting on a bed with Owen. We’re going to be eating breakfast. There will be no shenanigans, so there’s no reason to get all flustered and weird.
We eat, laughing and talking easily like this is how we live life. I find myself memorizing every little part of our time together, cataloging every word and gesture he makes so I can save them for later.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, halfway through my plate. “You’ve done speed dating before?” I’m not even sure how we got on the topic, but now that we’re here, I’m not letting it go.
He chuckles. “Once. When a friend wanted me to come with him for support. Have you ever done it?”
“Never.”
“I don’t recommend it unless you have a strong constitution. Speed dating is definitely not for the faint of heart.”
“Duly noted.” I smile as an idea takes shape. “Give me your introduction.”
His nose wrinkles. “My what?”
“You know, your introduction. What you said for the first fifteen seconds to catch a girl’s attention.” He looks like he might try to fight me, so I add, “You said we’re supposed to get to know each other better, remember?”
He nods, swallowing a big bite of bacon. “Right. Well, I was born in New York, moved to the south when I was twelve, went to school for business at the University of South Carolina, and started my own tech company with my best friend shortly after. I like running, hate sushi, and when I want to unwind, I like to watch a movie with my cat, Storm.”
“Oh, dear.” I wince.
“What?”
“I don’t think this can work out between us, Owen.”
“W-what? What do you mean?” A twinge of anxiety enters his face, and it’s almost enough to make me take pity on him and stop, but I forge ahead.
“You. Hate. Sushi?” I can’t help it. A smile tugs on my lips, and soon, I can’t help letting it take over my face. I can tell the instant he realizes I’m teasing him, and maybe it’s evil of me, but I kind of love that I can have this effect on him.
He breathes a sigh of relief, matching my smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty much the grossest food known to man.”
“Okay, but have you ever actually tried it? Because sushi isn’t all raw fish, you know. A lot of people have that misconception.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried it, and it’s not the fish, raw or otherwise,” he says.
“Explain.”
“It’s the seaweed.” He shudders as if the very thought is enough to make him hurl. The sight makes me laugh. “Ugh. I hate the way that seaweed wrapper tastes and feels in my mouth. I can’t get over it.”
I shove another bite of French toast into my mouth, talking around the food. Is this unladylike of me? Probably. But this is me, so if he has a problem with things like this, I guess now’s a good time to find out. “Fine, the seaweed is a hangup for you, but have you ever tried fried sushi before?”
“They have fried sushi?”
“Yes, and it will change your life. Seriously. I bet you wouldn’t even notice the seaweed part if you tried it that way.”
“I doubt it.”
“You wouldn’t. And I’ll have to prove it to you one day. You will succumb to the dark side and become a sushi fan.”
His lips quirk up at my Star Wars reference. “Are you threatening to take me out on a date for sushi sometime?”
“Well, not a date, but I mean, I’m going to prove to you that sushi is delicious.”
“By taking me out on a date,” he teases.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t think I’d ever try sushi otherwise.”
“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll take you out for sushi sometime. But just to prove you wrong.”
I’m licking the last of the sweet, drippy syrup from my fork when Owen’s phone dings from the other room. He leaves, and I take the chance to breathe deeply, bunching my lips to the side as I try to sort out all the feelings buzzing around inside me.
This thing we’re doing, this flirtatious, back-and-forth, getting to know each other game is fun. More than fun, it’s comfortable. Natural. Giving in to my desire to let myself grow closer to Owen over the last twenty-four hours has been easier than I thought it would be.
I keep waiting for my urge to run to pop up, but it doesn’t. And the way I’m feeling about him right now, it should. I should be hard-core making backup plans for what to do and where to go when I’m ready to run. In fact, the old me would have been making backup plans for my backup plans. But I’m not.
Maybe that’s why this is almost scarier.
Owen comes back into the room, frowning at his phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s Shane,” he says.
“Oh, right. Did he say anything about Phase Three or the trap? Did anyone try to break into the software or whatever?” As crazy as it sounds, I almost kind of forgot about the leak and trying to find out who the mole was over the last twenty-four hours. I feel bad about it, but my mind’s been focused on so many other things.
Okay, one thing. One person. Owen. My brain has one hundred percent been focused on Owen.
“No, nothing so far.” He sits on the bed, this time closer to me than before. We’ve both finished our food, and I have the urge to lean into him, hoping he’ll wrap his arms around me.
I resist at first, until he does exactly what I was hoping he’d do even without my prompting. His arm goes around me, and he pulls me tightly to him. I give up all my defenses. What’s the point? This is what I want. If this thing between us is right, the anxiety I’m feeling will go away on its own eventually. I hope.
“That’s weird,” I say, trying to stay grounded in the conversation. “I thought for sure we’d get a breakthrough yesterday.”
“Me too,” he says, putting his phone away. Then both of his arms are around me, and this is my new favorite place to be. Right here. “I’m kind of worried that we didn’t.” As he speaks, his lips tickle the top of my head.
“I’m sure it’ll happen eventually. Maybe whoever it is is being extra cautious. They probably know better than to jump on this right away.”
“Yeah, you might be right. I hate the waiting game though.”
“I know.” I snuggle into his chest more, wishing I could hug all his problems away. If only there were something more I could do.
“Alright, I need a distraction from all of that. Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me on the slopes again today?” he asks, his lips buried somewhere in my hair.
“Ha. No way.”
“Really?” He tilts my chin up toward him, a promise in his eyes. I smile, knowing what he’s doing and that I’m going to enjoy every last second of it. His breath mingles with mine, and then our mouths fit together like puzzle pieces.
His lips are warm and sweet as syrup. His fingertips graze against the skin at my waist where my pajama shirt has inched up. There’s nothing hurried or desperate about this kiss, but I almost wish there were. With every touch from him, I’m heating up from the inside out like an oven whose temperature is being incrementally dialed up.
My hands explore the buttery softness of his t-shirt and the hard planes of his chest, trying to coax more out of him, but it doesn’t work. His movements are languid and leisurely. The more in control he is, the more out of control I become. I try picking up the pace, signaling I want more, but he stalls me at every touch. It’s the best kind of torture, and I think he could persuade me to ski down Mount Everest with him at this rate.
When I’m about to crawl onto his lap and beg him for more, his lips turn into a smile against mine, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.
“You suck,” I whisper, smiling too. “And I’m still not skiing.”
“I figured.” He laughs and wraps me in his arms again, pulling me onto his lap and cradling me against his chest. “But I had a backup plan just in case. What do you say to spending a day at the spa with me?”
He brings out a set of pamphlets from the side table, fanning them out before me in a move I can only describe as Vanna White-esque.
“A day at the spa, huh?” I say, inspecting the pamphlets. I’ve never been to a spa before. Heck, I’ve never been to a nail salon. Inside, I’m doing a total jumpy up and down thingy, because this sounds amazing, but on the outside, I’m cool as a cucumber. Can’t let him know he won that easily. “I suppose I can be persuaded.”
“Good,” he says, kissing me softly on the nose.
I think I may be in heaven.
I, Junie Cousins, am in love.
With spa day, let’s be clear about that. I’m in love with spa day. I would live at the spa if I didn’t need trivial things like money to pay for food and my mortgage. I don’t even know the names for half of the things they’ve been doing to me, but I don’t care, because this is bliss.
So far, I’ve had a facial, been wrapped in seaweed, had a steam bath, got rubbed down with a coconut—that was an experience—and now, I’m waiting in a dimly lit room, lying under a buttery-soft sheet in nothing but my birthday suit. I think the lady said I was getting another type of massage next, but I’m not exactly sure what kind on account of the woman’s heavy, European accent.
Ah well. Who cares what comes next? Not me. I’m going to be so tender and oiled up by the end of the day, you will be able to serve me at a barbeque.
I let a contented sigh fill the corners of the room. Soft, melodic tones and nature sounds drift from the speakers on the ceiling, and I take the moment of solitude to grab my phone from the pocket of my robe hanging near me.
Junie:Kiera, I have a confession to make.
I chew on my nail, waiting for her reply. I’ve been going back and forth about whether or not to be honest with my best friend about my feelings for her brother. I almost texted her yesterday but ended up chickening out. It’s not because I’m afraid of her reaction. I have a feeling Kiera would be supportive of me no matter who I choose to date, serial killers and deadbeats excluded.
I haven’t talked to her about it because, for some reason, that makes it feel that much more real.
Like I’m finally admitting, not only to myself but to the universe, that I want this thing between Owen and me to work out. It’s scary to admit this might be for real, and I’m going to try extra hard not to run away from it this time.
I’m also afraid that maybe putting it out there will jinx me.
Kiera:Does your confession possibly involve you and my brother?
Junie:Maybe.
Kiera:Does it also involve some feelings that may have developed for said brother over the last couple of months?
Junie:It’s possible, pig.
Junie:Princess Bride GIF
Kiera:Lol
Kiera:Okay, I’ll stop being annoying now. You like Owen, don’t you?
Junie:Yeah. Kind of a lot.
Kiera:Good. Because I like the idea of you and Owen together. Kind of a lot.
I chew my nail some more, letting her words sink in. They make my chest feel all light and airy. Part of me wants the conversation to end here, but I can’t let it.
Junie:Aren’t you afraid I’m going to run away from him and break his heart?
Kiera:Should I be worried?
Junie:Well…you know me.
Kiera: Yes, I do. And I know how much love you’re capable of giving.
Kiera:Remember how you came to my rescue when we were in college? We were new roommates, barely knew each other, yet you dropped everything to help me in one of my darkest moments. You saved me. Quit selling yourself short, Junie. You can do this. You need to believe you can.
My eyes sting with tears, and I blink hard to keep them at bay.
Junie:Why is it so hard then? I’m so afraid I’m going to mess this up.
Kiera:Fear is natural, especially considering where you’re coming from. Your mom left you, and your dad set an example of running away. It’s hard to break those cycles. What’s important is that you try. Also, and I’m not trying to push you, but I think it might be a good idea to let Owen in on those ghosts from your past if you haven’t already. It might help both of you make it through this.
I set my phone down and press my forehead against the clean, white sheet beneath me. I almost, almost, wish I never texted her to begin with. Because she’s right. I know she’s right, at least about telling Owen everything. Maybe he’s pieced things together on his own, but being open and honest with him would be the adult thing to do.
Adulting is overrated.
The doorknob to the room jiggles, and I’m saved from making a final decision on the matter. I stuff my phone back into the pocket of my robe hanging nearby.
“Oh, hey,” I say, even though my back is to the door and I can’t see my masseuse. I feel guilty for some reason. Like catching me not relaxing is a criminal offense. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”
“Actually, I think you’re the one who’s lost.”
I gasp, nearly choking on my own tongue, and crane my head around to see Owen standing in my room. My gaze lands smack-dab on his navel region and his glorious set of abdominal muscles. He’s wearing nothing but a fluffy, white towel around his waist, and it’s doing terrible things to my imagination.
Forget everything I said about adulting. Adulting is good. Great. Yep, I love being an adult. And all that it entails.
I squeeze my eyes closed. “What are you doing here?” I demand, pulling my thin sheet higher over my body.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Why are you in my room?”
“No, why are you in my room?”
It’s not that we haven’t seen each other all day. We were in the same room for several of the other treatments, and it was fine, but we were also both wearing luxurious robes, basically covered from wrist to knee. There was nothing to be self conscious of then. Now, there is everything to be self conscious of.
“Hey, I went where the nice Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonator told me to go,” Owen says.
“Me too. Except minus the impersonator part. My masseuse told me to go to the Aspen room.”
All of the various rooms at this place are named after plants and trees native to Vail. It’s cute, but it’s also a little confusing if you’re not up on your horticulture, which I am not.
“Um, actually, this is the Juniper room, the room I was told to go in.”
“Yeah, right. I think I’d know if I went into a room with my own name on it.”
“You’d think so, but you’d be wrong.”
“Nope. You’re wrong. This is Aspen.” Isn’t it? Then again, I have been waiting for my masseuse for a suspiciously long amount of time…
Owen chuckles and leans against the wall opposite me. He’s keeping his gaze trained on my face, a fact I’m both appreciative of and amazed at simply because I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes above his collar bones.
“Hate to say it, Junie, but I think you may be lost.”
I’m halfway considering hobbling off this table and checking the name myself when the door swings open, revealing a buff man in a tiny, white shirt. His eyes go big, darting from me to Owen then back to me. He calls over his shoulder.
“Ingrid! She’s in here.”
A bear of a woman holding a handful of fragrant, leaf-filled branches pushes Arnold aside. She zeros in on me, and suddenly, I feel like the naughty girl in the one-room schoolhouse who’s about to have her knuckles hit with a ruler.
“Agh.” She bustles in, waving the branches at me, motioning for me to get up, speaking in a language I don’t understand.
“W-wait,” I squeak, trying to get her attention. “I don’t have any clothes on.”
But she pays no mind. Instead, she keeps talking in Swedish or Danish or, heck, maybe Elvish, shoving the branches in my face. Laughing, Owen comes after us, and it looks like he might try to come to my rescue. I’m equal parts thrilled and mortified about this—because, hello! Still naked—but Arnold turns on him with his own fistful of branches.
Leaves fly everywhere as they bat us away from each other. Arnold and Ingrid could defend Vail from a foreign invasion single-handedly. Washington, D.C. should be notified.
“I think I’ve had enough pampering,” I yell as I’m being unceremoniously shoved out of the room.
“Me too,” he calls back, sounding a little strangled. “Let’s meet up at—”
“No.” Ingrid’s face is red and splotchy, but there’s determination in those pale-blue eyes of hers. “Not done yet. Massage. Then steam. Then done. Now out. No more hanky-panky between you two. Out!”
I am one thousand shades of red beneath my sheet. “H-hanky-panky? No. No hanky-panky. It was a mistake.”
A MISTAKE I tell you!
“Right. You two ending up in same room. Mistake.” Ingrid rolls her eyes. I turn back, hoping to catch sight of Owen one more time to somehow convey that this was, in fact, an accident and I in no way did this on purpose so hanky-freaking-panky could occur.
And I do catch sight of him.
But it’s not the sight I meant to see.
Because at the exact moment I turn around, the Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonator manhandles the still-struggling Owen so hard that Owen’s towel falls to the floor. And I see all of Owen’s backside. I mean ALL of it.
Flames of embarrassment engulf my entire body. My eyes bug out of my head. Should I shut them? Yes. But I’m ashamed to say I don’t. And then I’m unceremoniously shoved out of what is indeed the Juniper room.
By the time I escape Ingrid, the skin on my back matches the pink tinge still adorning my cheeks. Will my skin ever recover from her eucalyptus-infused wrath? Will my brain ever be able to unsee Owen’s towel slipping off his trim waist? Only time will tell.
The better question is, do I want to unsee it?
I hide a smile behind my hand as I slip into the women’s steam room. One thing’s for sure, I’m seeing a whole lot more of Owen on this little trip then I ever thought I would.