Chapter Thirteen
Jess
The bath is warm and nothing short of heavenly. I sink into the water, closing my eyes as if it’s going to block out everything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours.
I hate to admit it, won’t ever admit it even if someone asks, but it was so easy to fall back into old patterns once I accepted the inevitable. Of course writing a book with Nick sounds like it would be tantamount to torture, but I would be a fool to ignore what this could do for my career. I vowed to make him hate working together, but I forgot that part of the mission after the first five minutes.
I didn’t expect the whole process to be fun.
Of course it’s only been one day. There’s still plenty of time for things to go downhill.
But I don’t think about those possibilities. I enjoy my bath, dressing in Nick’s shirt and sliding into bed, the pillow barrier between us still firmly in place, maybe more necessary now than ever.
I say good night and turn out the light, and the events of the past day catch up with me, allowing me to slip into a blissful sleep where I definitely do not dream about Nick Matthews.
I wake the next morning before Nick, using the opportunity to sneak out of the room before he opens his eyes. I make my way down to the lobby, keeping my fingers crossed for some good news.
The grumpy-looking older man behind the counter of the reception desk does not look like he is going to be the bearer of good news. I’ve spoken with him before, and though I wouldn’t have described him as friendly, he certainly didn’t give the impression that I was the bane of his existence—the glare he greets me with this morning tells me things might have changed.
“Hi,” I say, flashing him the brightest smile I can manage after three days trapped in this inn. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of the roads reopening today, Stanley?” I throw in the name on his tag. I always like it when customers at the coffee shop take a moment to remember that I am a human being and not just a vessel delivering their drinks.
Rather than answering my question, he looks out the front windows of the lobby. Pointedly.
As I have yet to check the weather outside this morning, I glance over his shoulder and see nothing but white. “Right. Guess that’s a no. In that case, I don’t suppose there’s any rooms that have opened up since Saturday?”
Now that Nick and I are going to be working together for the foreseeable future—I wait for a wave of nausea to overtake me, but instead there’s just a warmth spreading through my veins—I need some distance from him. It would be so easy, too easy, to fall back into our old habits, and if I’m going to survive this project and avoid any hint of reigniting the old flame that needs to stay dormant, space is going to be a necessity.
The man’s look can only be described as withering, even after I went through the trouble to learn his name. “Given that no one has been able to leave, that would be a no. Still a no, no matter how many times you all check.”
“Right. I figured it didn’t hurt to ask.” Though it did seem to pain him, greatly. “One last question.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Are there any appointments today for a massage? Assuming the spa staff are trapped here like the rest of us?” I try my charming smile one more time, but this man is unbreakable. Apparently the past few days have killed his holiday spirit.
“Room number?” he asks with nothing less than disdain.
I give him the number for what’s technically Nick’s room and low-key hope he’ll charge the massage to the room without my having to ask. Nick owes me a minimum of a massage and it’s not like I’m asking them to put it on his tab. I would just be totally okay with it if it happened to shake out that way.
“All right, ma’am, you have a two o’clock massage.”
“Amazing.” I don’t bother to ask for pricing because something tells me he either doesn’t have the information, or isn’t willing to give it. So even though I know it’s probably out of my budget, I make the executive decision to put it on my credit card and make it a problem for future me. “Thank you.”
Spa session booked, I thank Stanley again for his oh-so-helpful assistance and head to the coffee counter for some sustenance and a quick breakfast. The pastry case is looking very sad compared to its offerings just a couple of days ago, but I manage to snag a bagel and a table in the corner of the lobby.
I open the Google doc, going back to the beginning so I can read through what we have so far. It’s hard to believe that between the two of us we have almost a complete book. There’s still no ending, and still no answer to the million-dollar question—is this book ending happily or not? I will fight for the HEA with everything I have, but something tells me if Nick wants this book to end in a split, he gets to be the deciding vote.
I avoid thinking about it for now. Instead, I spend my time today focusing on layering in the backstory, the reason our two characters broke up the first time around. It’s a delicate balance with a second-chance romance. You want the reason for the breakup to be believable, but neither of the characters can do something entirely unforgivable. And even though plenty of couples in real life suck at communicating, readers hate when a simple miscommunication is responsible for the split.
I don’t notice when Nick shows up in the Google doc, not until he highlights a sentence I’ve just written, when the hero cowardly walks away without explaining his feelings, and adds a comment.
Maybe he was just scared. Maybe with all the career changes and life changes he’s going through, this relationship was just too much for him.
My forehead furrows as I type my response. That’s a cop-out.
I think it’s a valid emotion , he types back. Also, there are so many layers to this from his perspective. He’s got the weight of his family’s expectations, plus the pressure of living up to these new career demands.
So that makes it okay for him to dump her without an explanation?
It doesn’t make it okay, Jess, but that’s not what we’re doing here. We’re uncovering the reasons why they split, not defending their choices.
He’s right, not that I would ever say—let alone type—those words. This isn’t about our opinions on our characters’ breakup, it’s about giving their story depth of feeling.
I’m going to take a break , he tells me before signing off, and it doesn’t escape me that once again Nick is walking away right as things are getting emotional.
I check the time and see that I need to get a move on as well if I want to be on time for my massage. I head back up to the room, needing a shower before I let some stranger put their hands all over my body. I say a quick prayer outside the door that Nick has vacated the room and somehow we just missed each other down in the lobby.
For once, the gods or the Fates or whoever the hell is in charge these days seem to be on my side. The room is blissfully empty when I peek inside. I’m tempted to take another bath, but two in the span of twelve hours might be a lot, even for me. My skin is going to be pure prunes by the time I finally get out of this hotel.
I let the warm water run over me, turning up the heat until my skin flushes bright pink under the stream. I use the time to try to center myself and anchor my thoughts. Make sure I remember the difference between fact and fiction, between what’s happening between our characters and what’s happening between us.
Because there’s nothing happening between us, and that’s how it’s going to stay.
I would hope that if Nick had returned to the room while I was in the shower, he would have knocked on the closed bathroom door to let me know, but I still tiptoe into the room fully dressed after my shower, just in case. Luckily, he still hasn’t returned, and since it’s almost time for my massage, I head back to the lobby, thankful we seem to keep missing each other today. It might not be the kind of space I really need from him, but it’s space nonetheless and I’ll take what I can get.
An unfamiliar person at the front desk directs me to the spa the back way, since the main path to the building requires going outside and I have zero desire to do that. I check in at the front desk of the spa and am directed to the locker room to change into the soft and cozy robe I find waiting for me in an assigned locker. The changing room is quiet and peaceful, and I allow myself a few moments to breathe before I slip my feet into the spa-issued sandals and head into the waiting area.
“Jessica?” The deep voice of my masseur startles me, even though he’s kept the volume down to preserve the sanctity of the spa.
“That’s me,” I squeak, as I take in the behemoth of a lumberjack in front of me.
He’s huge, at least six foot five, with muscles bulging out of the scrubs-like uniform he wears. His long hair is tucked into a man bun that I should hate but really don’t, and despite my general aversion to bushy facial hair, I’ve never seen a beard more attractive than the one on his perfect face.
I gird my loins, wait for the attraction to hit me, wait for my reserved-for-flirting smile to take over my face, but there’s nary a stirring down in the nether regions.
Hmm.
Wonder what that is all about.
“I’m Jake, I’ll be your massage therapist today. If you’d like to follow me, your partner has already checked in for your couples massage.”
I’m so enraptured by the timbre of his voice, it takes me almost a full minute of following him down a long hallway before I register what he just said. “Wait a minute, did you say a ‘couples massage’? I didn’t ask for a couples massage. I couldn’t, as I am not currently a member of a couple. Who could even be coupled with me for a couples massage?”
My word vomit stops the minute Jake opens the door to the treatment room and I see the other half of this nightmare.
Nick stands next to a massage table, dressed in a matching robe and sandals. The robe has come open at the chest, leaving his smattering of chest hair and defined pecs on full display. Probably for the benefit of the drop-dead gorgeous woman standing next to him, dressed in a uniform identical to Jake’s.
Nick’s eyes go wide when he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything to put a stop to the madness.
“Excuse me, but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. This was supposed to be an individual massage.” I turn pleading eyes to Jake, who exchanges a glance with his supermodel counterpart.
Jake pulls out a tablet and taps a few clicks on the screen. “You are Jessica, correct? Staying in room 323?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“And you’re Nick, also staying in room 323?”
Nick nods, and I urge him with my eyes to speak up and freaking do something, but he ignores me.
“We are sharing a room,” I continue to protest-slash-explain, “but we are not a couple. Can my treatment be moved to a separate room?” There is no way I can lay next to Nick, naked and separated by a mere few inches, for the next fifty minutes while Jake’s massive hands knead the stress from my body.
“Unfortunately, all of our other rooms are booked. And Chelsea and I specialize in couples massage. It would be difficult to change the program at this point.”
I shoot daggers at Nick. Is he smiling? What the fuck could he possibly find funny about this hellhole of a situation? This might be worse than waking up next to him in bed.
“Come on, Jess.” He finally breaks his silence. “It’s just a little massage. How bad could it be?”