Chapter 1 #2
She kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the porcelain beauty, imagining putting away a Toblerone—triangle by triangle—as she soaked away the events of the past week.
Her brows furrowed. There probably was no Toblerone.
At best, she might find a packet of regular M&M’s, peanut if the place really wanted to pull out all the stops.
But she was in Middle-of-Nowhere, Illinois, a far cry from Chicago.
The Jacuzzi was jackpot enough. Still, she rose and padded out to the main area of the suite.
“If there’s a Toblerone, I’ll eat it while soaking in a whirlpool.
If there’s not? Well, then that’s my sign to head down to my room, sleep like the dead, and ready myself for facing reality tomorrow.
” She paused mid-step. “And the fact that you’re talking out loud to yourself should also be a sign that you really need that soak. ”
She crossed her fingers and toes in her imagination and strode the final few steps to the television-stand-slash-dresser-slash-place-where-hotels-always-hid-the-minibar, paused, and opened the telltale cabinet door behind which she found the minifridge.
And behind that, Haddie found a little slice of heaven.
Because sitting on the top shelf of the fridge, framing the bags of plain and peanut M&M’s and the cans of soda behind them was not one but two Toblerones.
This had to be a sign, right? The first good thing to happen in a week that had gone to complete and utter shit. Actually…she thought for a moment…
Mr. Tux was charming, painfully good-looking, had a suite with a Jacuzzi, and two Toblerones. That came to four good things.
Maybe her life really was starting to turn around, and all it took was hopping in her car and leaving Chicago behind.
She unzipped her dress and grabbed both Toblerones because who was she kidding?
Of course she was going to eat both. Then, as she padded back toward the bathroom, she left a trail across the floor of first her dress, then her bra, and finally her underwear.
A few minutes later, she was soaking in the oversized tub, steam rising from the bubbling water as she let her head fall back against the ceramic-tiled wall, a triangle of Swiss milk chocolate and chewy, honeyed almond pieces melting on her tongue.
Haddie closed her eyes and hummed a soft sigh, forgetting this was a stranger’s room and simply luxuriating in the knowledge that the world hadn’t gone to hell yet, not when Jacuzzis and chocolate existed in the same square footage.
“You waited,” a deep voice uttered over the sound of the whirlpool, a hint of incredulity in his tone.
Haddie opened her eyes lazily, broke off another triangle of her first Toblerone, and popped it into her mouth.
“You didn’t mention the tub.”
Mr. Tux grinned. His untied bow tie still hung from beneath his collar, and he’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.
“Didn’t know I needed to,” he replied.
Her eyes fluttered closed again. “You didn’t. But it certainly helped make this a sure thing.” Another sigh escaped her lips. “You gonna join me?”
He chuckled, and Haddie looked up at him. Then she looked him up and down, took in his broad shoulders and massive frame, and she laughed too. Because despite the size of the tub, it was still a hotel-sized tub, and Mr. Tux was not a hotel-sized man.
Without a word, Haddie turned off the jets and rose from the tub.
Mr. Tux’s mouth fell open, and she reveled in the power she knew she held in this moment. She needed this. Him.
He cleared his throat. “Do you…want a towel?”
Haddie shook her head and held out her hand. “Just a little help so I don’t slip.”
“Wait,” he told her, holding up a hand. He grabbed the bath mat that still hung over the towel rack on the tile wall above Haddie’s head and placed it on the floor beside the tub.
Then he took her hand in his, his rough palm holding her tight as she stepped onto the mat.
Despite not even knowing his name, the gestures—both the bath mat and grabbing her with a quiet, confident strength—made her feel both safe in his presence and weak in the knees.
It was just a stupid bath mat. Anyone could perform that simplest of gestures, even her late grandmonster…
not that the woman would have. Mr. Tux probably only grabbed it so that if she had fallen, he couldn’t be somehow held liable or negligent or some other legal term that meant Haddie could sue the guy.
Except she knew this reasoning had more holes in it than a pasta strainer. The man standing before her was a good man. Tonight he was even someone’s best man, and Haddie didn’t dawdle with best men. But she wasn’t the type of person to get her hopes up with silly things like happily ever afters.
Ugh. Why did she have to be so clearheaded even after an old-fashioned on an empty stomach? Damned Toblerone, soaking up her bad judgment.
“Are you sure about this?” Mr. Tux asked.
Right. Haddie was still standing naked and dripping in front of him, and he was rolling out a bath mat like it was a red carpet and asking for consent.
She nodded, everything inside her tightening into a coil that was ready to burst.
“But you won’t tell me your name, and I can’t tell you mine? Wouldn’t you enjoy your birthday more if you spent it with someone who at least knew your name?”
“Au contraire, mon frere,” she replied in her best high-school-level French, which was a sign she was heading into dangerous territory. Haddie Martin usually brimmed with confidence, but the second someone got under her skin, she began to spout aphorisms or pithy quips—in the language of love.
“At least you’re using that absolute waste of a college minor!” her grandmonster would say if she were here. Of course, she wasn’t here. Dead people couldn’t judge you from the grave.
“But could you be the bestest of best men and fill the ice bucket?” she added. “Thought we might enjoy another cocktail first.”
Haddie was sopping wet, naked, and goose bumps were starting to pepper her flesh. In what world would she want a drink when she could have this man’s strong, dry body to warm her up?
“You want another drink?” he asked, and she could sense the hesitation in his tone, as if he knew that taking his eyes off her meant the chance that she might disappear.
Haddie nodded and batted her lashes, wondering what might have been if her life were anything other than the mess it was, if she—Haddie Grace Martin—actually had someone in her messy life who laid down bath mats for her and offered her free rein of the minibar.
But Haddie wasn’t big on sharing, especially when it meant sharing the burden of her life with someone who shouldn’t have to bear it.
“Do you have protection?” she asked.
He swallowed, then let out a nervous laugh of his own. “I feel like this is a damned if I do/damned if I don’t sort of scenario. If I say yes, then I’m a fucking cliché, a groomsman hoping to nail a bridesmaid. If I say no, well then…I miss out on what might be a pretty spectacular night.”
Haddie snorted. “You did not just say nailed.”
He winced. “Regretted it the second it came out of my mouth.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I like clichés,” she whispered. “And mini bars.”
“Then I’m a cliché,” he whispered back.
They both released their grip, and the second his hand left hers, she felt the absence of it, like something she didn’t realize she’d wanted had gone missing.
Shit.
Before he grabbed the ice bucket off the counter, he slung a towel over her shoulders and pulled it tight.
“I’ll be right back with the ice,” he told her.
But Haddie wouldn’t be here when he returned.
She already liked him too much, and she didn’t even know his name.
How much more would she like him—and, what…
miss him?—if they actually went through with this?
She was in no position to like or to miss or…
Ugh. She was a self-sabotaging idiot. That was what this was.
So the second the hotel-room door clicked shut, she scrambled to get back into her clothes, but her bra was nowhere to be found.
What the actual…? It wasn’t like she’d tossed her undergarments all over the room.
Had the bra gone rogue? Skipped town knowing she couldn’t chase after it because that would mean running with the girls untethered?
She didn’t have time to contemplate the universe’s plan for her or her bra, so she tossed the dress on sans brassiere, managed to slide back into her shoes, and slipped out the hotel-room door.
With the ice machine near the elevator, she had no choice but to bolt in the other direction and take the stairs.
“Please don’t let it be murder stairs,” she pleaded to herself. But when she pushed the long metal bar on the door beneath the Exit sign, she was greeted with concrete walls, floors, stairs…and a flickering fluorescent light.
Murder stairs.
Haddie clutched her purse (into which she had stuffed the second Toblerone) to her chest—hoping it would do double duty as a surrogate bra—and gripped the railing tight as she raced down to the lobby.
Only when she was through the door and in the presence of strangers milling about did she let herself breathe.
She glanced up toward the direction from which she’d come, where Mr. Tux had likely just found himself stood up.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, chest heavy and throat tight. “I’m really, really sorry.”
There was no way she could spend the night at the hotel now, not when she might bump into him in the morning. Good thing she hadn’t brought anything up to her own room yet. Haddie could simply leave.
So she did, but not before firing off a quick text.
Haddie: Hi. So… I’m about an hour outside of Summertown. Got any rooms at the inn?
Emma’s response was immediate.
Emma: There’s always a room for you. You okay? Thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.
Haddie sighed and opted for partial honesty.
Haddie: I will be. Once I get to see my best friend. But it’s late. You don’t need to wait up.
Emma: I’m waiting up.
Haddie smiled and sniffed back the threat of tears.
She never should have stopped at this hotel. She never should have put off the one thing that could help. Emma.
Haddie: See you soon.
Emma: Not if I see you first.
Haddie laughed and amended her previous thought. She never should have put off the one thing that could help: Emma and her dad jokes.