Chapter 14
“Would either of you care for dessert?” the server asks as she collects our empty plates.
Julien gives me a look that clearly says he’s willing to buy me something sweet to finish the meal. Which is very nice and makes my heart do a little shimmy. Until I remind the overzealous organ that he’s only being polite and I shouldn’t read into it.
Just like it should’ve taken at face value the story of when his bracelet-wearing fashion choice started. Instead, when he was speaking, I’d been transported back in time. I remembered the little girl with the frizzy braids and big new feelings, her heart on her sleeve.
I think that might have been the day that my crush on Julien really solidified into something that felt too big for my chest to contain.
For ten-year-old me, giving him the friendship bracelet that I had spent weeks making was a symbol of offering him my heart.
It was more than just a few pieces of string wound together.
It was the embodiment of the first stirrings of something that I had never felt before for anyone, emotions I didn’t totally understand.
He had been upset, and I remembered wanting to make him happy.
He was mad at his dad, but even though he didn’t say it, I could tell that he was afraid he’d lose his friends when they went off and had fun experiences without him.
I wanted to step in the void and show him that I was there, present and more than willing to be the friend he wanted.
I knew there was a chance he’d tell me to get lost. Call me a kid and shoo me away.
But he didn’t. He took my bracelet and thanked me for it.
My mom had called me in for supper right after, so I had to leave, but I’d run back home on light feet due to what I’d thought was pure euphoria.
I was sure everything was going to be different between us after that.
That we were going to be best friends and spend lots of time together.
When I saw him wearing the bracelet the next day, I even allowed myself to think it was a sign that maybe he had the same feelings about me that I had for him.
But, of course, that wasn’t true. Nothing happened or changed between us.
He was eighteen, and I was ten. He didn’t all of a sudden want to start riding bikes or make up stories about the woods and the pond on his parents’ property.
He continued to live his life in the main house, and I continued to live mine in the cottage.
The logistics of our differences didn’t stick with me back then.
All I knew was that the boy I gave the bracelet to took it and then continued to live his life without me while I continued watching him from a distance with a bruised heart.
While Julien told his story, I was reminded of the hurt I’d felt then.
I’m embarrassed to say that it took me a minute to snap back to the reality that we aren’t children anymore and of course a legal adult hadn’t wanted to spend his time with a fifth grader.
I’d been a bit ridiculous, putting distance between us instead of accepting his support, and my eyes and hands were clenched so tight when the plane touched down that I’d seen stars and my fingers had started to tingle.
I had also been ridiculous about the new pangs of hurt that had stung when he’d been so glaringly in distress at seeing the ambience in the restaurant he’d picked.
Was it really so horrible of an idea, eating at a romantic restaurant with me?
If I thought he was aware of my childhood crush on him, then maybe I could see that he’d been worried old feelings would resurface and the atmosphere would give me ideas he didn’t want me having.
Again, logic took too long to show up. Demerits for tardiness, logic.
The perimeters of our boxes—employee, employer—are faint because of our history and previous acquaintance. A restaurant in which he would never choose to take a female on his payroll would undoubtedly make him uncomfortable. It wasn’t personal.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I’ve tried my best to steer things back on track. To get to the comradery we had before I let things get weird between us. After reassuring him that I in no way would misconstrue this meal as a romantic rendezvous, I turned the conversation back to work-related things.
That being said, it’s probably a good idea not to linger longer than necessary. And even though a slice of chocolate mousse cake sounds delicious, I really can’t eat another bite.
I pat my tummy and shake my head. “I think I’ll pass, thank you.”
Our server smiles in understanding, then extracts a black check presenter and places it on the table in front of Julien. “I’ll be back to take care of that for you in just a moment.” Balancing the dishes, she heads back to the kitchen.
“I can cover my half,” I offer, even though with the way my finances are, I certainly cannot afford anything that was on the menu. Especially not the delicious snapper I just ate.
Julien slips a credit card into the slot at the top of the black book. “Nonsense. This is a work dinner so the publishing house will pay for it.”
I turn my head to take in the last colors of the sunset while the server retrieves the card and disappears again.
The sky has gone through a metamorphosis of hues.
Soft blue with puffy white clouds to darkening ombre shades of azure that lighten toward the horizon, where it’s met with blasts of golds and pinks reflected off the cloud’s cottony softness.
Now the dome is darkening to night, with the first glittering stars appearing.
The last of the day’s light is rimming the top of the ocean.
Since we’re on the Atlantic coast, the sun doesn’t lower beneath the waves, but even so, the sky put on quite a show.
I plan to set an alarm so I don’t miss the encore at sunrise.
Julien pockets the receipt as soon as it’s dropped off at the table, and we both stand.
It only takes a few minutes to drive to the hotel since we’re so close.
As Julien pulls into the parking lot, I can’t help myself from craning my neck to take in the building.
It’s at least ten stories tall, long and skinny.
My guess is it’s constructed this way so as many rooms as possible can have an oceanfront view, and I can’t fault anyone for that.
The white facade and teal steel roof, not to mention the towering palm trees and cultivated hibiscus plants landscaping the front, give a very Caribbean feel.
For a girl who has never vacationed outside Appalachia, I feel like I’ve entered another world.
We collect our luggage and make our way to the entrance. A young man in a uniform stands behind a narrow podium marked Valet. I am all at once very glad King is footing this bill because this is way nicer than the Quality Inn I stayed at in Asheville when visiting the Biltmore Estate.
A man in a burgundy suit jacket and tie greets us as we step up to the front desk counter. “Hello. Welcome to the Grand Hibiscus Hotel and Conference Center. Checking in?”
“Yes,” Julien answers. “The reservations should be under Julien King and Martha Aldridge.”
“Very good, sir.” The man types away on his computer.
A smile appears as he finds the first reservation.
“We have you on the eighth floor, Mr. King. Room 817, facing the ocean.” He slides a key card over to Julien along with a paper to sign and some other instructions.
When Julien is settled, the hotel worker starts clacking on his computer once more.
His brows pull together as he frowns at his screen.
“Martha Aldridge for the other reservation, did you say?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He types some more before looking up with a conciliatory expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t see your reservation, ma’am. Are you sure it was made for this hotel?”
Julien leans his arm on the counter. “Please look again.” He spells my last name for clarity.
He dutifully types it in, even though it’s clear he doesn’t think the results will change. And, surprise, surprise, still no reservation.
Julien pulls out his phone. “Let me get in touch with my assistant, and we’ll clear this up.”
Julien steps aside to make the call, and instead of standing there feeling silently judged by an over-starched, underpaid employee, I turn to take in the grandness of the lobby.
The floors are travertine, and the windows go up at least ten feet, letting in copious amounts of natural sunlight.
People mill all over in little groups, faces animated and expressive.
A woman with long black hair waiting to get on the elevator spots someone she knows walking through the door and practically shrieks in her excitement before running over and giving the other woman a hug.
Everyone seems to be wearing colored lanyards around their neck, and I realize all these people must be here for the writing conference.
A pang of something shoots through me. Wistfulness, maybe? I’m not sure, but I don’t have any time to identify the feeling because Julien walks back over to my side.
“Got the reservation number from Tomiko?” I ask.
He winces. “She apologized profusely but apparently forgot to book you a room when she bought your plane ticket.” He turns to the man behind the counter. “It looks like we need to reserve another room, please. Five nights.”
The man rolls his lips between his teeth before adjusting his tie. “I am so sorry, Mr. King, but there are no other rooms available. We are completely full due to the conference.”
Julien glances over at me, so I give him a smile to convey I’m not concerned. “It’s fine. I’ll just get a room at one of the other hotels.”
The Grand Hibiscus Hotel and Conference Center employee, which I now see from his name tag is called Javier, shakes his head before I even finish.