19. Wheat Kings
CHAPTER NINETEEN
wheat kings
LOGAN
SASKATOON, SASKATCHEWAN
PRESENT DAY
“You weren’t kidding, this place is flat as shit,” I grumble, keeping my foot pressed down on the gas.
It feels like we’ve driven past nothing but golden wheat fields with a few rolling hills peppered in for some flavor. If we didn’t have our phones, it’d be nearly impossible to tell how long I’ve been driving or where the fuck we even are. The most entertainment we get is when we see some cows in the distance. Abi said it’s a cultural tradition in Canada to say ‘cows’ when you drive past them. I know it’s not true, but when we pull over at the next rest stop, I’m googling it just in case.
“My dad used to tell this dumb joke that Saskatchewan is so flat, you could watch your dog run away for a week straight,” Abi chuckles.
That sounds like something my dad might have said; he would have loved it out here on the open road, though. Dad was a huge fan of these kinds of trips, although I think he preferred the ones where his two kids weren’t screaming the entire time. I remember many family vacations crammed in the backseat with Iggy, teaching her how to play whatever game I happened to bring on my Game Boy. I think her favorite was Kirby’s Dream Land, specifically because Kirby was pink. She’d used to get me to beat the really hard levels, and I let her take all the credit, but it wasn’t too many trips before she was clearing those little cartridges on her own.
“It is peaceful out here, though,” I remark, glancing over at her. “There’s a certain charm to that.”
She’s been knitting for the last few hours, working on something she pulled out about halfway through the trip. She’s got these really dorky glasses on too, that apparently keep her from getting car sick. I’ve never heard of that being a thing, but she’s been bopping along to the Beach Boys album the last 20 minutes so they must be working.
“What are you making?”
“A blanket,” she murmurs, her words punctuated by the knitting needles clacking together gently. “I’m going to try and knit some little ghosts, too. Maybe some bats if I’m feeling ambitious.”
“Where’d you learn how to do that?”
“What, knitting?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugs.
“Baba taught me. At first, I just loved listening to the sound of the needles, but eventually I really wanted to learn. So, she put me in her lap, visit after visit, and taught me all the stitches she knew. It took years.”
“So she was Canadian?”
“Ukrainian and Canadian,” Abi replies with a soft smile. “She’d make me borscht when I was sick and we’d watch Soap Operas together. Her house always smelled so good; she was always baking something or trying out a new recipe or other. I’d go back to my mom’s with bags of cookies, perogies, stuff like that.”
“She sounds pretty cool.”
Abi beams, nodding enthusiastically.
“She was. Actually, I’m sure she would have liked you an awful lot.” She gently pokes my bicep with her knitting needle. “She’d probably want to put a little more meat on those bones, though. He’s so sickly looking, onuchko! Take better care of him or he will fly away in the wind! ”
“Hey, I’m working out!” I flex one bicep. “You can tell Baba perfection takes time!”
Abi scrunches her nose up at me, sticking out her tongue before diving back into her knitting. The quiet clicks of her needles are an interesting accompaniment to the music, getting me thinking more about her grandma and this whole situation.
What if I crossed a line buying that engagement ring? Her grandmother’s ring clearly meant a lot to her, but this isn’t that same ring, and I’m not really her fiancé.
Guilt bites down hard, bristling down the back of my neck.
What was I thinking?
Like, what was I actually thinking?
That I’d buy her a ring, and she’d fall in love with me and throw her entire career away? Lord knows I’ve tried to avoid this sort of thing, tried to fall in love with other people, but it never works. I’ve just never felt the same spark that Abi and I had that night in Toronto.
And I’ve been chasing it for years.
This hotel looks like a fucking castle got dropped smack dab in the middle of the city. The building itself is a mix of genres, classical European and modern architecture— almost like someone Frankeinstein’d the two styles together.
Light orange brick, black pitched roofs, ornate windows, and some rounded columns that look like they might be chimneys. The building sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the other drab structures on this street, but at least it’s hard to miss.
“I cannot believe you booked this place,” Abi laughs as the doorman helps us with our bags. “We could have just stayed at a motel.”
“No offense to your otherwise impeccable taste, but I’m 6’4” and my spine may as well be made of glass at this point. I’m sleeping in a comfortable bed. Plus, I got a good deal on it.”
$200 Canadian for a night. Limited time offer. The deal popped up in my email, and that’s the kind of thing you can’t refuse. Sometimes that Flynn impulsiveness comes in handy.
I told Abi I would take care of at least some of the hotel bookings to ease her financial stress. She’s tried to Venmo me a few times, but I’ve been diligently declining every one. I have money to burn and she’s got a lot on her plate.
The lobby is stunning as we enter, with cream and silver marble floors, large ivory pillars, and a massive crimson rug that leads all the way to the front desk. There’s a little lounge area for people to relax in, with luxurious-looking charcoal couches and wingback chairs that look like they might devour you if you stayed too long.
The doorman points us toward the front desk and proceeds to take our bags away; Abi looks a little bit panicked, but I do my best to calm her down. She’s used to roughing it on the conference circuit, staying at shitty motels and dragging her suitcases up long flights of stairs all by herself. Not today, though. Today, some random guy we don’t know gets to carry our bags out of eye-shot while we hope he really works here.
Today, we’re living the medium-high life.
“Good afternoon!” The concierge chirps from his spot at the front desk.
“Afternoon!” I hand him my phone with the discount code on it, along with my passport and credit card. “Booking should be under Dr. Logan Flynn.”
The man nods, pleasantly typing away on his computer as Abi glances around the lobby.
“Our bags are fine,” I laugh. “They’re professionals, Abi.”
“I know, it’s just… you know, there’s a lot of people here and we have expensive shit in those bags.”
I scoff. She’s got nothing to worry about.
“It’s Canada, everyone’s too nice to steal! And besides, I’ve heard that in this country, stealing… is a crime! ”
Abi and the front desk guy exchange a small smirk and she turns back to me, cocking her head to the side.
“Good thing you’re not a criminologist, huh?” She quips. “And remember, we’re not nice all the time. Some of us are actually kind of passive aggressive.”
“It’s called a joke, Shortcake,” I murmur, reaching over to boop her nose.
It’s busy in here, with staff and guests milling all around. I’m a little surprised.
“Is it always this busy?” I ask him.
“This time of year? Absolutely,” he laughs.
“Good thing you got that email,” Abi mutters.
“Yeah, or you’d have to survive another night of Logan’s Horrifying Tales! ”
The front desk clerk slides a small white envelope across the desk with his beaming customer-service smile.
“You’re in room 1205. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks!” I reply, taking Abi’s hand and leading her to the elevator where the doorman is waiting with our bags. “Room 1205!”
He nods, immediately splitting off in a totally different direction, and Abi stammers in shock.
“Wait! There’s an elevator right here!”
“It’s fine, Abi. They take a different elevator to fit those big luggage carts.”
“Oh,” she murmurs. “Seriously?”
“Yep!” I guide her toward the guest elevator, and hit the button for the 12th floor. “And also so they don’t ruin the ambience of the hotel. I had a friend in college who used to be a concierge at a five-star hotel in Manhattan and he said they had a ton of secret elevators and passageways that only staff have access to. It’s so that the guests see as little as possible when it comes to the inner workings of the whole thing.”
“Like what?” Abi laughs. “Pushing cleaning carts around and running food to rooms?”
“I guess so,” I reply, as the elevator doors up to our floor and we step outside. “He said the hotel wanted to maintain a certain magical image. There’s also a chance they’re letting assassins use their secret tunnels to commit heinous deeds undetected.”
“Uh huh,” she murmurs, craning her neck and looking down the long hallway.
I spot the doorman standing outside of our room halfway down the hall, the luggage cart already gone. He’s either a wizard or extremely fast. Regardless, I tip him 50 bucks and we slip inside.
The room is spacious, with charcoal carpet, cream-colored walls, a large mahogany desk, a balcony, and…
“Logan. Why is there one bed?”
No way.
There’s no fucking way.
I dash around the room, scrambling to find some sort of secret pull-out mattress I could banish myself to for the night, but I’m coming up empty.
“Hang on.”
I reach into my pocket and grab my phone, pulling up the email confirmation from the hotel, and my stomach sinks to the floor.
Honeymoon Suite, complete with complimentary champagne and a jacuzzi in the bathroom.
I booked a fucking honeymoon suite .
Slowly, I turn to Abi, flashing a big charming smile that’s absolutely not going to get me off the hook, but it’s worth a shot, right? Either way, Roman and Iggy cannot know about this. They’ll never let me live it down.
“You’re gonna laugh. I promise you’re gonna laugh.”
“Am I gonna kill you after I finish laughing?” She asks, razorwire stitched into her voice. She’s really cute when she’s mad. Terrifying, but cute.
“If you kill me, there'll be no one to pay for the next hotel!”
Her gaze is steely, and it doesn’t look like the old Flynn charm is going to work on her this time. This road trip was supposed to be fun; the main goal was to have a good time and unwind on the way to what will most likely be a pretty stressful destination. It was my job to take care of at least a couple of the hotels, which should have been one of the easiest ways to make things run smoothly. And, of course, it was a job I gave to myself.
“Let me just call the front desk and see if I can deal with this mixup.”
I have to force myself not to stammer as I sit down on the bed and pick up the phone, dialing down to the lobby.
“Marriott Hotel, this is Thomas speaking.”
“Heeeeyyy, Tommyyyy! What’s up, dude?”
My voice cracks like I’m going through puberty, and I make a big show of clearing my throat as Abi moves to stand right in front of me, blocking out the light from the window. She’s looming over me, like she’s coiling up, ready to strike the moment I’m not able to find a positive outcome. I may not survive the night if I can’t fix this.
“Sorry, I must be coming down with something.”
“Would you like room service to bring you–”
“No no! Just a quick Q for you. I could have sworn that I booked a room with two beds? My fiancée snores, and?—”
Her little pointed boot connects with my shin and I yelp.
“That doesn’t even make sense!” She hisses. “And I do not snore!”
I mean, she does.
It sounds like a little motor boat, but now is probably not the time.
“Sorry,” I laugh. “Um, we just uh… you know, we sleep differently, and I could have sworn I booked two beds.”
“Um, no, Mr. Flynn. You booked the honeymoon suite with the honeymoon package. It does include complimentary champagne, which we can bring to you whenever you’d like! And don’t forget to enjoy the magnificent view of the Saskatchewan River, it looks absolutely stunning this time of year.”
She’s going to smother me in my sleep.
Should I even have my PhD at this point? Would anyone have let me into the program after an idiot move like this? My dad would be howling right about now. I can practically hear him.
“Are you sure– Nevermind. Of course, you’re sure. Um, we probably can’t switch rooms, can we?”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Flynn. Unfortunately, there’s a medical convention in town and the hotel is fully booked out for the next week.”
I didn’t know that, because I’m not that kind of doctor. I wouldn’t be able to save anyone on a flight, but if they needed an emergency primer on Max Weber, I could bore the cabin to death less than an half an hour after departure.
I’m trying not to look at Abi, but she’s not making it easy as she stares daggers at me from nearly any direction I manage to shift into.
“Right, yes, of course. Alright, thanks anyway!”
I hang up and give her another cheesy grin, one that I hope at least somewhat shows how sorry I am.
“Logan!” She stomps her foot. “Two beds! That’s the most obvious thing in the world, literally the only thing we needed! We could have been in a motel and it would have been fine if we just had two beds! ”
“I know!” I exclaim, trying my best not to sound angry.
She’s the one who deserves to be angry at me. I’m even on her side in that respect, I’m pretty damn furious at myself right now.
“I’m a moron, and I try too hard to be funny, and I’m super impulsive, and now all I’m hoping is my best friend isn’t going to punch me in my stupid face.”
Abi sighs, leaning into me as she wraps her arms around my waist.
“I’m not going to punch you in your stupid face,” she whispers. “But I am mad at you.”
I let out a big sigh of my own, relief bubbling up as I run my fingers through her hair.
“I know. I’ll do everything I can to make this right. I’ll sleep on the floor!”
“No, what? If you sleep on the floor, it’ll be me driving for the rest of the trip while you moan and groan in the back seat.”
She paces around in silence for a few seconds, weighing our options.
“It’s just for tonight, right?”
I take a step back, raising a finger as I whip my phone out at lightning-speed. I hop from reservation to reservation, checking each one at least a couple times. All two beds. This is the only one where impulsivity completely screwed me.
“Okay, yep! We’re two-bedding it for the rest of the trip, high-five!”
She raises an eyebrow, but otherwise ignores me, returning to her pacing.
“Until we get to my mom’s place,” she grumbles. “I didn’t manage to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t screw everything up for that one.”
“Right.”
Abi bites her lip, nervously twisting the big silver bat ring on her finger.
“I… did tell you that, right?”
If she did, I don’t remember. We spent the week scrambling, packing, and booking hotels. It was pretty chaotic, but we didn’t have very long to plan for this.
“Yeah,” I lie. “At least I think you did.”
“Okay. It’s fine, I think we should just come up with some rules,” Abi says, her voice soft and gentle. “That’s the smart thing to do, right?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, doing my best to allow for all of these changes to wash over me instead of sparking a big ol’ panic. “You got a few in mind?”
“Actually, I do!”
She rushes for her bag, pulling out a notebook and a pen before plunking down at the big mahogany desk in the corner of the room.
“Wow, okay! We’re making this super official.”
“Well, you and I both tend to be… let’s just say forgetful,” she replies, spinning her pen between her fingers. “Anyway, I think the first rule should be no tongues when we kiss.”
I ease myself slowly back down onto the bed, completely blown away.
“We’re– uh– we– kissing? We’re kissing?”
I have got to figure out a way to keep my voice from cracking.
“Oh!” Abi’s bright red, her pen hovering above her notebook. “We don’t have to be one of those PDA couples, but?—”
Right. Of course. Couples kiss. Actually, it would probably be weird if we didn’t.
“Do you… want to kiss?” I ask.
I feel like I’m suffocating. Play it cool, Logan. It’s just Abi. It’s just a big game.
But it’s Abi .
“I mean… I’m okay with kissing.” Her voice sounds a little unsure, but she’s definitely not in panic-mode. “We’ve done it before, and if I remember right we were pretty good at it.”
“It was so long ago,” I sigh. “I almost can’t remember anymore.”
It’s such an obvious lie I can feel my grandma shaking her head at me from the afterlife. Sure, I can barely remember where I left my car keys most of the time, but I remember every single detail of that night. Her smile, her soft skin, even the way she tasted…
You don’t forget someone like Abi.
“Oh,” she whispers. The blush refusing to fade as she draws nervous little loops on the page. “I do.”
“Okay well uh…” I stumble, still trying and failing to play at being Mr. Cool. “What else?”
“Number two is no sex.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.”
I give her an awkward thumbs up, and it earns me a little huff of a laugh.
I’ll take it.
“Holding hands is fine.” I can hear her pen scraping across the page, filling up the silence in the room. “So are general public displays of affection. That’ll actually let us avoid makeout sessions without looking like we’re having some sort of falling out.”
My imagination starts swirling.
“Public displays, like…?”
“Your hand on my waist, pecks on the cheek, stuff like that.”
Okay. Yeah. That won’t be too bad. I can deal with that.
Abi’s still blushing, nervously playing with her pen as she waits for my response. It’s kind of a relief because I’ve definitely got the jitters, similar to when I drink too much coffee.
“That’s cool with me too. Good rule.”
“Cool,” she breathes. “That’s all of them, for now at least. We can always add more if we need to, but now they’re all written down. Official.”
“Perfect,” I mutter, looking for anything to distract me from the situation, and I spot a flyer poking out from underneath the hotel phone. “Oh hey, check this out!”
I hold it up in front of her. It’s an advertisement for a night market and carnival that’s just a stone’s throw from the hotel.
“You wanna explore Saskatoon’s nightlife?” I ask, my voice hopeful. “Something to get our minds off my complete and total failure as the trip’s official planner?”
Abi beams back at me, and I know I’m forgiven.
“You know what? Win me one of those ridiculously huge teddy bears and you’ve got yourself a deal, Flynn.”