Chapter 8 #2
My breath caught as the bathroom door opened with dreamlike slowness.
Through the steam, Noah’s tall frame filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the bedroom.
He seemed taller than I remembered, his presence filling the room completely.
The moonlight streaming through the skylight illuminated him from behind, creating a halo effect around his tousled hair.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounded breathless, uncertain.
Noah’s eyes locked with mine, impossibly blue even in the dimness, like alpine lakes reflecting a summer sky. He ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair, the movement fluid and mesmerizing. “I wanted to make it up to you. For what happened at the airport.”
The bathwater swirled around me as I shifted.
The bubbles that had been clinging to the water’s surface began to disappear.
They didn’t simply pop; they dissolved into the air like wisps of vapor, one by one, in silent surrender.
“And how do you intend to make it up to me?” The words flowed from my lips unbidden.
Noah took a step closer, his boots silent now on the marble floor. The corner of his mouth curved up in a half-smile that sent liquid heat racing through my veins, pooling low in my belly. “Let me show you.”
The water suddenly surged forward, rising over my face and covering my entire head. I gasped, inhaling bathwater instead of air. Panic clawed at my chest as I realized I’d slipped beneath the surface, the dream shattered by the harsh reality of lavender-scented water shooting up my nose.
“Aagh!” My head breached the surface, water splashing over the edges of the tub as I bolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Lavender bath salts burned my nasal passages, my lungs heaving as I choked up bath water.
Once I was sure I wasn’t drowning, I blinked rapidly, disoriented, searching for any other presence in my room. But the bathroom was empty, steam still hanging in the air. No Noah. No footsteps. Just the echo of my racing heart and the now-tepid bathwater lapping against the sides of the tub.
“What the actual hell?” I gasped between coughs, horrified by the vivid dream my exhausted brain had conjured. “Bad brain! Bad!”
I scrambled out of the tub on shaky legs, grabbing a towel to wrap around myself as if Noah might materialize again if I didn’t cover up quickly. My skin was pruned from the extended soak, my limbs heavy with fatigue despite my racing heart.
“No more lavender bath products,” I lectured myself as I dried off, trying to ignore the lingering sensations ghosting across my skin. “Clearly, they’re hallucinogenic.”
Stumbling into the suite’s bedroom, the bed called to me like a siren song.
Not bothering with pajamas, I collapsed onto the mattress.
But as I sank into the feather-soft sheets, I couldn’t help but trace my lips with my fingertips, wondering what it would have felt like if the dream had continued for just a few seconds more.
“Damn it, Sam. Get it together.”
With a groan, I buried my face in the pillow, determined to sleep dreamlessly until morning. I had a job to do, after all, and it didn’t involve grumpy mountain men, no matter what my subconscious might want to focus on.
Tomorrow would be strictly professional. No thoughts of Noah. None at all.
RING RING RING.
I pried one eye open. Morning light streamed through the windows, transforming the penthouse suite into a sun-drenched paradise. The mountains in the distance looked like they’d been painted into place, impossibly majestic against a backdrop of pristine blue sky.
For one blissful moment, I forgot about my travel ordeals, and my late night bath dream about a certain blue-eyed mountain man who had somehow worked himself into my regular dreams too.
RING RING RING.
“Alright, alright.” I squinted at the phone screen. It was Mom and Dad, of course. “Hello?”
“Samantha! Are you alive? I saw on the news that a hiker got lost in Montana and had to be rescued by helicopter!”
In the background, I could hear Dad clarifying the geographic locations of Western states. It was their morning routine: Mom catastrophizing, Dad attempting to de-catastrophize.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, forcing myself upright. My head throbbed slightly, a souvenir from last night’s Mountain Sunset Martinis. “Totally fine. Not lost. Not helicoptered anywhere. And I’m nowhere near Montana. I think.”
“See?” I could hear Dad’s voice in the background. “Put her on speaker.”
There was a fumbling sound, followed by Dad’s voice. “Have you seen any mooses yet?”
“No moose yet,” I answered, padding toward the panoramic windows in my luxurious LuxeLife robe. “But I did see a wolf-dog.”
“A wolf-dog?” Mom’s voice ratcheted up several notches. “Do they have rabies shots in Colorado?”
“It belonged to the guy who was supposed to pick me up from the airport.” My mood darkened at the memory. “Why do the good-looking ones always have to be so obnoxious?”
Silence fell on the line.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” I hissed, holding my hand over my phone speaker. Too late, I realized I’d said out loud what I meant to keep in my head.
“The man was good-looking?” Mom’s voice perked with interest, probably already calculating wedding guest lists in her head.
I closed my eyes, mentally kicking myself. “Well, I mean, I suppose. If you’re into those kinds of things.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know. Things.”
“What kinds of things?” Mom repeated. She’d spent the past decade trying to orchestrate my love life. No way in Colorado she’d be deterred now.
“Well, let’s see.” I mentally went through the checklist. Bulging forearms. Chiseled jawline. Eyes the color of alpine lakes. Shoulders that could probably carry fallen timber. Not that I would admit any of that to Mom.
“Mountain man things,” I said. “Flannel. Beards. Whatever.”
“He sounds very practical,” Mom said approvingly. “Have you met his mother yet?”
I simply shook my head.
“Send your dad and me a picture,” Mom demanded. She never pretended to be subtle.
“What makes you think I have a picture?”
“Because you take pictures of everything. Especially if they’re good-looking.”
With a resigned sigh, I navigated to my photo library. Nestled between shots of airport coffee shops and elk burger signs was a quick snap of Noah, with Yeti outside the airport. I’d taken it surreptitiously, for evidence, in case I ended up as a statistic on a true crime podcast.
I texted the photo to my parents, knowing I’d regret it immediately.
Three ...
Two ...
One ...
“Ooooohhh!” Mom’s squeal almost shattered every window in the room. “He IS good-looking! VERY good-looking. What did you say his name was?”
“I didn’t. But it’s Noah.”
“Like with the ark?”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have an ark.”
“You should wear that red underwear you had on when we came over,” said Mom. “Then he’d show you his ark for sure.” Dad groaned in the background.
“I don’t think you’re using the word ‘ark’ properly. And I’m definitely not showing Noah my underwear anytime soon, or ever, thank you very much.”
Mom must have lowered the phone, but I could still hear her and Dad arguing about the need for her to insert herself into facilitating my sex life for the next several minutes. It was unclear who the winner was, but the clear loser was me.
Mercifully, Dad changed the subject. He lifted the phone back up. “Maybe if this LuxeLife place likes what you do there, they’ll send you to Copenhagen.”
I frowned, surprised. “How do you know LuxeLife has a resort in Copenhagen?”
“I looked it up.” I could picture Mom rolling her eyes.
Dad had been trying to convince her to take a trip to Denmark for as long as I could remember, because that’s where they invented Lego.
My father, pushing sixty, still maintained a passionate love affair with interlocking plastic bricks.
I’d caught him once constructing an entire medieval village on the dining room table while Mom was visiting her cousin in Boise.
As they bickered about Dad’s unhealthy Lego obsession versus his appreciation for architectural ingenuity in miniature, I made my way to the glass-enclosed shower, where a digital display controlled multiple shower heads. I set it to “Mountain Mist.”
Interrupting a spirited discussion about how much space old Lego boxes were consuming in the garage, I shouted, “Okay, love you both. Promise I’ll text. I’ll also make sure to watch out for moose. And avoid grumpy mountain men!”
I hung up before they could respond.