Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Back in my hotel room, I made a quick call to my brother.
Since this was becoming a national story, I wanted him to hear it from me.
We both agreed to keep the information from our parents.
We didn’t need them worrying needlessly half a world away.
I doubted they were spending too much time reading the news.
But if word about a Christmasville murder made its way to the cruise ship, I’d deal with it then.
After hiding in my room for the rest of the day, I knew I didn’t want to spend another night tossing and turning. So I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I decided to get absolutely, rip-roaring, forget-who-I-am drunk.
I had to drive to the liquor store since it was on the edge of town.
I was sure Carol liked that. It was accessible but not sullying the family-friendly downtown area.
As I passed the park, I saw several news vans.
Crews were stationed by the gazebo, no doubt broadcasting the setting of Christmasville’s “grisly murder.” If Carol saw this, she’d have a stroke.
But it was inevitable. The story was out.
I passed a steep, lighted hill where families were sledding and tubing. A horse farm advertising sleigh rides tickled my memory. I was sure I’d visited there with my family. Finally, I reached the town’s only liquor store, Merry Spirits.
Despite the garish neon sign, inside the store was decorated with bright, red poinsettias and a fresh-smelling, fully decorated Douglas fir.
I explored the aisles, passing by the red and white wines.
Tonight was for liquor. I settled on a ready-to-drink cosmopolitan mix.
This would get the job done. I paid and headed back.
The news vans had thinned out a bit, done with their broadcasts.
A salt truck headed down the street, pretreating the roads before the night’s expected snowfall.
We were only supposed to get an inch, but Christmasville’s Department of Public Works was already on top of it.
Other than a few hand-holding couples, the sidewalks were eerily empty.
I parked the car and slogged back to the inn with my bottle of booze.
The lobby was quiet. Logs snapped and crackled from the fireplace, but no one cuddled around it. Grace stood behind the desk, a sullen look on her face that didn’t match the goofy Santa hat–wearing llama on her sweater.
“Hey,” I said as I approached. “How’s it going?”
She glanced up at me but couldn’t produce her usual smile. “Not well. I had two families check out early and two cancellations that were supposed to be arriving tomorrow.” She added ominously, “So far.”
I winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Tell that to the sheriff.”
Her eyes widened. “They couldn’t possibly think …”
I shrugged. “It’s because of the argument Isabella and I had here. But they have no physical evidence because I didn’t do it. Hopefully, they get the real killer soon so your cancellations stop. In the meantime …” I held up my bottle as an invitation.
Grace grinned. “I’d love to join you, but I have to work the desk.”
“Okay,” I said, understanding. “I’ll be in my room. Like, forever.”
Back in my suite, I threw the deadbolt, stripped out of my clothes, and got into my coziest flannel pajamas.
I wasted no time cracking open my evening’s companion.
I wasn’t much of a drinker—aside from the four years of college.
I actually couldn’t remember the last time I got drunk. But tonight would be a sure thing.
I grabbed the bottle and a box of cheese crackers and brought them to bed.
Leaning back on piled-up extra pillows, I pulled the comforter up to my chest and turned on the TV.
This was definitely an unhealthy version of self-care, but it was also smart for a couple of reasons.
First, because if I walked around town people might whisper and look at me like I was a murderer.
Second, because there was an actual murderer somewhere in town. I was much safer in bed alone.
After watching mindless television for a while, the alcohol started to take effect. My eyes went to my laptop. Some small, sober part of my brain screamed, “No! Don’t do it!” But I didn’t listen. I slid the laptop over, opened it up, and navigated to Trent’s Facebook page.
He hadn’t updated since the last time I’d looked.
Of course, I could only see whatever was public since I’d unfriended his ass.
His Instagram was public, though. I pushed my laptop to the side and grabbed my phone.
His account came up and my chest went tight.
A new photo. It was a group pic, taken in a bar, and he had his arm tossed casually over the shoulder of a woman I didn’t recognize.
Was he with someone new already? Or was this just a group friend pic?
Either way, he was happy. He was moving on.
Rage bubbled up inside of me. It wasn’t fair that Trent got to move on while I was stuck with a hurt heart and a fear of starting something new.
He was the heart breaker. I was the innocent breakee!
The injustice made me want to punch a wall.
But learning to trust again wasn’t like a light switch I could just flip on.
It was easy to tell myself that these walls I’d built to protect myself were only preventing my future happiness.
But even if I knew that to be true, that in and of itself didn’t tear the walls down.
I took another swig from the bottle and let the buzz settle over me.
A knock came on my door. I froze, at first not comprehending the noise, then confused at who it could be. The killer? Wait … had I ordered room service? No, the inn didn’t even have room service. Damn it, my brain was fried.
I looked at the bottle in my hand. It mocked me.
Ha ha. You thought I would take your pain away, but I only made you dumb.
The knock came again. Then I realized it was probably Grace.
She’d finished up downstairs and decided to join me for drunky-time after all.
I slid my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the room swaying.
“Just a minute,” I slurred.
I somehow made it to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and swung it open. “You’re not Grace.”
Ellison smirked. “No, I’m definitely not.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sharper than I’d intended. “Not that I mind that you’re here. But not that I’m delighted about it either. But I’m not, not delighted.”
His cheek twitched. “Are you drunk?”
I crossed my arms defensively and accidentally punched my own boob. “Yes. I am. It’s a state of being I haven’t been in since college, but tonight seemed like a good night for it.”
“Well, Nick told me you may have had a bad day. Then Grace said you’d be hiding out up here for the foreseeable future. So, I thought you’d like some food.” He held up a bag.
My stomach growled in response. “What is it?”
“A bunch of leftover pastries that Holly was going to have to throw out at closing. Not a five-star dinner, but—”
I snatched the bag out of his hand. “It’s smells like a Michelin star meal.” I turned and waved at him over my shoulder. “Come on in.”
I wobbled over to the couch and took a seat. Ellison took off his knit hat and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes scanned the room.
“What do we have here?” he said, inspecting my setup. “A half-gone cocktail mix, cheese crackers, and an episode of Dateline that’s clearly over a decade old?”
“It’s called self-care,” I said, defensively. Though I didn’t think he was being judgy. He may have even been flirty. I couldn’t tell. I was too busy destroying a croissant right over the open bag.
“Thank you for this,” I said between bites. “Do you want one?”
“No, those are all for you,” he said, still kind of awkwardly standing in the middle of the suite.
“You can sit down,” I said, pointing at a chair.
But he remained standing. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
I got up, tossing the bag of remaining pastries on the table and unintentionally littering the carpet with croissant crumbs. “Why wouldn’t I be all right? Because Isabella was murdered and half the town probably thinks I did it?”
“Nick doesn’t think so.”
“But his boss does,” I said, my voice faltering. My eyes stung with welling tears. I blinked quickly and willed them away. It was bad enough that Ellison had found me drunk. If I was drunk and crying, he’d practically run from the room.
“Don’t worry about Kris. He just likes to be the tough guy. But he’ll follow the evidence in the end.”
“Is there any evidence?” I asked hopefully.
“Nick can’t share that kind of stuff with me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But he told you I was questioned.”
“He knew I had a … personal interest.”
In me, he meant. He liked me. My heart fluttered. I took a step toward him, the room tilting slightly, and stumbled.
He caught me before I could fall. His arms circled around my waist, strong and sure. My hands landed on his chest—warm, solid, and much too close. His scent wrapped around me, clean and comforting with a hint of cedar. My breath caught as I gazed up into his sky-blue eyes.
He was achingly handsome. I could feel heat radiating off of him. His heart beat wildly under my palms. Now was the time. No more being scared. If Trent could move on, so could I.
“I deserve to be happy too,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Huh?” Ellison asked, brows drawing together.
But I was already rising up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his.
He stiffened and took a step back, putting distance between us.
Oh no. Embarrassment surged through me, into every cell. My soul tried to eject itself from my body. How could I have gotten this so wrong? He didn’t want me at all.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I thought that you and I …” My voice was shaky, and I was definitely in danger of snot crying. Like this moment could get any worse.
Ellison grabbed my hands and held them in his. “No, Kelsey. You were right … about you and me.”
Now I was more confused than ever. “Then why did you pull away?”
He put his hands on my shoulders like he had important news to deliver. “You may not realize this now. You will in the morning. But you are completely, absolutely shitfaced.”
A laugh burst out of me, confirming this as fact.
His hands drifted up to my face, holding it gently. His thumb brushed my cheekbone as his voice dipped low. “When we kiss for the first time, I want to make sure you mean it. I want to make sure you’re really ready for it. This might be alcohol-fueled bravado.”
“It might,” I admitted.
“And, if we did kiss, it would be nice if you remembered it,” he added.
With every moment that passed and every rotation of the room, I became more aware of the fact that I had overdone it. Tomorrow morning would be terrible. And Ellison was right.
“I am annoyed that you are a gentleman,” I said, “but I will appreciate it when I’m sober.”
He gave me a little grin. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
I leaned on him as we shuffled toward the bed. The room tilted like a bad carnival ride. Ellison pulled the blankets back, and I snuggled in.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I fantasized about you taking me to bed,” I mumbled. “Not that I ever fantasized about that.”
A slow smile curved his lips. He leaned over me, tucking the blanket under my chin, and whispered, “Me too.”
Then he filled up a tall glass of water and left it on my nightstand. “I’ll put the pastries in the fridge. You’ll be glad they’re there in the morning.”
My eyes closed. “Mm, breakfast pastry.”
His lips brushed against my forehead as sleep pulled me under.
The last thing I heard was the click of the lock as he closed the door.
I thought I heard other sounds through the night.
Footsteps padding down the hall and stopping by my door.
Someone trying the knob. But it could have been a dream. I hoped it was.