7. Elora
7
ELORA
45°52′55″N 123°57′34″W
“ O h girl, you’re in trouble,” I whisper, then frown over the top of the book I’ve been reading when there is a knock on my door. Not once has anyone ever knocked on my door in the five months I’ve been here. When there is another three light raps, I set my book aside and toss back my blanket.
I woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided to read, and I just got to a good part in the fantasy romance I picked up at the store. I wasn’t sure I would enjoy the story of a human girl who got sucked into the Fae Realm through a magical mirror, but then I met the hero and couldn’t put the book down. And just now, he saved the human girl from some monster after she ran from him, and I really want to know how she feels about him now. Because two chapters ago, she hated his guts.
Walking to the door, I open it just a crack, expecting to see a stranger possibly mistaking my room for theirs. Instead, I find Roman standing outside, dressed in shorts and a tee with his hair damp, holding a plastic bag filled with food containers in one hand and a cup carrier in the other. The smell of bacon, syrup, and fresh coffee wafts toward me, and without waiting for me to invite him in, he pushes between me and my door to come into my room.
“I brought breakfast,” he announces, walking toward my bed.
Staring at his back, I watch him begin to unpack things from the bag.
Turning to look at me, he drops his eyes to my bare legs, then glances at the door. “You wanna shut that?”
Now totally aware of my lack of clothes because I fell asleep last night in just a T-shirt and panties, I shut the door and tug down the hem of my shirt as I walk to the dresser and pull out a pair of sleep shorts. Putting them on, I walk over to the bed.
“You brought me breakfast?”
“You need to eat,” he mutters without looking at me, and I press my lips together. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a few things.”
A few things? There’s enough food for a family of five!
Taking a seat where I was lying moments ago, I pull my blanket over my lap and watch him open each container. Two with pancakes, sausage, bacon, and scrambled eggs, another with fruit, and the last with what looks like oatmeal.
He hands me one of the coffees, one of the containers with pancakes and stuff, and a plastic silverware set, then picks up the other one and walks around the side of my bed. Seeing he’s going to sit next to me, I grab the book I was reading before he can sit on it and place it on my nightstand.
“Eat, Elora,” he orders, looking over at me.
Shaking my head, I dig into my food. It’s delicious, way better than the cold Pop-Tarts I planned on having this morning. “Do you want to watch TV?”
“Sure.”
Grabbing the remote, I hit the power button and get excited when I find one of my favorite movies has just started. “You’ve seen this, right?”
“No.”
“ The Goonies is a classic. You never saw it when you were a kid? It was one of my mom’s favorites and is now one of mine.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“What’s your favorite movie from when you were growing up?”
“I was in school or playing in sports. There was never time for me to have a favorite.”
“That’s terribly sad, Roman.”
Ignoring my comment, he lifts his chin to the TV. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about a family who’s losing their house. Their sons and a group of their friends find a treasure map in their attic, and they try to see if they can find it. Of course, drama ensues, and they end up running into some bad guys.”
“Of course,” he mutters, and I smile as I cut off a bite of pancakes while on the screen, Chunk does his belly dance to get into the house.
“It was filmed right here, or actually in a town about twenty minutes away. But part of it was filmed here on this beach, and you can still go visit the jail from the movie.”
“Have you been?”
“Twice.”
“Twice.” I hear the smile in his voice, but I don’t look at him.
“You’ll love it.” I focus on eating while the movie plays.
When I’m stuffed, I start to set my container aside, but he stops me and takes it, finishing off the rest of my food, along with the fruit and oatmeal. I have no idea where he puts it, but he devours every last bite.
Settling in with my cup of coffee, I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean back against the headrest, and he does the same after kicking off his shoes. When he laughs, I look over at him, and he turns his head. His eyes meet mine, the smile still on his lips. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile freely and completely relaxed. He always seems so serious, so much older than he probably is. I want to ask him about his life back in New York, about his family and his friends, but I swallow down the desire. I don’t want to ruin this moment, so I turn back to the TV.
Just when the boys find a man named Sloth locked in the basement of the old restaurant, my alarm goes off, bursting the bubble that has wrapped around us. Picking up my phone, I shut off the annoying beeping and sigh. The last thing I want to do is go to work, but I only have two more days until I will be packing up my van and leaving, so I need every dollar I’ll make between now and then. Plus, I need to finish Beth’s training so she’ll be able to take over for me.
“Are you working both jobs today?”
“Yeah.” I hand him the remote for the TV. “I’m going to start getting ready. You can hang out if you want.”
Getting his nod, I toss back the blanket and get out of bed. At the dresser, I dig for my clothes and take them with me into the bathroom. After I change out of my pajamas, I brush my teeth, tie my hair up into a bun—because it’s a wild mess this morning, and I don’t have the time to fix it—then put on some mascara so you can actually see I have lashes. When I’m done, I walk out of the bathroom and find the bed made, the TV off, and Roman and all the trash from our breakfast are gone. I tell myself I’m not annoyed with him for leaving without even saying goodbye, but the truth is, I am annoyed with him … and myself for caring.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I put on socks and my sneakers, then grab a sweater and my key before I leave, locking the door behind me.
When I get down to the housekeeping room, I find Beth waiting for me looking tired but happy, which is good. If she’s here this morning, then yesterday didn’t scare her off.
“Morning.” She smiles.
“Morning.” I unlock the door and flip on the light. “Did you get some sleep last night?”
“A little. I was up late with James, unpacking.”
“Did you and your husband just move to town?” I ask as we start to load the cleaning cart with fresh towels and supplies.
“No, he’s always lived here, but I just moved to town a few days ago.” She lets out a single laugh, and I wonder what is funny. She must read my look because she continues, “I met James online a little over a year ago, and we decided to finally meet in person in Vegas a few weeks ago. While we were there, we got married.”
I come to a stop and blink at her. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She laughs. “Believe me, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it too.”
“I guess when you know, you know, right?”
“Yeah.” Her smile is soft and shy. “He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”
“He must be if you uprooted your whole life to be with him. Did he grow up here?”
“Yeah, he and his family own a bar in town.”
“You don’t want to work there?”
“No, his mom doesn’t like me.” She shakes her head. “But even if she did, I still don’t think I’d want to work there with him. I like having my own thing.”
“I get that,” I say softly, and she nods.
“So you’re leaving town?” she asks as the two of us begin to fold the stuff that was left in the dryer overnight.
“Yeah, Monday,” I tell her, and that same nervous, almost panicked feeling settles in the center of my chest. I know it has to do with fearing the unknown.
“That sucks. It would be nice to have a friend here.”
“You’ll find friends quickly. Everyone in town is so nice.”
“I hope so. Leaving my friends back home was the hardest part about deciding to move here.”
“Where is home?”
“Boise, Idaho.”
“That’s not very far. Everyone can come visit, and you can always go back to see them.”
“Yeah, my best friend plans to visit in a couple of weeks once we’re settled in our new place.”
“That’s nice,” I tell her, trying to hide the envy in my voice. Not even one of the people I knew back home offered to visit me when I settled here and none of them even lied and said they would try to meet up with me in any of the places I plan on stopping at.
When we finish folding the laundry and have the cart fully stocked, I take Beth with me to the office. Like always, Casey already has the list of checkouts and late checkouts waiting, so I grab it from her, and we get to work. Having her help means that we get through the rooms in record time, so at three, she leaves to go home for a few hours, telling me that she will see me later at the bar.
Having the afternoon free is a rarity on the weekends, so I decide to use my time wisely and begin packing up my room. I might not have a lot of stuff, but everything I packed into my van before I left Wyoming is now in my room, so it will take some time to get it all downstairs. Monday morning will be here before I know it, so I don’t want to leave everything for the last minute.
Going to my closet, I take out my two suitcases and open both up on the bed. I pack all my clothes except for what I’m going to wear over the next few days, along with anything else I can stuff into them before I zip them up and heft them off the bed.
Both bags are old, and the wheels on both are hanging on for dear life, so while I attempt to maneuver them and myself out of my room, I bump the doorframe as I go and stub my toe on one of the two broken wheels in the process. Yelping in pain, I bend to see the damage I did and find a cut on the top of my second toe that’s bleeding.
Great.
“Where are you going?” The barked question has my head flying up, and I find Roman glaring at my bags before he transfers that glare to me.
“I was going to start packing up my car,” I snap because my toe hurts, and I’m still annoyed with him for earlier. Limping, I turn back into my room, leaving him and my bags where they are.
“What happened?” I hear him behind me as I hobble toward the bathroom, trying not to get any blood on the carpet.
“Nothing.” I grab a piece of toilet paper and lift my foot to the side of the tub to dab at the blood. The cut is not very deep, but it’s long, jagged, and bleeding a lot.
“Shit, do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Yeah, it’s with my fine china and crystal wine glasses.” I roll my eyes, then let out a yelp when I’m spun around and lifted off my feet. My ass comes down hard on the bathroom counter, and my breath catches in the back of my throat when he grabs my ankle, lifts my foot to the edge of the sink, and then turns on the water.
Running his fingers under the tap, he adjusts it while I try to come up with something to say because all my words are a jumbled-up mess in my head right now. I can’t believe he picked me up and put me where he wanted me once again. When he takes my foot and puts it under the running water, I bite my bottom lip and squeeze my eyes closed.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, shutting off the water, and I open my eyes as he grabs a hand towel and gently wraps it around my foot. “Stay here. I’m going to run to the office and see if they have a first aid kit.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes meet mine, and the look he gives me makes me gulp. “Stay here.”
“Okay,” I agree on a whisper then watch him leave.
I feel like an idiot, sitting on the counter and waiting for him to come back, but I don’t move from the spot while he’s gone. So I’m still right where he left me when he returns so quickly I wonder if he ran the whole way.
Dumping a few bandages and alcohol wipes on the counter, he slowly unwraps my foot, the scrape still bleeding as he inspects it.
“It’s not too bad.” He rips open one of the alcohol wipes, then lifts my leg and foot up. “Ready?” I nod, then grit my teeth as he softly dabs the wound that burns and stings from the contact of the pad. “You, okay?” His eyes lock on mine as he blows on the cut, alleviating the sting.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” I whisper because I can’t speak any louder, not with my insides twisted up in a knot so tight I’m not sure I’ll ever get them untangled. I had no idea the top of my foot was connected to other, more intimate parts of my body, but I now know that to be true.
He doesn’t acknowledge my statement. Instead, he rests the ball of my foot against his rock hard abs and reaches for a Band-Aid. I watch as he opens it, then carefully places it over the wound, his hands covered with harsh ink so gentle the contradiction is not lost on me.
When he's done, his thumb smooths up the arch of my foot, digging in, causing my lips to part as a soft whimper crawls up the back of my throat. I should not be getting turned on, but I am, and when his gaze meets mine, I swear his eyes seem darker and wilder than they’ve ever been when he’s looked at me.
When I lick over my bottom lip, his eyes drop to my mouth, and he starts to lean toward me. My pulse skyrockets and my fingers grip the counter’s edge so tight they start to tingle. He’s so close that I can see his inner iris is a seafoam green and crystal blue mixture. So close, I swear I can taste the mint on his breath. So close, the subtle scent of his cologne that smells crisp and masculine, has wrapped around my senses, making me lightheaded.
He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to let him. The realization takes over all my rational thoughts as my eyes slide shut.
The ringing of my cell phone from the back pocket of my shorts has the same effect as a bucket of cold water being tossed over me. My eyes spring open, and without thinking, I shove him back with my foot still resting against his stomach. Caught off guard, he stumbles back a step and hits the open door, causing it to bang into the wall while he lets out a grunt of pain.
“Oh my God.” I hop down from the counter. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to do that. I just?—”
“It’s fine.” He rubs his lower hip where the doorknob likely hit him, making me cringe.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” His eyes drop to my mouth before moving back up to mine. That’s when I realize my body is pressed against his in the small space between the counter and the wall, and with his height and size, there isn’t an inch between us. “You wanna get that?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat, backing away from him and out of the bathroom, while I take my phone out of my back pocket.
Seeing the caller is my real estate agent—or I guess, my ex-real estate agent now, and my ex-fiancé’s uncle— small-town problems . I hesitate.
Before I started packing, and after I spoke to a woman named Kandi—a real estate agent in Cheyenne, a city about two hours from where I grew up, I sent him an email, letting him know I would no longer be using his services. There was a little nugget of guilt when I sent that email, but after speaking to Kandi, I felt more sure than ever that changing real estate agents would be the right decision.
She let me know that normally she didn’t take on properties so far from where she’s located, but she was making an exception after talking to Roman and doing some research of her own. She told me in not so many words that it seemed shady that I hadn’t received even a single offer, especially after I did a drastic price reduction a couple of months ago. And while my property sat on the market, other properties in the area with less land and higher price points sold within months. She also told me that she didn’t believe she’d have an issue selling it, even if I raised the price back to where it was.
My phone rings again, dragging me from my thoughts, and I slide my finger across the screen, putting it to my ear. “Hey, Tom.”
“Elora,” Tom greets, sounding annoyed. “I just got your email.”
“Okay.” I take a seat on the edge of my bed and watch Roman as he walks toward me, his eyes scanning my face.
“I was very disappointed, especially after the call I had yesterday with a buyer who is interested in the property.” I bite my lip, my eyes still locked on Roman’s. I know the call he’s referring to is the one Roman made to him.
“I’m sorry, Tom, but unfortunately, I’ve already signed a contract with another agent,” I say as Roman quietly demands me to put the call on speakerphone.
Rubbing my lips together, I do as he asks.
“We’re family, Elora.” Tom’s voice comes through the speaker. “And we had an agreement that I could sell your property.”
The urge to take the call off speaker is difficult to ignore, especially when Roman’s eyes narrow on my cell.
“A verbal agreement, not a written one.” Kandi asked about that when I spoke with her, and I had to go back through all my emails to make sure I didn’t sign anything because that time was such a blur. “And we’re not family. Tyler and I are no longer together.” I swallow, watching Roman’s jaw clench while my heart beats wildly against my rib cage.
“You’ve been with Tyler since you two were kids. When you get home, you’ll work things out.”
How many times have I heard that same statement from other people, them telling me that Tyler and I will work things out? When I first left, a part of me wanted that to be true, but not anymore. Not that I don’t miss him from time to time, miss the confidant I had in him, his strength when I was breaking down, and the way he would make me laugh. But when I needed his support the most, he didn’t offer it to me. It was his way or the highway, so I hit the road. And I’m a firm believer that there is no point in going back. Even if I decide to go back to Wyoming, I’m not going back to him.
I don’t tell Tom any of that, though. There is no point.
“I’m sorry about getting another real estate agent, but I really think it’s for the best.”
He gets quiet, so quiet I would have wondered if he hung up if I didn’t see the seconds ticking away on the call.
“Your mama would be so disappointed in you,” he whispers, and my chest aches along with my throat as I stare at my phone. “I bet she’s rolling over in her grave right now, Elora Mazie Barlow.”
“Fuck no,” Roman clips, snatching my phone from my hand, and my eyes widen as he brings it close to his mouth. His tone sends a chill up my spine when he says, “Do not fucking call this number ever again.” Hitting the red button on the screen, he ends the call, then tosses my cell toward my bed, and it hits it with enough force that it bounces off the other side.
“Fuck him,” he bites out, glaring at my cell when it hits the floor with a thud.
“Did you just hang up on him?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Elora. Did you want a chance to tell him goodbye?” he rumbles, and I press my lips together.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I can only imagine what Tom is thinking, what he’s going to tell Tyler, and what Tyler will, in turn, tell my mom’s family. I shouldn’t care, but I do because Mom’s side of the family is the only family I have left. And even if things are not great between us right now, in the back of my head, I’ve always imagined we would sort things out. But with one thing adding to another, I’m starting to think that might never happen.
“Now, where the fuck are you going with your bags?”
I drag in a breath and hope to calm myself down. It won’t do either of us any good if we’re both growling and griping at each other. I can deal with the whole Tom situation another time.
“I was taking them to my car. Beth and I got done early this afternoon, so I wanted to get a head start on packing up my stuff.”
His shoulders seem to lose some of their tension at my explanation. “I’ll help you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“If I don’t, what are the chances I’ll find you and your luggage sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs?” he asks, and my eyes narrow.
“I’m not accident-prone. I’ll be fine.”
Ignoring me, he goes to the door, swings it open, then turns and grabs both bags by the handles, lifting them with ease before he walks out. Letting my head fall back to my shoulders, I let out a sigh, then get up and follow him out the door.
When we get down to the parking lot behind the building, he turns to look at me. “Which car is yours?”
“That one.” I motion across the lot to my burnt-yellow-and-white Volkswagen van.
“Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, walking toward it.
“What’s wrong with my car?” I jog to catch up with him.
“It’s not a car.” He eyes it with disgust as he stops at the back bumper. “Is it even safe for this thing to be on the road anymore?”
“Don’t be a jerk.” I move around him and grab the handle of one of my bags, half rolling, half dragging it on its broken wheels.
“What year was this made?” he asks, kicking one of the tires.
“1970.” I grit my teeth. “And it’s perfectly safe. It only has 127,395 miles.”
“Only?”
“Yes, only. She’s almost fifty-five years old! Where’s your car?” I glare at him, and he turns. When he points at a car that sits low to the ground and is so sleek it looks like it could fly, I blink. “That’s yours?”
When I came out to my van a few days ago to let it run for a bit because I hadn’t driven in a while, I noticed that car. It was hard not to since it sticks out like a sore thumb among all the others in the lot that are either older, oversized SUVs or mini vans. With his eyes locked on mine, he takes a set of keys out of his pocket, and the moment he presses a button, the engine rumbles to life. I glance across the lot, then look at him, and he raises a brow.
“Whatever.” I open the sliding door that sticks slightly and start to pick up one of my bags, but he takes it from me.
“Please tell me that you haven’t slept in here,” he says, leaning into the van as he places the bag inside for me.
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Fuck me.”
“If you’re just going to be annoying, you can leave.” I attempt to take my other bag from him, but he doesn’t let it go. I let out a breath and watch him heft it into the back and on to the bed that is down—because the lock to keep it up and out of the way is busted. Not that it matters. The small stove that is built in is original and doesn’t work, and even if it did, the roof of the van is low, so I would have to squat in order to use it, and I’m just not going to do that.
“When was the last time you got an oil change and the tires checked?” he asks, ignoring my comment about him leaving.
“I plan on getting an oil change Monday on my way out of town.” I cross my arms over my chest, and he cricks his neck from side to side. “I’m not stupid, Roman.”
“I never said you’re stupid, Elora. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Damn my stupid heart for fluttering like it is.
“I’m safe, and I know my car isn’t as fancy or as new as yours, but I got it because I could sleep in it comfortably and because, no matter where I go or how much money I have, I will always have a roof over my head.”
I watch, fascinated, as his face softens while his jaw clenches. He lets out a breath and looks at my van, then at me. “What else do you want to bring down here today?”
“Nothing. I’ll pack the rest of my stuff Monday before I go.” I move to shut the door—or try to, but it sticks halfway, and the metal creaks when I try to force it.
“Let me do it.” He sighs, carefully moving me out of the way. Pulling the door back, he slams it shut, then looks down at me and starts to open his mouth.
I get there before him and turn back to the hotel. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.”
“I was just going to ask if you ate lunch.”
“I’m still stuffed from breakfast.”
“That was hours ago.”
“And it was a lot of food.” I nudge my shoulder into his arm. “You don’t need to take care of me, Roman.”
“Someone does,” he says so quietly I barely hear him, but I still do. And the statement is just as effective as if he yelled it at me.