Chapter 5
Chapter Five
By the time the festival finally wound down for the evening, Wren was running on fumes, emotionally and physically.
“So,” Grayson said, as they climbed into his truck, “five-star dining or the pinnacle of fast food?”
She huffed out a tired laugh. “Are those my only options?”
“Within a ten-mile radius at this hour? Yeah.”
“Then I vote pinnacle,” she replied, because she was absolutely starving.
They’d stopped about an hour outside of Gracemont for coffee and donuts on the way here.
Then, during one of the lulls, she’d popped over to a food truck and grabbed them each a hot dog and a bag of chips.
However, that had been many, many hours ago, and her stomach was letting her know.
The problem was, her hunger was on the verge of being outmatched by her exhaustion. It was nine-thirty and it had been one hell of a long day, considering she’d met Grayson at the winery this morning at freaking dawn.
“Bold choice,” Grayson joked.
They ended up in a drive-thru at the McDonald’s across the street from their hotel, ordering far too much food. Grayson was obviously as hungry as she was. Wren half expected awkwardness to creep back in once they were alone together, but it didn’t.
Apparently working side by side for so many hours had broken down those walls. Because right now, the quiet between them felt comfortable.
She breathed out a soft breath.
Again with that word.
Comfortable.
That wasn’t something she ever felt with men who were essentially strangers.
They took their overnight bags and the food, Grayson balancing the drink tray, as they stepped into the lobby of their hotel.
Wren could already tell from the harried-looking clerk, something bad was about to happen.
Grayson placed the drinks on the counter, pulling out his phone as he gave his name, then searched for the email with the reservation number for their two rooms.
“I tried to contact you,” the clerk said. “I left a voicemail at the number on the reservation.”
Grayson frowned, then recalled something. “Shit,” he murmured, glancing in her direction. “Nora made the reservation. She texted a couple of hours ago, asking me to call her. We were busy and I forgot all about it.”
“We had an issue with some pipes earlier today,” the clerk explained.
“It impacted a dozen rooms on the first floor. Soggy carpet, ruined flooring, the works. Because of the festival, we were fully booked. We tried to accommodate everyone as best we could, but you’re the last to arrive, and we only have one room left. ”
Wren’s stomach clenched. “What?” she murmured.
“I’m terribly sorry. We will, of course, refund you for the other room, and management has allowed me to offer you complimentary breakfast for the inconvenience.
” From the clerk’s tense, resigned expression, it was clear he was expecting them to rip into him.
She suspected the poor guy had taken the brunt of a lot of pissed-off, half-drunk people’s anger this evening.
Grayson ran a hand through his hair. “Are there any other hotels nearby that—”
The clerk cut him off, anticipating the question. He shook his head. “Every hotel in the vicinity has been booked for this weekend for months. The wine festival.”
Grayson sighed. “Yeah.”
The clerk gave him an apologetic look. “The nearest hotel I could find with vacancies is about fifty-five minutes from here.”
As much as Wren didn’t want to share a room with Grayson—because holy hell, no—she wanted to get back in the truck for another hour even less. She was running on fumes and ravenous. Their fries were getting cold.
Grayson glanced at her. “Drive on?”
The dark circles under his eyes proved he was as exhausted as she was.
“Are there two beds in the room?” Wren forced herself to ask. Grayson was leaving the decision to her, which was very sweet of him. The idea of sharing a room with him terrified her, but she didn’t have it in her to demand he drive an extra hour.
The clerk’s gaze lowered as he shook his head. “I just gave away the last room with two queens. This last one only has a king.”
“Any couch in the room?” Grayson asked the clerk, before looking in her direction. “I can sleep on it if so.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Grayson rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “Rollaway?”
“We’ve given all of those away as well. You’re actually the last people with reservations to check in,” the clerk explained.
Grayson looked at her and shrugged. “Up to you, little bird. I’m assuming Tommy won’t like you and me sharing a room. I’m okay to drive on if that’s what you prefer.”
Grayson had used that nickname one other time today, and Wren couldn’t begin to understand the effect it had on her. It sent a rush of warmth through her unlike anything she’d ever felt.
“Tommy and I broke up three weeks ago,” she said, still seriously considering his offer. The problem with driving on meant they had to drive back in the morning. The idea of getting up even earlier was too exhausting to consider.
“Good,” Grayson murmured.
Wren frowned, confused by that, but too tired to give it any thought. “It’s fine,” she forced herself to say. “We can make it work.”
Grayson’s shoulders relaxed, instantly relieved by her response. The fact he’d been willing to drive farther if she had insisted touched her.
The clerk quickly took Grayson’s information, checking his license, running the winery’s credit card, then issuing them a key card. He also seemed relieved, probably thrilled that the two of them weren’t creating a big fuss.
Once they were checked in, Grayson handed her the key card and grabbed the drink tray again. They walked to the elevators together, and she pressed the button for the third floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself.
She had spent most of the day living for the moment when she could escape into her hotel room, alone, and stop pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
Guarding her words had been harder than she’d expected, and there were several times when she’d nearly slipped, speaking Lark’s name aloud, which would have sounded like her speaking about herself in the third person.
The idea of keeping the pretense up for the rest of the night, with no respite, felt like a daunting, impossible task.
To be honest, she couldn’t believe she’d pulled it off this long.
There had been more than a few times when she caught Grayson sending sideways glances her direction, looking confused and maybe even suspicious.
Mercifully, however, it didn’t appear to have occurred to him that she wasn’t who she said she was.
Why would it?
What sane, normal adults would try to pull off a stunt like this?
Sadly, Wren had the answer to that question.
Lark…and her idiot twin, who couldn’t say no to her sister whenever she needed help.
She unlocked the door, walking in first, the sight of the bed—the one bed—the first thing she saw.
She had never, not once, slept in the same bed as a man.
Doing so with Grayson—who was calm, observant, and too perceptive for her fragile act—was adding more stress to a situation that already had the power to break her.
She considered barricading herself in the bathroom and texting Lark, telling her the charade needed to stop, that she wanted to come clean, but her sister was no doubt scream-singing “We are Never Ever Getting Back Together” with seventy thousand other Swifties at the moment.
“I can ask for extra blankets,” Grayson said, noticing the way she was staring at the bed like it was her arch enemy. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No,” she blurted, even though she didn’t totally hate that idea. “I could sleep on the floor,” she offered. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
Grayson snorted. “So have you.”
Wren forced herself to inhale slowly.
She needed to be Lark, who would have zero trouble sharing a bed with Grayson, even though she considered him a grumpy asshole.
“It’s a big bed,” she said. “And we’re adults. It’ll be fine.”
Because what else could she say?
That she was barely holding it together?
That pretending to be Lark had already pushed her past her limits?
That the one thing that had gotten her through the day—the promise of her own hotel room—had been yanked away?
She pushed all of that aside and, instead, managed a weak smile.
Grayson hesitated, studying her face in that way that made her feel like he could see inside her head.
“Come on,” he said, tossing his duffel bag to the floor. “Let’s eat this food before it gets any colder.”
She perched on one side of the bed, smiling her thanks when he handed her a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, fries, and a Diet Coke. Then he claimed the desk, setting up his Big Mac meal, ten-piece nuggets, and chocolate shake.
“Wanna watch some TV?” he asked, picking up the remote.
“Sure,” she said, moaning in delight when she took the first bite of her burger.
Grayson chuckled. “That good?”
“Bliss,” she said with her mouth full. “So hungry.”
He popped a nugget into his mouth, flipping through the channels. He stopped when he found the original Ghostbusters playing.
“Seen this before?” he asked.
She laughed. “About a million times. It’s one of Rob’s favorites.”
They settled in, eating as they enjoyed the last half hour of the movie, watching the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man ravage downtown New York.
Once it was over, Grayson threw his trash away, then disposed of hers. “You want the bathroom first?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip as she rose and grabbed her small overnight bag, hoping Grayson didn’t notice her hands trembling. If she’d known sharing a room was part of the deal, she would have packed a hell of a lot differently.
Actually, scratch that. If she’d known about sharing this room, she would have told Lark hell no to the swap and stuck to her guns.
Locking herself in the bathroom, she placed her palms on the sink, her head bowed as she attempted to draw in several deep, calming breaths. She was only half successful.