Chapter 33
There is a part of me that wishes Katie was with us. I’d love her to see this new side to Noah Carter, the broody horror writer.
Walking through the halls of the Stanley Hotel with Norman, our private tour guide and another massive fanboy of the author, has Noah Carter reverted from horror writer to an enamored child. He’s in awe of Norman and hanging on his every word.
I, on the other hand, have the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, there is a chill that penetrates through my clothing, and I swear someone keeps whispering something in my ear.
How does Noah tolerate this stuff and make up more horror to go with it?
Why would anyone want to write murder when you could write happily ever after that makes you believe in humanity?
Norman made it clear that the room is always booked, but the next guests haven’t arrived yet and, “Not everyone can hack it,” he says.
We are enthralled with Norman’s tale of the room when Noah reaches for my arm and I actually scream. Both he and Norman throw their hands up in surrender and stare at me in equal horror.
“Are you okay?” Noah quickly asks.
“What did you see?” Norman follows, the key to the room held in his fingers.
“You just scared the shit out of me when you touched me,” I say with my hand pressed to my chest.
Two sets of eyes lighten with humor and Norman puckers his lips. Noah, however, actually laughs.
“Are you scared?” Noah asks.
I shift a glance between the two men. “Yes,” I admit. “This is freaking me out. Feel my fingers,” I say, pressing them to his cheeks.
“You’re freezing.”
“How do you tolerate this?” I ask Norman.
“You can hear them, can’t you?” he asks with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Noah leans in. “Can you?”
I swallow hard. “Can we just wrap this up?” I force a smile to my lips. I want Noah to enjoy this, but I hadn’t anticipated hating it so much.
“This is the room,” Noah says wrapping a protective arm around me looking at Norman move toward the door with the key.
I know it’s the room. I’ve been listening to Norman go on about it. Though admittedly, I haven’t paid too much attention. There is a low hum in my ears and it distracts me.
“It’s supposedly haunted by Elizabeth Wilson who died in here in 1911. She was the head housekeeper that?—”
I don’t even let Norman continue.
I push away from Noah and hurry down the hall to the staircase that leads to the lobby.
With each step my knees grow weaker, but somehow I manage to the lobby, across it, and outside into the brisk March air—and sunlight.
I don’t even care what anyone thinks about my abrupt retreat from the hotel.
Certainly, I’m not the first person to run down those stairs and out of the building afraid that I might die of fright.
Again, I let out a tiny scream when my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see Noah’s text.
Are you okay? You’re freaking me out. Where are you?
I have to warm my hands to make my fingers work to reply. Outside. Take your time. Enjoy your tour. Don’t tell me anything about it.
He sends me a laughing emoji followed by a ghost. This is the most fucking awesome thing I’ve ever done. We’re in the room!
Well, at least I can plan good things. Don’t hurry. I’m okay outside. You and Norman take your time.
Are you sure?
To that I laugh. I’ve never been more sure about anything—ever!
I’m enjoying myself sitting on the front steps of the hotel, listening to that Jennifer Zeppelin audio book that Noah had me reading from the other night. Luckily, I know he’s walking toward me, so I don’t scream when he’s standing next to me.
I pull my earphones from my ears and tuck them into the case.
“Are you a thoroughly satisfied man?” I ask looking up at him, the sun bright at his back.
“I owe you one,” he says, smiling down at me before lowering himself to the step next to me. “This is the best sex-cation ever.” He winks and I can’t help but chuckle at him.
I love this lightness to him, and those circles that once darkened his eyes are long gone. And maybe, just maybe, that was my true purpose in getting involved with this man—to protect him from himself.
“You mentioned sex-cation, but I’m going to guess your head is so full of inspiration that you would like a few hours with your laptop or notebook to write down everything that’s swimming in your brain.”
He wrinkles up his nose. “That would have pissed off Abby,” he says.
“At least I know she had a flaw,” I say with humor lit in my voice and by his reaction, I know he took it as it was intended.
“Do you mind?”
I reach for his hand and interlace our fingers. “I don’t mind, just don’t share what you write with me. I don’t want to know just how demented you really are.”
Noah laughs as he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You could work on your book,” he offers. “We can sit on the porch of the cabin, enjoying the view. We can share a bottle of wine and that bag of M&Ms we picked up at 7-Eleven.”
Now that has me laughing. “You think there are M&Ms left?”
“Well, then we’ll stop in town and get some cheeses or something.”
“Classy.”
“I thought so,” he says as he lifts my fingers to his lips.
“So this just turned into a work-cation?” I ask watching this man whose mind stirs behind happy eyes.
“There’s still plenty of time for sex,” he promises.
“We’d better get to it then.”
“We’d better.”