3. Olive
3
OLIVE
I gather my belongings and head to the lobby, hoping to check in early. The older woman behind the front desk flashes me an inviting smile as I approach. “Welcome to the Madrona Inn. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to check in, please,” I say, stacking my stuff on the suitcase.
“Great. What’s your last name?” she asks, still smiling.
“Han—”
“Donna, I thought you were on your break. I’ll take care of this guest for you.” My heart skips a beat when Lion Guy approaches with a friendly demeanor. His voice is playful, not stern. He’s even more striking close up.
“I’m fine, Leo.” She waves him off. “I can check her in first.”
Seriously? His name is Leo? Leo with the lion’s mane . I smother a laugh but not fast enough. They both turn to me with round, curious eyes. “Sorry. Ignore me.” Then I chuckle again. “Your name’s really Leo?” Olive! What has gotten into you?
He grins. “ Pfft. Like I haven’t heard that before. Yep, Leo it is.” He points to his fluffy hair. “When I was born, I had an enormous head of hair like this. My mom said I looked like a lion and named me Leonardo. And when my eye color kicked in…” He shrugs.
My face sizzles like bacon. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s—that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw your hair. I hadn’t seen your eyes yet, but when I did, wow, they’re hard to ignore.”
What’s with the verbal vomit ? Is there a rewind button I can press? Can he tell I haven’t been social in a long time?
“You know what, Leo?” The Donna lady—or was it Dora?—pats his arm. “I think I will take my break. My back is acting up.”
His lips split into a knowing grin. “That’s what you said before that large group arrived. I’m on to you.” He jerks his thumb behind him. “Now get going.”
The woman giggles at the same time I do. “I’m going, but you be nice to this young lady.” She points a finger at him.
Leo stretches out his arms. “When am I ever not nice?” he protests, pretending to be offended. “My middle name is nice.”
Donna swats his arm lightly, then turns to me. “Sorry for the interruption.” Wait. Wasn’t I the one who interrupted? “Leo will take good care of you. Enjoy your time here. Happy New Year.”
“Thank you and same to you,” I reply, grinning. Their relaxed interaction has eased my embarrassment and seems to have slightly softened my usually guarded attitude.
My phone buzzes. Stiffly, I place it upside down on the counter, ignoring the call. It could be anybody at this point, but this is more important. Friends have been texting, wishing me a happy birthday, all day. Friends I’ve pushed away but who apparently still care about me.
“Again, sorry about that. She doesn’t know when to take a break,” Leo says, pushing a loose curl of hair behind his ear. There’s a black hair band around his left veined wrist. Is it to put his hair back? I think I’d combust right now if he did. On top of that, he’s wearing a thick black ring on his middle finger. Oh boy, don’t get me started on his large, powerful hands. If I ever get married, I’d ask my husband to wear a black wedding band. I find them so attractive. How much hotter could he get? I glance at his mustache again. Funny, now it doesn’t seem all that bad. Still not a fan, though.
I rest my elbows on the counter. His golden eyes suddenly capture mine, and I melt against the desk. I think he’s saying something because his lips are moving. I don’t respond because I’m still caught in his hypnotic stare. What does he see when he looks at me? Is my attraction to him obvious? Can he tell I’m struggling and ran out on my stagnant life today? How much did he hear from my conversation with Mom?
The ding of the elevator wakes me up, and I blink several times. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” My languid voice is almost unrecognizable. A group of people file out of the elevator and head to the hotel entrance.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. We seemed to have both spaced out. I think I’m the one who needs a break. It’s been a long day.” He lets out a light laugh and focuses on the monitor. “Hmm. Right! I need your name to get things moving here.” The humor’s back in his voice.
“Olivia Hansen.” I glance at the gold badge on his shirt. Mr. Forrest, Manager . Leo Forrest. Manager? He seems young for that role—probably in his early thirties. Then again, I don’t know much about hotel management.
“Give me a sec to look you up.”
I pull a blue folder out of the side pocket of my suitcase as he types away on the computer.
“Ahh, here you are, Ms. Hansen.”
“Call me Olive, if you’d like.” The words tumble out, surprising me. Why would I say that? The banter between us is easy. Calling him Mr. Forrest doesn’t match the vibe between us.
He leans closer and lowers his voice. “It just so happens that I love olives.”
My mouth goes dry, and I can hardly swallow. A pleasurable sensation pulses through me, catching me by surprise. I don’t want it to stop. How can one man induce such a response? If I passed him while walking down the street, I’d probably stumble into a streetlamp and fall flat on my ass.
“Oh, do you? Lucky for me.” I nod slightly while trying to smirk with confidence. It works in movies, but I’m not Scarlett Johansson.
“Okay, Olive . As long as you call me Leo.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great. Now that we’ve settled that, it looks like you’ve reserved a suite with a waterfront view for one week, correct?”
Oh no, don’t do this to me.
“ Suite? Um, no. I reserved a double room. Here’s the confirmation.” I retrieve a copy of the reservation from the folder. The information is on my phone, but I always carry a paper copy with me. I don’t trust technology, and right now, I want to avoid my phone like the plague.
He scans it quickly, then his forehead wrinkles. “We seem to have a problem. There are no double rooms available. I apologize for the inconvenience. This happened the other day too. Our website has been acting up and caused some issues with the reservation system. With the holidays here, there’s been a delay to get it fixed.” Now he speaks like a professional. “Never mind.”
It’s probably a widget or plug-in issue, but I won’t tell him that. I’m not here to work.
“Does that mean I don’t have a room?” My voice rises an octave, and disappointment spikes my body temperature. I’ve come this far, and I refuse to go back home. Other hotels are probably full too.
“Because it’s a problem on our end, we’ll give you the suite for the price of a double room. How does that sound?”
A suite! Am I dreaming?
My eyebrows shoot up, and an odd sense of excitement takes over. “Are you serious?”
“Sure am,” he says with a lopsided grin. “It’s no problem. Oh, I didn’t ask you if you’re part of the Moore party?”
“No…it’s only little ole me,” I mumble, focusing on the wall behind him. This is the first time I’ve traveled alone. Who checks into a hotel on New Year’s Eve and their thirtieth birthday by themselves? I guess people like me. Desperate and lost.
“Well, more space for you, right? You’re going to love the suite. With its beautiful view and recent renovations, you won’t want to leave.”
The real question is, do you come with the room?
“Well, thank you. Happy New Year to me!” And birthday.
“Not a bad way to end the year or start a new one. Depending how you look at it,” he says, focusing on the monitor again. “You did arrive a little early, so the suite isn’t quite ready yet. It shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes, though.”
“No problem. I can wait in the other room by the fire again. It’s warm and cozy in there.”
He rests his bare forearms on the counter and tilts his head, a sparkle in his eye. How can someone be so utterly sexy? He doesn’t even try! “Are you hungry?” he asks.
Huh? That’s out of left field. “Um. Yes. Starving actually. Is there somewhere I can grab something to eat or a coffee?” I recall reading a review mentioning a café here. I really should’ve researched this place a little more.
“You bet. We have a great Parisian café here. You can wait there if you’d like.” His eyes gleam. “Want to check it out?” He radiates happiness and confidence. If his aura were visible, I’m sure it’d shimmer like golden sunrays. It makes him even more appealing. Is it a facade because he has to greet customers at the front desk? Or is he that good of a salesman? Or maybe he feels bad about the reservation error or that I’m here alone? Probably all the above.
Or maybe he’s a truly genuine, cheerful person, and you don’t need to analyze everything. Say yes!
I shrug my shoulders. “Oh. Sure. Okay.”
“Great. Donna should be back in a few minutes. Let’s finish getting you set up, and I’ll take you there myself.”
Yes, please. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Point me in the right direction and?—”
“It’d be my pleasure. I need my afternoon cappuccino and lemon tart, anyway.” Is he going to eat with me? In your dreams, Olive. “They’re like the ones I’ve eaten in Paris. I highly recommend them. Ever been to Paris?”
“Yes, but it was a long time ago.” It feels like another lifetime. The old me backpacked through France, Germany, and Italy before I started nursing school. “I didn’t try the tarts. However, I ate a lifetime’s worth of chocolate éclairs.”
He snickers. “Well, you’re in for a treat. And if you aren’t a tart fan, there’s a variety of éclairs and other pastries to choose from. And you definitely don’t want to miss the croissants—especially the chocolate ones! There’s something for everyone.”
“Sounds delicious. I might have to try a few.” Didn’t I make a resolution to lose weight? Who cares? I still have today to eat what I want.
“That’s the way to live,” he encourages. “Now, let’s finish this.”
That’s exactly what I came here to do.
To live.