15. Sara
15
SARA
T he air is stale.
The life sucked from every pocket.
“Wow.” Drew splutters eventually. Then he gazes at the window, a vacant look in his eye. “This has never happened to me before. Wow.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” I say comprehending the irony of apologizing to a man who broke into my hotel room.
“Yeah, it’s cool. No worries,” he says, sounding like he’s convincing himself as he paces back and forth.
Then he halts in the center of the room. Places both hands on his hips and tilts his head to the side. “Is it because I’m not serious enough?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“At work, people think I’m just some dumb jock. They wonder how I could possibly care about anything apart from my gym schedule.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for him. If anyone can relate to not being taken seriously in the office, it’s me. “Hey, people definitely don’t think you’re dumb. I know for a fact Walter likes you.”
“Really?” He seems genuinely surprised.
“Sure.” I watch as Drew’s face relaxes. “I saw how in awe of you he was a couple weeks ago when he was asking about your competitions.”
Drew laughs. Scratches his neck like it never occurred to him that people could actually admire his disciplined routine and lifestyle. “It just feels like I have to prove myself all the time. It gets exhausting.”
I puff out my cheeks and exhale slowly because it turns out Drew and I aren’t so different after all.
“If I let you in on a secret, promise not to tell?” I say sheepishly as I swipe the bowl of strawberries. Drew nods. “I hate hiking. I hate it so much I booked this hotel with the intention of staying here for the entire week while I partake in zero hiking.” I can’t believe I just told him that. “Anyway, I got into some car trouble, and I had to be rescued by a stranger I ended up spending the night in a tent with.”
Drew frowns like it’s the last thing he expected me to say. “A tent?” He shakes his head. “But you told everyone…”
“I know. I lied,” I say quickly. “Let’s just say I’m also tired of not being taken seriously. I made the whole trip up so Walter would put me forward for a promotion. Not to mention, Kandi is going for the same job. I needed an edge. And…I was also trying to impress you too. You didn’t imagine that part.” I pluck a strawberry from the bowl, attacking it with my teeth like it’s going to replace the last few meals I’ve missed. “The whole thing is messed up. I shouldn’t have lied. I was just sick of being this airhead who hates going outside.”
“But that’s who you are.” Drew shrugs with the most gorgeous smile. “It’s cute, don’t change that. ”
I grin. “Thanks. I think.”
Drew scratches his chin, then shrugs. “I guess I understand.” He places a hand over his chest. “Secrets safe with me. Let me know if you need help with the interview.”
Before I can thank him, the phone on the dresser rings.
I discard the empty strawberry bowl and pick up the receiver.
A voice with a slight European accent greets me. “Hello, I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I wanted to let you know that an item addressed to you was delivered to reception.”
I frown. “What’s the item?”
“Hard to say, it’s in an envelope. Shall I send it up? I can deliver it personally.” The voice chirps, and I can’t help but wonder where this friendliness was during my lecture about losing the room key.
“That’s okay, I’ll come down,” I say, deciding that stepping out of the room is good for both of us right now.
When I hang up, I find Drew leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knee and his fists tucked under his chin.
“I have to go downstairs for a second.” I slip into the bathroom and tug on underwear. He grunts in acknowledgement from the bed as I step into a fine knit, off the shoulder, mint green dress with batwing sleeves. Then I push my feet into gorgeous Valentino stiletto boots before looping my hair back into a tight knot at my neck.
When I step out from behind the door, Drew is placing his fingertips to his forehead before slumping back onto the bed.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing a pair of silver hoop earrings from the dresser. “I think I’m going to get out of here. I thought I could stay, but the truth is, I’ve seen more than enough of Maine.” He looks like I’ve driven a stake through his heart. “ But why don’t you stay instead? It’s already paid for,” I say a little bitterly. “Someone might as well enjoy it.”
Drew lowers his hands, raising an eyebrow.
“I couldn’t.”
“Seriously, stay.”
Drew frowns but there’s a hint of a smile desperate to break through. “I mean, I’d have to pay you something. This place is awesome.”
“We can figure it out later.” I feel my shoulders relax because I’m just so glad to be getting out of here.
He looks up at me. “Hey, you won’t tell anyone about the whipped cream thing, right?” He circles a finger at his crotch. “We can keep that part secret, right? I mean, if you’re not mad about the whole thing?”
A vulgar snort expels from my nostrils. “I lied about liking sport so you’d notice me, surely that puts me on some kind of CrossFit hit list and makes us even?”
“No such thing.” Drew’s entire face lights up at the mention of CrossFit. “We’re a forgiving community. You should really try it.”
I place a hand on his chest. “Drew, I will never ever try it. And it feels so good to finally say that to you.”
The name badge on the receptionist reads Marco . As soon as he spots me, he places a rectangular envelope on the desk, and then, to my surprise, he hauls my backpack alongside it.
My brows knit together as I tear open the corners of the envelope and find my cell phone snugly arranged in the parcel. It’s on deathly low battery, but it’s alive. I can’t stop myself from squealing at the prospect of endless doomscrolling the moment I exit the lobby .
I quickly scroll through hundreds of unread notifications. A bulk are from Drew, I flick through them, grinning as I skim over his one-sided conversation where he talks himself into flying out here to find me. Then I scroll to the ones from Amber where she considers why Drew wanted to know the hotel I was staying in. They’re followed by a string of questions speculating why I haven’t replied, ranging from dropping my phone in the toilet (again) and kidnapping.
The last one from her reads If you don’t reply within the hour, I’m filing a missing person’s report.
The message was sent fifty-two minutes ago. I type a quick reply, telling her to calm down and promising to call later.
I shake the envelope and discover a note written in black ink.
It reads: Property of Sara Kirby, retrieved from Jeep Wrangler. Vehicle unsalvageable, appropriate agencies contacted.
I crush the note in my hand as I wonder exactly who the “appropriate agencies” are.
“Did you see who left these?” I ask as I inspect the box, wondering if I’m dealing with Mountain Rescue, cops, or insurance companies waiting to bleed me dry.
“Indeed, I did,” Marco begins. “Picture Tom Cruise in Top Gun , but mysterious, and with wrestler qualities.” He makes a winky face.
“Thanks,” I utter as I brush off how oddly specific his comparison is.
Then I make the connection. Top Gun , aviators—it couldn’t be the Mountain Rescue guy from the tower where I last saw Jack?
“Wait, was he wearing a white shirt with an olive vest?” I ask .
“Mm-hmm.” Marco makes a noise like he’s tucking into his favorite desert.
“Um, I’d love to get out of here without bringing this up, but I happened to cause a little damage to a rental car, which I am so, so sorry about?—”
“I know all about the car,” he replies flatly. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Oh.” I blink a few times, like it was the response I’d expected. Then I’m leaning forward as curiosity gets the better of me. “How exactly?”
Marco shrugs, bored that I’m still loitering at the desk without producing so much as a tip or money for the missing room key. “The same man who dropped off your things paid for all of the damages.”
“The aviator guy paid for the damages?” My posture becomes intrusive, and Marco eyes me with distaste, sliding a stack of leaflets between us to force me to move back.
“No. He charged it to a company card.”
I shake my head. “That still doesn’t make sense. Are we talking about the same guy who brought me here in the chopper? Why would Mountain Rescue take care of my bill?”
Marco tosses his head back, his laugh drenched in pity. “We’re talking about the same guy, but neither he nor the chopper have anything to do with Mountain Rescue, honey. How hard did you hit your head in that crash?”