Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(24)

The visual hits me in the gut, and blood rushes south. I'm not sure if I effectively cover up the breath I take, but there's a knock at the door right at the moment. "Room service," a voice calls.

"My duck is here, be right back." I don't wait for her to answer.

The waiter wheels a cart, dressed in a white linen tablecloth past me, across the wide plank walnut floors to the other side of the room by the windows.

"Thank you," I tell him, expecting him to leave so I can get back on the phone, but he reaches under the tablecloth and flips up a side, turning the cart into a table, then he rights a silver candle stick and lights the candle from a lighter he slips out of a pocket. Then he picks up the wine bottle and holds it out for me to inspect.

"Fine," I mutter with a nod. "Thank you. I can do it."

He continues on and cuts the foil, winds the corkscrew in, and pulls it with a flourish. He turns an upside-down wine glass onto its base, pours a small serving and looks at me expectantly. Ugh. I start forward impatiently. Swirling it once or twice I do the requisite sniff and sip. "Fine. Thank you."

He nods, then pours a glass, and finally whips off the cover of the plate. The aroma of roast meat, herbs, spices, and caramelized fruit wafts up, and my mouth waters. The waiter hands me a check, which I sign and add in a tip. Then he bows and takes his leave.

Finally.

I grab the phone, only to see it's off. Battery must have died. Emmy probably thinks I hung up on her. Damn. I plug it in. Her battery is for shit, I just charged it when I checked in a few hours ago.

I pull the desk chair to the temporary table and put the napkin on my lap. I stare at the delicious looking meal. In all the dinners I've had alone in my life, though I try to avoid them, I don't remember feeling this alone. Weird. I take a sip of the red wine. I chalk it up to the day I had where I had to face a family I'd rather forget I had. And not having my normal distractions around me. And then talking with Emmy. I enjoyed it, sure. But part of me feels stripped down. Like I lost something. I don't like it. It makes me nervous. The phone makes a sound that tells me it has turned back on. But I make no move to get it.

I think of her getting her burger, and I feel ill. Like I've done something I shouldn't. Laid expectations. I just bought her dinner. If we'd stayed on the phone, it would have felt like a date. As it is, the sheer fact that she'll be eating a meal I bought her while knowing I'm eating mine at the same time makes me feel like a line of intimacy has been irrevocably crossed. And if there's one rule I've had that has kept me in good stead, it's to avoid intimacy at all costs.

The duck is amazing. She was right about that. Her phone buzzes with a text, and another and another. I don't touch it or look at it. It never rings. And then it's quiet for the rest of the night. I pull my laptop back out and work till I can't keep my eyes open, then sleep solidly for six hours.

When I wake up, habit makes me pick up the phone.

Emmy: Are you alive? Did the room service waiter kill you?

Emmy: Did the duck kill you?

Emmy: Oh my God, you ordered me a burger! Thank you. Although I almost didn't answer the door.

Emmy: Thank you. Truly. I can't think of anything more I needed right at this moment. Here's a pic. You may have noticed if you've been nosy in my photos that I like to take pictures of food.

*PICTURE OF A BURGER*

Emmy: I'm guessing my phone died. But that's not why you didn't call back, is it? I have something to say. I'll email it.

I immediately open my laptop and go to my email.

To: Tmontgomery

From: Tmontgomery

Subject: Phone

I'm guessing you feel a bit like me right now; awkward about how weird it is that we were talking on the phone like that. I understand why you didn't call back. So just know, I consider the burger payment for the outstanding dinner recommendation I gave you. Nothing more. Now we're even. But it was a spectacular burger so here's a link to a breakfast place you'll love, and they make the best coffee and squeeze their own orange juice. Just turn left out of the hotel, walk three blocks, then left down the cobblestone alley. You'll see it on the right with the blue awning. Tell Armand I sent you, if you like. That earns me a free cappuccino every now and again. When you get a chance let me know the address of a place I can drop off your phone before I leave New York. Otherwise I'll drop it off at the front desk of the Planter's Inn when I get home to Charleston tomorrow evening. I hope you enjoy your stay in my spectacular city. It's a very special place. Maybe it's time to get to know your family. Thank you for agreeing to this phone swap rather than cancelling your phone. I apologize that it was so inconvenient, but know that the alternative would have been even more painful for me. So thank you. Again. It was nice to almost get to know a handsome stranger.

Regards,

Emmaline Angelique Dubois

I close the email without responding. I feel slightly ill.

Then I find myself staring blankly at the screen for a few moments. There's too much to process in the email. The biggest point I get is that I'm being politely brushed off. "You're hot, but not for me, before it gets weirder let's just . . . not."

Knowing I'm usually the one doing the brushing off, being on the receiving end pisses me off. I saw an Apple Store on my way to the hotel yesterday. I could easily walk in, and this could be over. But that would be callous to leave her without a phone. And I may not get close to people, but I'm never callous. Fuck, why am I still thinking about this? Shaking myself from her email, I scan through my inbox.