Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(22)

“We’ll take it.” Gianni pulled out his wallet. “You take credit cards?”

“Of course, dear.” Rose tapped a few keys on her computer. “How many nights?”

“One.”

“Dreadful storm, isn’t it?” Rose clucked her tongue. “I hear we might get two feet of snow! Of course, sometimes they say that, and we barely get anything at all.”

While Gianni arranged the reservation, I wandered away from the desk and checked out the photos hanging on the lobby walls—groups of smiling cross-country skiers captured in black and white, families enjoying lunch at picnic tables, kids splashing around in the shallow end of the swimming poo, squinting in the sun. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I shivered.

Gianni came up behind me. “You cold?”

“Yes.” I turned to face him. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Yeah, Rose said they’re having a slight issue with the heat.”

“Even in the rooms?”

“I think so.”

“Great.”

“Also, the television in that room doesn’t work.” He grinned. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm and entertained.”

“Do we have a key?”

“Yeah. We’re number thirteen,” he said as we headed for the door. “I think that means I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Think again,” I told him.

We got back in the car and drove to the end of the single-story building. A minute later, I stood shivering while Gianni tucked his gloves between his knees and fumbled with the lock on the dark green door to room 13. “Hurry up,” I said. “My toes are already numb.”

“Sorry. This thing is sticky.” But then it clicked—Gianni pushed it open and gestured for me to go in first.

The room was dark, so I couldn’t see anything until Gianni shut the door and switched on the light.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stared at the lone bed opposite the door, sandwiched between two small tables in a room that could generously be called quaint.

Gianni stood next to me. “Damn. That’s a small bed. Is it . . . a queen?”

“Not even. I think it’s a full.”

Gianni looked around. “There’s no couch.”

My eyes wandered over the rest of the room. Pretty much everything was pine—the furniture, the walls, the floor. The bed was made up with white sheets, with a thick buffalo plaid blanket lying across the foot. Above the headboard was a window covered with curtains that matched the blanket. Along the wall on the right was a tiny two-burner stove, a small sink, a mini refrigerator, and about two feet of counter with two drawers and open cupboards beneath it. A second window looked out onto the parking lot, and in front of it was a tiny table with two wooden chairs. But no couch or anything one of us could sleep on.

We’d have to share the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Gianni said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d freeze.” I gestured to the bare floorboards. “There isn’t even a rug. We can be adults about it and share the bed.”

“Can we cuddle?”

“No.” I shivered again. “God, it’s fucking arctic in here.”

“I can try turning up the heat.” Gianni tossed his gloves on a small table to the left of the door, set down his bag, and looked around for the thermostat.

Leaving my snow boots by the door, I wandered to the left and pushed open the door to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I half expected to see a knotty pine toilet seat and tub, but it was the usual tiny motel bathroom—everything that was once white was slightly yellowed with age, but it appeared to have been freshly cleaned. The towels hanging on the bar weren’t thick, but they were bright white, and when I sniffed, I could smell bleach and—what else?—pine-scented cleaner.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I went back into the room, where Gianni was still bent over the thermostat. “I turned it up, but I think this might be as warm as it gets in here,” he said. “We might freeze to death after all.”

Suddenly all the shitty things that had gone wrong tonight hit me with the force of the storm outside. I dropped my face into my mittens and, to my utter humiliation, started to sob.

“Shit, I was only kidding.” A moment later, Gianni’s arms came around me, both of us still wearing our winter coats. He rubbed my back. “We’re not going to freeze, Ell. Don’t cry. We’ll be fine.”

“It’s not that.” Under normal circumstances, I’d never have let Gianni hold me, but his embrace was comforting. Or maybe it was just his body heat—I’d take it.

“What is it?”

“Just—everything! This whole night was such a shit show! Nothing about it went right. I had all these high hopes and big plans, and now I’m going to die of hypothermia in room thirteen at the Pineview Motel with you.”

“But it’s better than dying alone, right?”

I sniffed. “Is it?”

“Listen, I know tonight didn’t go as planned, and I’m sorry about that, but let’s look on the bright side.” While he talked, he kept stroking my back.

“What bright side?”

“Well, we’re not stuck on the side of the road, right? We have shelter for the night. We have some heat. We have snacks and—”