Well Matched (Well Met #3)(28)

Blankets rustled behind me. “You done in the shower?” His voice was gravelly, barely awake, and I didn’t like what that did to my lizard brain.

I stared hard at the clothes in my hand and nodded. “Yep. All yours.” I didn’t watch him get out of bed. I didn’t move a muscle until the bathroom door closed behind him, followed almost immediately by the shower turning on. I blew out a breath and got dressed quickly. After folding my pajamas and leaving them on one of the uncomfortable chairs by the window, I ran my fingers through my still-damp hair and turned back in the direction of the bathroom. On the other side of that closed door was my hair dryer. My styling products. My makeup bag. In my haste to put distance between me and a sleep-rumpled Mitch, I forgot that I hadn’t been done in there after all.

“Shit.”

Makeup could wait. But my hair . . . oh no. I could feel it frizzing as it air-dried with no product in it. I was supposed to be making a good impression on Mitch’s family, and instead I was going to look like a wild-haired forest witch all day. I wasn’t upholding my end of the bargain at all.

The bathroom door opened behind me, and I turned eagerly toward it, hoping I could salvage my hair before it was too late. Mitch emerged, a cloud of steam behind him, dressed casually in jeans and a light blue-gray Henley. Oh thank God, I’d gotten that part of things right.

“Hey,” he said as if it was the first time he’d seen me this morning. “You look cute.”

I raised my eyebrows. I was standing here with no makeup on and my hair was a certified disaster. “Funny.”

“No, I mean it. Your hair’s all . . .” He made a twirling gesture with his hand. “You don’t usually wear it like that.”

I ran a hand over it, trying not to wince too hard. “I need to fix it. Give me a minute.” I walked past him to the warm, humid bathroom.

“Nothing to fix,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb, eclipsing the room behind him. “I just said it’s cute.”

I shook my head. “I don’t let it do this.” I reached for some product, scrunching it in.

“Your sister wears her hair like that all the time.”

“Well, my sister’s the cute one.” My voice was a little snappier than I’d intended, but this line of talk made me cranky, and I hadn’t had any coffee yet. I wasn’t wrong. Emily was younger, she was cuter, a couple inches shorter. She was made of soft curves and smiles. I was older. Sharper. I hadn’t been cute in at least a decade. I looked better when my hair was tamed and calm and straight.

But this morning, I wiped the condensation from the mirror so I could put some makeup on, and looked at my hair critically. It didn’t look all that bad. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it cute, but . . . I could probably get away without straightening it. So once I finished putting my face on, I dug through my makeup bag for a hair tie and pulled my hair back, securing it in a low ponytail. A few rogue curls escaped to frame my face, and . . . huh. I did look kind of cute.

“You ready?” I said as I came back out of the bathroom. Mitch was sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, scrolling through his phone. I thought about those women in his calendar . . . who had he canceled on this weekend to spend it here?

But he clicked his phone off and stood, stowing it in his pocket. “Yep,” he said easily. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for some coffee. Think they do a breakfast downstairs?”

“Probably. I thought you’d want to get a move on. Get to your grandparents’ house.”

“Oh, sure. But we could grab breakfast first. See who else is staying here.”

A chill swept through me, and I shrugged it off. I was still pretty sure he was the only Malone in this hotel, but I was willing to be wrong. “Sure,” I said, shooting for casual and mostly succeeding. “But don’t expect me to remember any names.”



* * *



? ? ?

There were no Malones in the hotel dining room, and after an initial frown Mitch brushed it off in favor of the breakfast buffet. I couldn’t blame him there; the omelet station alone made me want to spend the entire weekend in that dining room. But eventually we got to-go cups of coffee and headed back toward his grandparents’ house.

“We probably got a late start,” he said, taking a sip of coffee before nestling it in the cup holder. “Missed everyone else at breakfast.”

I made a soft noise of dubious agreement but otherwise stayed quiet, sipping my coffee until we arrived. Same as the night before, we seemed to be the last arriving, and once inside I noticed the detritus of a family breakfast eaten around that large table: a couple abandoned coffee cups, a single plate that hadn’t been cleared. We weren’t the last ones arriving. We were the only ones arriving. My worst fear had been realized—Mitch and I had been the only ones shunted off to a hotel.

Mitch’s eyes narrowed, and I placed a hand at the small of his back for reassurance. He looked down at me and I watched as he forced the gloom off his face in favor of a smile. There you go. I smiled up at him, and with a pat on his arm I gathered up the remaining dishes and brought them into the kitchen, where Mitch’s cousin Lulu was up to her elbows in suds.

“Oh, thank you so much! You can dump ’em in here.” She jerked her chin down into the sink in front of her, stepping back so I could deposit the dishes. “Dishwasher’s already full, so I’m finishing up what didn’t fit. Have y’all been here long?”