Steam (Homecoming Hearts #4)(9)

Ashby felt himself relax again as she flipped the key in her hand, presenting him with the circular end to take. “Oh, yes,” he said nodding. “That’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

She laughed nervously and stared at him with wonder. “Well, okay, Mr. Ashby. You’re in room thirteen on the first floor. You come find me if there’s anything you need, okay? I’ll be happy to help.” She bit on her thumbnail and laughed again.

Ashby couldn’t help but be relieved. Rather than treating him like a leper, she was practically enamored with him. Like he was something special when in truth he was just him. It was kind of sweet. He certainly preferred it to being asked to leave on account of him being a filthy pervert. He let out a breath and waved the key at her before turning to head toward his room.

There was no elevator and if there were any bell-hops they weren’t around. So Ashby had to lug his enormous suitcase up the one and only flight of stairs to the first floor. The corners were extremely tight, and one of the steps was slightly uneven compared to the rest, causing Ashby to trip and fall onto the carpet. He lost his grip on the suitcase and it flipped backwards, sliding down several steps.

Ashby huffed and blew his hair out of his eyes. Despite being overly tired from traveling and generally on edge from the whole Gordon thing, he refused to get upset. So what if he fell over? No one had seen. He just needed to pick himself up and go find his room. Soon enough he could snuggle up in bed.

With renewed determination, he hauled the luggage up the last few steps and made it to the landing. But his troubles only continued as he dragged his suitcase down the hall, squinting at the numbers. Had he gone the wrong way? They seemed to start at twenty. But Kadie on the front desk had definitely said the first floor.

Once he got to the fire escape at the end and established there was definitely no room thirteen, he shook his head and turned around, determined to check again. He gritted his teeth. He just wanted to take his shoes off now and maybe brush his teeth.

“You okay there, sweetie?”

Ashby stopped and turned around to see a plump middle-aged woman in a big, puffy coat walking toward him. She had curly graying brown hair, multicolored horn-rimmed glasses and wore her bag slung over her shoulder like she was on her way out. Or home, perhaps? That looked like some sort of uniform under her coat.

“I, uh,” said Ashby.

Suddenly his resolve not to get upset threatened to abandon him. He knew it was the jetlag overwhelming him, but Gordon’s voice perked up in the back of his head telling him that he was so useless. He couldn’t even find his bloody room!

Ashby swallowed that spiteful thought and tried his best to smile at the woman. “I can’t seem to find my room,” he said. “The lovely lady at reception said room thirteen was on the first floor, but I can’t seem to see it. Is there another staircase, do you know?”

The woman with the multicolored glasses reached him and patted his arm. She was a good foot shorter than him. “Oh, honey,” she said with a grimace. “That’s because you’re on the second floor.”

“No, I-” Ashby began. Then he snapped his mouth shut as the realization washed over him. “Oh,” he said meekly. “You see, in the UK, this would be the first floor and, well, downstairs would be the ground floor.”

“Yeah,” said the woman kindly. “That’s really dumb. You want me to help you find your room? I just cleaned it not an hour ago. It’s all spick-and-span.”

Ashby sighed, ridiculously grateful. “That would be lovely,” he admitted. “Oh, no, you don’t have to!” he squeaked as the woman took ahold of his suitcase and began marching down the hallway.

“Come on, James Bond,” she said. “You look dead on your feet.”

Ashby had to chuckle as he trotted behind her. “I do feel like the back end of a bus,” he admitted.

The woman barked out a laugh as she heaved the suitcase back down the stairs. She seemed to be doing better at carrying it than Ashby had been. “That’s a hell of a saying. We don’t get many Brits here, you know?”

“Really?” Ashby said. “Well, this place is-” he caught himself before he was rude “-very nice indeed.”

The woman scoffed. “Oh, you’re a charming one, all right,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him as they reached the ground – or first – floor again. “I’m Maeve,” she said. “Worked here for over a decade, so you don’t need to be polite.”

Ashby glanced at the dingy walls as they walked along the hall. These rooms started at number one. “Well, I guess a lick of paint couldn’t hurt,” he conceded. Maeve cackled with laughter.

“You staying here for long, cutie?” she asked.

“Three weeks,” he said as they approached his room. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you around? I’m Ashby, by the way.”

Maeve stopped in front of room thirteen and held out her hand. “Three weeks?” she said as Ashby dutifully gave her his key. “Wow, a pretty guy like you. What are you hiding out here in the mountains for?”

To his utter mortification, tears sprung in Ashby’s eyes. Damn this jetlag. He didn’t care about Gordon! He wasn’t heartbroken. He was just reeling from all the sudden changes. He did his best to blink and clear his throat. “Just fancied a change of scenery,” he said weakly.