“Ah, yes. The elusive stuff.” He holds his glass out for me to tap mine against. “Here’s to dealing with the hard stuff. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I murmur and watch him above the rim of my glass as I take a sip. He follows suit and then rests his head on the back of the settee and closes his eyes.
“I’d kill for a real meal right now,” he murmurs.
“A cheeseburger and French fries sound like heaven right now.”
He groans at the thought. “Way better than the germ mix.”
“You’re right. It’s infinitely better.” I look around the room and notice since we’ve been talking, more people have nodded off. “This place is interesting.”
“How so?”
“It has serious potential, but it just seems like someone gave up on it.”
“People give up on a lot of things too easily, Celery Ellery.”
I roll my eyes but secretly like when he calls me that. “True. But think about it. This place has a great location. On the beach with what appears to be some privacy. If someone gave it some TLC, updated it a bit—”
“Gave it a restaurant. My God, you’re brilliant. Can you imagine how much money they could make tonight from all of us if they had one?” He pats his stomach. “I’m starving.”
“Agreed. I’d ditch the bar here and add a—”
“Nope. Keep the bar. The markup on alcohol is ridiculous and can help turn a profit when a restaurant is slow.”
“Good point,” I say.
He turns his head still on the back of the couch and opens his eyes to meet mine. They’re sleepy and his lids are heavy, but there’s an earnest intensity to them.
“What?” I ask.
“We’ve sat here and talked for hours, and yet you’ve never mentioned him.”
“Him?”
Ford’s eyes dart down to my hand where the diamond sparkles even in the dim light. “Him. I’m assuming the reason your phone has been going off all night.”
I glance at my ring, trying to figure out how to respond. “Maybe that’s why I took a road trip. Maybe . . .”
“Maybe it’s all part of the stuff?” he asks, and I meet his discerning gaze again. I expect to see judgment, even though I’ve done nothing wrong in befriending him, but there is the exact opposite. A quiet understanding laced with an unspoken curiosity.
I nod. “Lots of stuff.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Elle.” He reaches out and pats my knee.
I blink back tears that shouldn’t be there in the first place and when I look back up, Ford’s eyes are closed once again. His hand is heavy on my leg as his chest begins to rise and fall in an even cadence. He’s drifted off.
I probably should do the same.
But sleep eludes me. I’m restless. My mind won’t stop.
“Your whole reasoning behind this road trip is asinine, Ellery. For God’s sake, when are you going to take this life, our relationship, seriously and end this wait? Let’s set a date already.”
I rest my head on the couch and watch the world rage on the outside while trying to calm the anger within. And while I try to figure out how to settle the discord Ford’s statement causes within.
Your secret’s safe with me, Elle.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ford
I throw a forearm over my eyes to shield me from the sunlight.
Christ, it’s bright outside.
Why does my back ache?
Why are the trash trucks so fucking loud this morning?
Then it hits me. Where I am. Last night. The storm.
Ellery.
Why she’s my first thought when I open my eyes is beyond me, but when I look beside me, she’s not there.
Nor is her bag.
Or any goddamn trace of her other than a pile of pretzels beside a half-empty bowl.
And I don’t know why it bugs me so fucking much that she isn’t here.
I twist in my seat to look around the room. Most people are still in the same positions they were in last night when I dozed off. Curled into balls. Leaned against walls with legs kicked out and crossed at the ankles. Lying on the floor, using their spread-out rain jackets as a barrier between them and the old carpet.
The sun is out. Clearly. Which means the storm’s passed on. And if the room is emptier than it was last night, then that means maybe the road has been cleared.
“Christ,” I murmur and scrub a hand over my face, the scrape of my stubble a reminder of just how rough I must look.
It’s then that I see the napkin with the scribble on it under my half-finished whiskey bottle on the table in front of me.
I lean forward to pick it up and smile when the pretzels on its corner fall to the floor.
Fordham the University—
It was a pleasure meeting you. I had to hit the road early and deal with “stuff.”
Thank you for the company, the advice, and the ear. I’m sure everything will work
itself out with your brothers. Maybe our paths will cross again someday. Until
then . . .
—Celery Ellery
I hold the napkin in my hand and lean back again on the couch, staring at her handwriting.
She didn’t leave me her phone number.
Then again, she is engaged.
So why do I have the distinct memory of waking up last night and she was tucked under my arm with her head on my chest? And why do I remember liking it?
I scrub my hand through my hair.
My phone’s dead. I’m in desperate need of a toothbrush, a shower, and a shave. And by the looks of the clear sky and Ellery’s absence, the road appears to be open.
Let’s just hope it’s open in the direction I need it to be.
I’m in the parking lot within minutes, bag in my hand and eyes darting around. The sun may be out, but there’s still a chill in the air from the breeze from the ocean.
Debris from the storm is everywhere. Tree branches. Trash strewn about. Sand blown around by the wind.
It’s when I look back toward the inn that I notice it as a whole for the first time. In the past, the gray clapboard building was something off in the distance of the road when I drove past. Last night, the hotel was something I ran into to escape the storm.
But this morning with the sun out, the sound of seagulls in the distance, and my current stance in the middle of its parking lot, I take a closer look.
White Sands Inn.
It’s what the faded sign says. There’s a lighthouse for a logo on said sign despite there not being a single one in sight.
I guess they took some creative license.
The place has curb appeal. Its overall size doesn’t overpower its backdrop of blue skies and what I can assume is the boardwalk and beach on the other side. Too many places make that mistake. They think the size of the structure and the capacity it can hold is what’s most important because more rooms equal more revenue.
What they don’t understand is that if the hotel isn’t in an appealing location—in this case the beach on one side and the lush foliage of the New England trees surrounding the other—people don’t want to stay at the actual hotel to do more than sleep.
And it’s the guests staying at the hotel—to order room service, to drink at the bar and watch the surf crash on the beach, to eat at the hypothetical boardwalk café—that earns the added profit.