Page 20 of Saving Sophia

“Ethan?” Saying his name broke the nightmare’s grip. I sucked in a shaky breath as the hotel room took shape around me, bright with morning sunshine. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, stop that.” He leaned back, giving me space.

“Did I wake you?” I sat up and pulled the blanket to my chin, blinking away the last confusing tendrils of the awful dream still clinging to me.

“I’m an early riser.” He stretched, the muscles of his arms flexing under the tight cotton of his T-shirt. “Are you a coffee girl?”

Coffee. Yes. Coffee sounded like an oasis of calm in the chaos that was now my life. I nodded.

“Excellent.” He patted my shoulder and walked into the kitchen.

I wrapped the blanket around my body like a protective cape and followed him, pulling out one of the elegant cream stools and seating myself at the bar, careful to make sure my Band-Aid was firmly in place this time. I kept my eyes pinned on him. The nightmare was fading, but I still felt safer with him nearby.

He moved efficiently, pulling mugs from a cabinet and filling the Keurig with water. I tried not to stare at his firm chest when it flexed from opening the fridge and hefting out the milk. The machine made its signature groan as it dispensed fragrant black coffee.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, then loaded my cup when I nodded enthusiastically. “Do you have any plans for the day?” He handed me the steaming cup and watched me inhale.

“Umm.” I busied myself by grabbing a spoon and stirring vigorously. “Find a new job and start a new life.” I tried to laugh as if I were making a joke, but it came out strained.

“A new life?” He frowned, his head tilting. I squirmed on the stool and stared into my mug. “You’re quitting the nightclub?”

I shuddered before I could stop myself. “I can’t go back there.”

He sat down next to me and took a sip from his own mug, his eyes steady on me over the rim. “Was the guy who attacked you from the club?”

I shook my head and chewed on a thumbnail, hoping that would keep my mouth busy. It didn’t matter how safe he made me feel, or how handsome he looked, I should not be having this conversation. I’d told the detective, his brother, that I didn’t have any stalker-types and I didn’t know who might want to hurt me.

He leaned forward on his elbows, his mouth opened slightly as he considered his words. The movement drew my attention to his lips. I wondered how it would feel to kiss them. I blinked and forced my eyes onto the veined marble countertop. I needed to make a getaway plan, not fantasize about kissing a handsome good Samaritan who could get me in trouble with the police.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Shoot.

“I was?” I blew out a dismissive breath and clutched my mug like it was a life preserver. “What … did I … say?”

“You said you didn’t see anything. Or maybe it was say anything.” He rested his hands on the counter, fingers lightly folded together. “You were whispering so I’m not sure which it was.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “Strange … dreams are … I don’t … are you sure?” I took a huge gulp of my coffee, which went down the wrong way and started a coughing fit. Embarrassing, but at least I couldn’t babble anything else. I needed to go.

He patted me on the back until my coughing fit subsided, keeping his hand there until I had control of myself again. I couldn’t help but lean into its warmth.

“Starting a new life is a big project.” He cast his gaze toward the huge windows where the sun was already brightening the morning sky over the city. Trees lining the six-lane road far below glowed greener against the gray, and the cars glinted as they inched along. “What kind of job are you looking for?”

“I’m a waitress … so …” I shrugged and took a cautious sip of coffee. When I didn’t choke, I tried another sip, happy my throat worked again but still unsure how to answer. I wasn’t much of a waitress, to be honest.

“Are you planning on staying in the area?”

I stared into my cup, wishing the answer would appear like a Magic Eight Ball in the creamy liquid. Where could I go? Could I even stay in California? Should I go someplace else … Toronto, or … Toledo, or … Tallahassee?

“Where do you live?” I asked, hoping to get the conversation off myself. He was staying in a hotel and visiting his brother, so he probably wasn’t local. When his lips turned up into a lopsided grin, I realized how the question sounded. “I didn’t mean … I’m not looking to … where you live has nothing to do with where I … I was just … making conversation.” I put my head down on the counter and pulled the blanket up over my head.

“I’m going to Washington State for a new project. I’m leaving later today.” The blanket muffled his voice, so I pulled back a corner and snuck a peek at him. He was gazing at me as if it were the most normal thing in the world for me to be hiding under a blanket.

I forced myself to sit up again, curiosity giving me courage. “What do you do for work?”

“Real estate acquisitions, mostly. I purchase distressed properties and make them profitable again. I specialize in hotels and resorts.”

I blinked, then looked around, remembering the valet and the front desk guy knowing his name, the kitchen staff creating spaghetti tacos at his request. “This … hotel?”

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