Page 42 of Always Be an Us

Declan nods as he sips his coffee.

"Oh ok," l say feeling a little disheartened. I was looking forward to spending time with Amelia. "When are you coming back?"

"Next week probably." She turns back to her dad. "I'm going to take this down to the lobby first."

“The valet should have pulled the car up front for you if you wanted to put it there,” Declan says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay.” Amelia walks past me rolling the suitcase behind her. Her departure allows me to see more of the room, the wide lounging area, the ceiling-to-floor windows and adjoining patio, and what looks to be a state-of-the-art coffee machine.

Wow.

"Don't you think you should have told me that she wouldn’t be here for a week, so I didn’t come over?" I ask Declan, a little peeved at having wasted my time coming.

"It skipped my mind," he says but his eyes are laughing. "I can drop you off on the way to the airport if you want. I’m heading to New York too, tomorrow on a day trip."

Somehow, the thought that he’s leaving too makes me even sadder, but I refuse to dissect that feeling.

I shake my head. "No need. I'm just bummed out. I wanted to spend time with Amelia, you know talk about Madam Thornley's diary and stuff."

The laughter in Declan's eyes dies an instant death. "By the way, I want to talk to you about that diary nonsense, and the whole story you fed Amelia."

"Which story?"

"The one with the hotel and the lovers and the thieves and the ghosts," he continues. "It's amusing and all but Amelia is taking it way too seriously. Last time, I caught her nearly crying over a page in the diary. She thinks this is all real."

"But it is real."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? Three thieves pulled off the heist of a century and escaped into the night with a gem that no one important outside this town has ever heard of. And they were never seen again?"

"Just because it's improbable doesn't mean it's not true."

"Right." He takes another sip of his coffee, but his dismissive nature annoys me.

You know what your problem is," I say. "You lack imagination."

"Really?" His lip quirks.

"Yes. You think life is as boring as you are."

Instead of taking offense, he smiles. "I'm a grown-up. I'm supposed to be boring."

"Is that you're a way of calling me a child?"

"No, but you're acting childish feeding into this argument."

I glare at him.

I hate being called a child, especially by him. I hate that he thinks he knows everything. "I wasn't a child yesterday, was I?"

That wipes the smug look on his face. Heat appears in his eyes.

I resist the urge to push him further in that direction.

"I can stop talking to Amelia about it," I say. "If that will make you happy. But that doesn't mean the stories aren't true. And just because I believe they're true doesn't make me a child."

He sighs heavily. "I'm just trying to protect her."

"And I get that. But you don't have to make her hate you in the process. There's a big difference between protecting someone and controlling them. Or respecting someone and fearing them."

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