Page 44 of The Enemy Face Off

"Oh my gosh. You're so clever. Why didn't I get two rooms?" She thwacks me across the chest. It's adorable if she thinks that hurts me. I barely feel it. "You don't think I asked for two rooms? Ibeggedfor two rooms, Milo. I said I'd pay literally anything they wanted to charge for two rooms. But they only have one room left because people are annoying and like to travel for the holidays."

She exhales then looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond.

So I give her a response.

Just maybe not the one she was expecting.

"Now, when you say youbegged, did you just say the words, or did you literally fall to your knees and beg? Because in my mind, that's a true beg. If you're not on your knees, it's more pleading than begging."

She makes a sound I can't even begin to decipher. "That'syour takeaway from what I just told you?"

I shrug. "I'm a visual person, and I want to make sure I'm taking in the full picture of what you're saying."

Her eyes meet mine.

Icouldbe a jerk and mention a recent story of hers that I will be picturing for a very long time to come, but she seemed genuinely embarrassed by her car-trouble related sexcapades tale. There's a clear distinction between teasing and having fun and being plain mean. I never want to cross that line with her.

She's still glaring at me.

"So we have to share a room. Big deal. At least we're out of this." I gesture to the snowstorm engulfing us. "We'll be safe."

"I'llbe safe," Beth shoots back. "You better sleep with one eye open, mister, because not only am I smart and strong and funny, but I also have a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu."

"You do?"

She falters for the tiniest fraction of a second before saying, "Whether I do or not isn't as important as you thinking I do."

"Got it."

I smile—hopefully my smile game has improved over these past few months, and it's no longer at scare-the-kids level scary—in the hopes of reassuring her that she can and should feel safe with me.

I'm a total gentleman. She has nothing to worry about on that front. Besides, I like her too much to take advantage of the situation.

That said, even though I do feel bad for the havoc this freak blizzard is causing for Fraser and Evie's wedding, I'm notentirely mad about it. Because it means I get to spend a lot more time alone with Beth.

And suddenly, this road trip got a whole lot more interesting.

The next few hours pass by with the two of us holed up in a pretty decent motel room. Soft, warm lighting gives the space a cozy ambiance, the walls are painted a shade of light beige, and nature-inspired paintings by local artists line the walls.

I called Mike and Robyn to let them know that we're both safe, and that we may be delayed in getting back. They said it's no problem, and that the kids are fine.

Beth has been texting with Evie and her girlfriends in their WhatsApp group. Evie is obviously distraught at the disruption this freak blizzard is causing, but everyone is safe where they are, so that's something at least.

I've been listening to the radio, and unfortunately, the forecast isn't looking good. With at least half the guests stranded in various places throughout these mountains and the wedding venue currently flooded and without power, the chances of Fraser and Evie getting married today, or even possibly rescheduling to tomorrow, don't look very promising.

I glance over at Beth, perched on the sofa by the large window, which I assume normally has a nice view. Now, you can't see anything. Total whiteout conditions. I've never seen weather change so quickly. I guess there's a reason why they're calling it aone in a hundred yearsweather event.

She's changed out of her gown into black leggings, an oversized beige knit sweater, and fuzzy-patterned socks. Her feet are tucked under her body, and her attention shifts between the book she's reading—a romance, by the looks of the bright pinkcover and the illustration of a guy and a girl—and her phone which keeps buzzing every few minutes.

She made her displeasure with the whole only-one-bed situation abundantly clear when we first got into the room, but I think she's starting to feel better about it. Her periodic five-minute grumbles are now spaced out to much more measured twenty-minute intervals.

"Whatcha readin'?" I ask as I join her, sitting down in the spare seat by the window. I extend my legs, resting my feet on the small, round table between us.

She raises an eyebrow.

I drop my feet to the floor.

Okay. Not a fan of feet on the coffee table. Noted.

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