Page 44 of Ticket to You

“Well, you’re quiet and seem annoyed. And I get it. I would be too if you kept messing up my shoots.” I remind myself to keep my chin high. The least I can do is at least try to save any shred of dignity. “But I’m done pushing myself at your expense. I’ll stay within my limits.”

Adam’s eyebrows furrow. “I wasn’t annoyed, Ophelia. I was…I was worried about you.”

“Oh,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage.

“I’m impressed that you push yourself out of your comfort zone and try new things. I think it’s brave.” Adam opens his mouth to say something but closes it quickly, his face reddening, and he starts back towards our room even faster.

I search for something to say to lighten the mood, to lift Adam’s spirits. “Didn’t you say Mila lives in Engelberg?” I ask.

“Yeah, she has an apartment downtown,” Adam says coolly. He slams the room card against our lock and it clicks open.

“I guess she thought tonight would go well, considering she got her own hotel room, just in case.” I mean to say it playfully, but my voice is sharp.

Adam heads into the bathroom, staying silent. He takes off his quarter-zip. Then, without hesitation, he slips his shirt over his head, giving me a clear view of the definition of his chest and the ropes of muscles along his back. He probably has negative one percent body fat, and seeing him half naked sends a fluttering to my stomach. I thought Adam’s face was worthy of being carved by Michelangelo, and now seeing his body…ugh. It reminds me of the statue of David I saw during my firstAteliertrip to Rome.

I turn my attention to my nails so I can avoid looking at—ogling at—Adam. My pathetic attempt at the rock wall destroyed my at-home manicure. “What has you upset?” I ask. “Are you regretting your decision to turn down Aphrodite herself asking you to dinner?”

“Not. One. Bit.”

I scoff. “Why not?”

“My lifestyle isn’t conducive to a relationship. I’m traveling all the time. And when I’m not on the go, I’m getting ready to go travel again. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.”

I smirk. “That sounds eerily familiar. Well, you might want to keep Mila on the back burner just in case. You two could be made for each other. You’re practically the same person.”

Though I keep my eyes down, I see Adam turn toward me in my periphery. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“How is Mila, the model slash Olympic rock climber slash bona fide good-doer,notyour type?”

Adam walks close, towering over me, and I bring my eyes to his. “What makes you think I have a ‘type’ anyway?”

I straighten my spine, refusing to back down from his intimidating stare. “You said it yourself:Atelierwomen aren’t your type. That would lead me to believe youdo, in fact, have a type.”

“No. No, I said Iassumedthat anAtelierwoman wouldn’t be my type.”

My body feels heavy under the weight of Adam’s unyielding blue eyes. I take a few steadying breaths. “Thanks for that clarification. I, uh….”can’t stop staring at you. “I need to make a couple of calls. I’ll be back.”

24

ADAM

It’smy third cold shower in the past twenty-four hours. They’re getting really old, but they’re worth it to garner even a slight glimmer of clarity. However, almost as soon as I’m out, I’m right back in the thick of my torrent of overthinking. With Ophelia still gone, I try to get some writing done, but it’s no use. I slam my laptop closed and pace around the room.

Even when I had an appendectomy, or when my wallet was stolen—twice—on a work trip, or every time I’m traveling or down with the flu, I’ve worked through it all. I’ve written articles on my phone, my laptop, spare napkins, at libraries, wherever. But here, even with fast Wi-Fi, hundreds of photos to cull, and thousands of words left to write, I’m useless.

What is wrong with me?I’ve dated in the past, though never seriously, but I’ve certainly never had these sick-to-my-stomach, about-to-jump-out-of-an-airplane, stepping-out-into-the-dark feelings that have settled in me over the past few days. I need to talk to someone—someone who knows Ophelia.

Gemma picks up my call after three unbearably long rings.

“Adam?” she says breathlessly. “Is something wrong?”

Where do I even begin?

After a long pause, Gemma breaks the silence. “Is this about Ophelia?”

“How did you know” I croak out with a forced laugh.

“Lucky guess.”

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