Page 50 of The Emerson Effect
…there he is.
Staring at his phone with a wrinkle in his brow and one corner of his lower lip pinched between straight, white teeth. My steps falter and, as if he senses my arrival, his glacial eyes dart up to land on mine. He straightens and smiles, tucking his phone away as he starts to walk toward me.
I move, too, and when we stop, there’s only two feet of space left between us. The scent of leather and wood wafts toward me, and I breathe deep, almost missing his greeting, completely.
“Hi,” I repeat back to him, and hold up a hand for him to shake just as he goes in for a hug.
I change course an open my arms just as he pulls back to offer me a hand, and we both laugh. The tension melts, and we lean in for a loose hug that doesn’t feel too intimate. And, holy wowza, is he solidly built.
We break apart, and he jerks his head toward the counter, asking, “Should we check in?”
“Sure,” I say.
My body jerks in surprise when his fingers brush over my hand. I silently reprimand myself for reacting when I realize he’s only trying to take the handle of my suitcase. I thank him in a near whisper as he rolls both of our bags behind him.
“How was your drive?” he asks as we wait in line.
“Good. Uneventful. I think I got some good footage for my BingBang video.”
“Same,” he says. “Lots of desert, but I did get the thermometer in Baker.”
“Me, too,” I say with a grin. “I think our videos will be nearly identical since we both took the fifteen.”
“That’s a good thing. It’ll prove we live close enough to each other to have a real relationship,” he says.
“I agree.”
“Oh,” he says like he just remembered something important, then leans in so he can lower his voice. “Someone already approached me and asked if I was meeting you here.”
“What?” I chirp, my eyes flaring. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Anyone could recognize us, so we have to make sure to keep up appearances anytime we’re not in our rooms.”
I nod back at him as my mind scoffs at the warning. That won’t be hard at all, considering I’m downright giddy at being here with him. It’s utterly ridiculous, and I won’t be admitting to him how happy I am. To be meeting him, for real.
“Hello, and welcome to The Black Hart. How may I help you?”
We both startle and turn toward the voice. A pretty woman who looks to be around our age is waiting behind the concierge counter, a bright smile on her face.
“Hi, we’re checking in, please. The reservations are under the name Emerson House,” Emerson says, and the woman taps her long nails against her keyboard, her smile still firmly in place.
“Yes. I see you’ve booked two rooms for three nights for yourself and Ms. Greene?” she asks.
“That’s right,” he says. “Would it be possible to get adjoining rooms?”
She taps away for a few more seconds, and her smile drops. “I’m sorry, Mr. House. It appears all of our adjoining rooms are taken. I can get you rooms just down the hall from each other, or…”
Her words trail off as she looks up at him. Then her gaze slides to me, and her smile returns.
“…wedohave a two-bedroom suite available.”
Emerson and I look at each other with matching unsure expressions. A two-room suite? I mean, it’s not like we’d be sharing a bedroom, or anything. And we are both adults.
I shrug and nod to let him know I’m okay with it. When he nods in return, I meet the concierge’s eyes.
“How much more is the suite?”
She grins at me, moves her gaze to Emerson, then meets my eyes again. “For Twila Greene and The Emerson Effect? I’ll upgrade you at no charge.”
