Page 9 of Burning Hearts
I stared at the screen until my thumbs figured out what to do.
Me:Audiences need exits.
A three-dot bubble appeared and pulsed.
Ellis:Copy. Counting tokens.
I slid my phone in my pocket and told myself I didn’t need to smile about a man agreeing with me about crowd control.
By noon, the front desk at The Langford Hotel had sprouted a tasteful stand with a card that read:
FINALIST RESIDENCY
Friday to Thursday
Standard Kings comped – Incidentals personal – Finalists clustered on the sixth floor.
Welcome & play fair.
I didn’t need the card because I knew the policy by heart. Tansy Langford loved rules that sounded like hospitality. A housekeeping cart whirred past like a polite tank, and I made my way to the elevator.
Seconds later, I was on the sixth floor, walking toward my room as Ellis turned the corner with a suitcase that looked heavier than its wheels could forgive. He was still in TV black, collar open, hair doing that thing where it tries to be obedient.
He clocked me.
Something in his eyes said: I come in peace.
I was surprised to see him on this floor. After all, he was the nephew of Tansy Langford, the owner of the hotel. And one of my friends at The Peach Ball had mentioned that his aunt had upgraded him to the penthouse floor.
“Magnolia Suite to Standard King?” I asked.
“Downsizing,” he said. “My days as a terrace person are officially over.”
“Welcome to six,” I said. “Hope you won’t mind slumming it down here with us, but the rooms are still pretty nice.”
The truth was, even the standard rooms at The Langford were opulent. The bed was the most comfortable I’d ever slept on in my life, and a quick Google search taught me the price of the mattress was twelve grand.
For one bed.
We walked in the same direction as the housekeeping cart cut the hallway from two lanes to one. When the gap got narrow, I put my hand on his forearm and pivoted him half a step to the right so the cart could easily pass.
“We’re not flirting,” he said to the housekeeper.
“Right,” I added, “we’re just avoiding OSHA.”
“Hot,” Ellis said, dead serious.
Then he smiled like he’d been caught stealing second base.
At his door—612—the suitcase didn’t want to cooperate with the carpet. Without even thinking about it, I took it for the last two feet. Ellis let me.
Our door locks beeped in sync.
From the elevator, Tansy’s voice floated down the hall. “Darling! Magnolia farewell photo for socials?”
Miss Pearl appeared as if she’d been paged by manners. “Not in the hall, sugar. And no nephew photos where people are trying to rest.”
Tansy’s smile tightened like a bow. “Of course.”
