Page 7 of Room 810

He didn’t look convinced. “Right… Well, if anyone needs to get back to the mainland before it hits tomorrow, there’s one last flight late tonight. Make sure they’re on it.”

“Of course. I’ll check in with our guests to let them know.” I watched as Miguel followed the last guest up the stairs and wedged himself into the driver’s seat, joking around with them in his booming voice.

Since I had a few minutes to spare until Gabe showed up, I made my way behind the front desk and checked who we had as guests, to see if anyone might have health risks or who might be concerned about the storm. Most of them were checking out this afternoon anyway, with no new guests arriving until after the storm had passed and flights were running again. We had one long-term rental of a cabin at the back, Phil, but he’d made it clear he didn’t intend to leave for any reason, possibly ever. He kept to himself mostly. I’d always wondered what he was hiding from, but I made it a point never to ask my guests personal questions. It was the fastest way to make them clam up.

At nine o’clock on the nose, in walked Gabe. He walked with his spine perfectly straight, hands at his sides gripping the hem of his shirt for dear life. I bit down on the laugh that wanted to escape. Oh dear, this poor alpha needed to relax. Fate was right to drop him on my doorstep.

He walked over stiffly, then reached up and nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger. “I’m ready,” he said.

Ready for what? To fill in your tax returns? Get a root canal, maybe?I thought, but I didn’t say it. “Great! Why don’t you come with me.” Instead of taking him over to the basket weaving class I had originally planned, I led the way to my private cabin.

I walked through the front door and headed toward my bedroom, but when I turned around, Gabe was nowhere to be seen. “Um, Gabe?” I called, heading back the way I’d come, and I found him standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“This is not your craft space,” he muttered, glancing around my sparsely furnished living room. “Is it?”

“Obviously not.” I strolled back over to him and took his hand. His palm was a little damp, and he jumped at the physical contact, completely out to sea about how to react, but his fingers tightened on mine on instinct. “Come,” I instructed.

When he laid eyes on my bed, blankets still mussed from when I woke up hours ago, his knees locked, and he refused to walk any farther. “Wha—why are we here?” he stuttered. His eyes were wide, dodging between me and the bed. “I think you may have the wrong impression about me.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re obviously uncomfortable in a t-shirt, and if you can’t relax, you’ll never have fun. I thought I might have something more suited to you.” I pulled open my closet and started tossing hangers onto the bed for him to choose from.

“Y-you’re offering me your clothes?” he asked, a touch of wonder in his voice. “Why would you do that?”

“Duh. Look at you.” He glanced down in confusion. “Look at your hands,” I said more specifically, bringing his attention to where his fists were clenched, his knuckles white. “You need to loosen up, and if this is what it takes, I don’t mind. They’re just clothes.” I held up a teal silk tunic. “How about this? It feels like water against your skin.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “While I appreciate the offer, I can’t imagine you have anything my style.”

I snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he grumbled. “I wear what anyone in society would wear. And you wear…that.” He waved a hand over my body.

I refused to take offense at his barely veiled insult. “Ahh, but we aren’t in ‘society’ here, are we.” I brought a swath of fabric over to him and held it under his chin. “How about a sarong? They’re terribly comfortable.”

He shook his head sharply. “No, I couldn’t possibly. I don’t even have underwear, other than the pair I arrived in.”

Tossing the sarong onto the growing pile of clothes on the bed, I giggled. “Who said anything about underwear?” But then, when his eyes darted down to my tight shorts, a question flitting through his mind, I quickly moved on, ignoring the way his gaze seared into me. “I think I have just the thing for you…” I shoved myself as far into my closet as I could in order to hide my blush. At the very back, I found what I was looking for. “Ah-ha!” I waved the short-sleeve button-up shirt in the air between us.

His eyes widened in shock. “It’s gray!” he gasped.

“Good to know you’re not colorblind,” I teased. He caught it when I tossed the shirt at him. “I have some khakis to go with it, though they might be a little tight on you, and I might even be able to find a tie…” I hadn’t worn the damn thing since my dad’s funeral three years ago. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing someone wear an outfit that I associated with so much grief, but the way Gabe clutched the shirt to his chest, like some kind of life raft, I felt that old tension ease a little.

“You go ahead and get changed in here. I’ll give you some privacy.”

When he emerged from my room five minutes later, he looked a little ridiculous, with the gray dress shirt paired with his bright red swim trunks, but at least there was a small smile on his lips. It changed his whole appearance. I might’ve even said he was handsome. “Better?” I asked.

“Much. You were right, the pants didn’t fit,” he explained unnecessarily, “but I feel a little more like myself now.”

“Good.” I peeked out the window at the position of the sun in the sky. “We’re probably too late for crafts, but I bet we can still make the dance class.”

Gabriel’s smile sagged a little. “Oh. I don’t know if I can—”

“Sure you can! Anyone can do it.” I refused to let him take all the fun out of this trip. It wasn’t even about the review he would write at the end; I just wanted to see him laugh a little. “Come on!” He almost seemed ready for me to take his hand this time, and I twined our fingers and dragged him down the boardwalk to the space we used for indoor activities, though calling it “indoors” was a stretch. It was little more than a patio covered with an awning to block the sun and rain.

As predicted, the crafts were just being put away, and a few of our guests were comparing their finished baskets and chatting at the side of what was being cleared to be a dancefloor.

“I’m starting to regret not going on that plantation tour,” Gabriel muttered, his guarded expression doing little to hide his anxiety. He was clearly way outside of his comfort zone.

I sidled up to him and bumped his shoulder with mine, and he peeked at me from the corner of his eye with curiosity. “You can trust me, you know,” I told him. “I’m a pro at having fun, and I’m telling you right now… this is going to be ablast.”

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