Wondering if she could get into her cabin to get a sweater, Rosalie shivered again. She didn’t have the key. Where was Alex? She’d been there a minute ago. Rosalie looked around, realizing how disoriented she was.
Something scratchy draped over her shoulders. Someone had cloaked her in a colorful wool blanket. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Alex and felt her hand pressing against her back.
“You looked cold,” Alex explained, lifting her beer bottle to her lips.
“I was. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Alex took another sip and settled herself on the stump next to Rosalie.
“I used to do this with Gran,” Rosalie said, hoping she wasn’t slurring her words.
“You used to get drunk around a campfire with Estelle?”
“Nooo,” Rosalie growled playfully. “She used to make a…” Rosalie gestured to the bonfire, the word on the tip of her tongue. “A fire, you know, behind the building, and we’d roast things on it and she’d tell stories. I was th’ best s’more maker…” Rosalie trailed off, head tipping forward more than she intended.
Malcolm came around with another bottle of wine, topping off anyone’s glass who raised it as he passed. Rosalie wasn’t sure she should lift hers but found it was being filled before she decided.
“Malc,” Alex said.
Rosalie looked over to see Alex giving her brother a warning look.
Malcolm feigned innocence. “She needs a vacation,” he said, defensive.
“A vacation, not a blackout,” Alex shot back.
Uncomfortable with Alex and Malcolm arguing over her, Rosalie tipped toward Alex. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a li’l tisspy—tipsy,” she corrected.
“It’s all in good fun,” Malcolm agreed, daring to splash a few more sips into Rosalie’s glass.
As soon as he moved on to the next person, Alex turned to Rosalie. “You don’t have to drink that.”
“I’ll be fine,” Rosalie said, trying to keep things light with a giggle.
Alex eyed her skeptically before looking back toward the campfire and the rowdy men singing and dancing around it. Rosalie felt herself sway to the side unintentionally. Maybe she was drunker than she thought, but she was able to right herself.
She took a few more sips and felt herself listing the other way, overcorrecting. She swerved dangerously close to Alex’s shoulder, and Alex seemed wary. Alex refocused her attention on Rosalie.
“Can I have a sip?” she asked, gesturing to Rosalie’s glass.
“Sure.”
Rosalie handed Alex the glass with more fling than she intended, almost dowsing Alex’s shirt in wine.
As Alex lifted the fingerprint-stained glass to her lips, Rosalie frowned.
“I thought you didn’t like wine.”
Alex said nothing, only took a long sip, pouring half the glass down her throat before lowering it.
“Are you stealing my wine ’cause you think I’m too drunk?” Rosalie said, half accusatory, half amused.
Alex said nothing, gaze boring into the fire before taking another sip.
“Allllexx,” Rosalie drawled. “Are you stealing my wine ’cause I’m drunk?”
Alex drained the glass, cringing as the last of the wine slid down her throat. She set the glass on the ground, securing the base with her foot so it wouldn’t fall over. “Yep.”
“I’m not gonna puke or anything.”
“You better not,” Alex said.
“I’m fine.”
As she spoke, she tilted too far forward and found her face smushed against Alex’s muscular, tanned shoulder. She tasted salt and realized her mouth was slightly open. She’d accidentally licked Alex’s shoulder. Embarrassed, she tried to sit up, feeling her head spin as she tipped too far back and was caught by one of her new friends whose name she couldn’t remember.
Alex sighed, standing. “I think I need to get you to bed.”
“But I’m having so much funnn,” Rosalie whined.
“A little too much fun,” Alex muttered. “C’mon, Rosie.”
This time, Rosalie was almost certain she’d heard it. Alex pulled her to her feet off the stump as she slurred, “Di’joo jus’ call me Rosie?”
“No,” Alex said, draping Rosalie’s arm over her shoulder, catching the blanket as it slid off.
“Thanks for the blanket,” Rosalie slurred. “I was getting cold.”
“That’s why I brought it to you,” Alex said, steering Rosalie toward their cabin.
“You’re so nice,” Rosalie pouted. “Why are you so nice to me?”
Alex let out a sad chuckle and let the crunching gravel and fading noise of the bonfire fill the silence. They walked a ways, the silence heightening the buzzing and spinning in Rosalie’s head.
“Where are you taking me?” Rosalie asked as they neared the cabin.
“I’m putting you to bed.”
“Oh.” Rosalie sighed. “Thanks, bijou.”
Alex leaned forward, laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Rosalie asked, worried she’d said something embarrassing. “That’s what Malcolm called me, and it sounded nice, and you’re nice, so I called you bijou.”
Alex chuckled at Rosalie’s drunk reasoning, stopping as they came to their front door. “Bijou means dainty and feminine, Rosie.”
Rosalie spun to point her finger at Alex’s face, nearly poking her in the eye.
“You just called me Rosie.”
Alex took Rosalie’s finger in her fist, lowering it as she pushed the door open. “Maybe I did.”
“No one calls me Rosie anymore,” Rosalie mumbled as Alex ushered her inside with a soft hand at her back. “Not since I was a little kid. I used to hate it.”
“Do you hate it now?”
Rosalie turned and looked Alex up and down while she decided if she liked Alex calling her Rosie. Alex closed the door and set the key on the glass credenza, slipping out of her shoes while Rosalie studied her.
“No,” Rosalie decided.
Alex gave her a rare smile. Rosalie was so disarmed by it, she accidentally dropped the blanket she’d managed to hold as they walked from the fire to the cabin.
“Let’s get you to bed, Rosie,” Alex said, leaning down to pick up the blanket.
“Okay, bijou.”
Rosalie meant to giggle at the joke of calling Alex bijou again but found herself captivated by Alex’s face. She was so near, so warm, and the taste of her salty shoulder lingered on Rosalie’s lips.
Rosalie found herself tipping forward toward Alex’s face and realized halfway there she intended to kiss Alex. On the mouth. With her mouth.
As her lips slid against Alex’s, she leaned farther forward, relief and excitement flooding her body, overtaking the effect of the wine. She felt uncorked, as though she’d been desperate to kiss Alex for weeks. She was as surprised as Alex seemed to be. It was as though a giant beam of light pointed toward Alex, illuminating her for the sake of making Rosalie aware she should have been pursuing her all along.
Rosalie shuffled closer, hands coming up to Alex’s head, fingers threading into her hair, as though she would tip Alex’s head to be able to drink from her more deeply. She hummed and stretched up onto her toes, giddy to be kissing in such a way, realizing what a romantic setup this weekend had been.
Alex put her hands tentatively on Rosalie’s waist, making Rosalie feel small and protected and desired. Her touch was so powerful, Rosalie fell farther forward, letting Alex support most of her weight.
When she needed air, she drew back for a minute, eager to see Alex’s face. Alex was staring at Rosalie intensely.
“You’re so pretty,” Rosalie slurred.
Alex gave a lopsided smile, and Rosalie shivered with delight. She leaned forward again, tilting her chin up to kiss Alex with even more fervor.
Her mind slipped through the door behind her, drawing her toward the bed, urging her to pull Alex in that direction. She was getting dizzy on her feet.
Rosalie tightened her grip on Alex’s head, then slid her hands down and wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck. She deepened their kisses, sliding her tongue forward. As she did, she thought perhaps she should slow her tongue down so she didn’t seem sloppy.
She pulled back. “Le’s go’n th’ bedroom,” she said, trying to make her voice low and sultry. She reached for Alex’s hand, fumbling before she found it. She tugged Alex toward the bedroom.
Alex’s feet stayed rooted where they were.
“I’m gonna sleep on the couch, Rosalie,” she said softly.
Rosalie glanced back, thrown off, then horrified. Had she misread Alex’s cues?
“Do you not like girls?” Rosalie asked, panicked she might have forced herself on a straight girl.
Alex dropped Rosalie’s hand and pulled her arm back toward her body, closing it around herself. “I do like girls.”
She stood there, biting her lip, rocking up on her feet a few times while Rosalie’s thoughts spun. Why couldn’t Alex explain herself? Why was Rosalie always left guessing?
Alex kept her gaze fixed on the floor, and Rosalie understood.
Alex did like girls, but she didn’t like Rosalie in that way.
“Oh. Okay,” Rosalie said, shrinking into herself, reeling from the rejection and the wine. “Sorry.”
She turned, shoulders hunching as she skulked into the bedroom, furiously embarrassed and wishing she hadn’t drunk so much. Alex had been right to take her last glass of wine from her. She couldn’t imagine what she might have done had she been more inebriated.
Rosalie closed the door before she realized her stuff was still out in the lounge area. She slipped back to get it and saw Alex making herself comfortable on the couch, then slid back into the bedroom and struggled out of her pants and shirt into her pajamas. She realized she’d intentionally packed her nicest pajamas because she knew Alex would see them. God, she was an idiot, wasn’t she? She hadn’t even realized she liked Alex, and now she’d drunkenly made a fool of herself and found out Alex only thought of her as a friend. The next day, she’d be cooped up in Alex’s truck for hours while they drove back to Ashhawk. Her stomach churned thinking about it.
She washed her face, accidentally splashing water everywhere and poking herself in the eye. She brushed her teeth, feeling the toothbrush jab the back of her gums with her sloppy arm. She fell into the bed, hoping she wasn’t so drunk she would snore. She pictured Alex out on the couch and buried herself under a pillow. Hazy images of the fire and Alex’s stoic, pitying face tormented her as she struggled toward sleep.
In the morning, she woke with a splitting headache and a burning stomach. She knew the heat outside would be more unbearable than usual. She checked her phone, remembering shortly after digging it out of her bag there was no service. She didn’t know the Wi-Fi password, so she showered and got dressed, avoiding checking on Alex as long as she could. She put on her favorite sundress—which she’d packed because she’d subconsciously wanted Alex to see it—and did her hair and makeup slowly. When she couldn’t find anything else with which to procrastinate, she ventured into the lounge area of the suite, surprised to find it empty. Alex had folded her blanket and placed it on top of her pillow. Perhaps there was a breakfast event she wasn’t aware of.
She dared to venture out into the morning sun, realizing as she did it was quite late. The sun was almost overhead, making the white gravel beneath her feet blinding. She put on her sunglasses but still had to squint. She walked toward the lobby, feeling every glass of wine in her dried and aching muscles crunch like the gravel under her feet.
Inside the lobby was a more subdued scene from the night before. It appeared many guests were resting or on a day excursion, and the few who lingered were sipping coffee and eating fruit and pastries slowly and with gentle conversation.
Malcolm walked over to Rosalie with his arm up as though he was going to draw her into a hug.
“Morning, bijou,” he said. It looked like he was about to say something else when he got pulled away by another guest who needed his attention.
Logan came up to fill the void, handing Rosalie a glass of ice water and two aspirin. “Rough morning?” he asked.
“You could say that.”
“If we can’t let our hair down here, it’s not worth coming,” he said, shaking his head as though he had a great flowing mane rather than a short, neatly styled cut.
Rosalie hummed, downing the pills with cold water, trying not to wince at how the chill shocked her system and sharpened the pain between her eyes.
“Alex asked me to drive you home,” Logan said, petting Rosalie’s arm in a gesture of exaggerated affection. “Let me know when you want to leave.”
Rosalie tried not to sputter into her water, choking on the ice and the realization that Alex had left without so much as an explanation or apology. The sting in her head warmed with the rest of her, her embarrassment igniting like a twig thrown into the bonfire the night before.
Alex wanted nothing to do with her anymore.
As Rosalie packed her belongings to slink back to Ashhawk, she realized how foolish her behavior the night before had been. There wasn’t a worse person to kiss than Alex. Shelley, perhaps, though Shelley might have laughed it off as a drunken prank or party game. But Alex knew it wasn’t a joke. Alex knew Rosalie had meant that kiss, and now they’d be forced to work together under a shroud of embarrassment and regret that was impossible to escape.
The ride back to Ashhawk seemed exponentially longer than the drive there. Logan tried to make polite conversation as he maneuvered the van onto the main road and sped toward Ashhawk, but Rosalie couldn’t muster the energy to return the favor. She blamed her hangover and tipped her head back, feigning sleep for most of the drive.
Alex’s truck was in the parking lot when Rosalie arrived. Rosalie slid out of the cab, relieved she could go hide in her room. She thanked Logan as profusely as her shame would allow, keeping her head down as she walked the few yards to her door. All she wanted was to be alone until Shelley had to leave for her diner shift.
She closed herself in her room, feeling her eyes stop aching now that she wasn’t blinded by the unforgiving desert sun. She dropped her bag, stepped out of her shoes, and cranked up her air conditioner. She poured herself a large cup of water and chugged it before flopping back on the bed. She stared up at the asbestos popcorn ceiling before flinging her arm over her eyes. She wanted to hide from everything. She’d been so desperate to get out of Ashhawk, yet she’d managed to mess up what was supposed to be a vacation.
It seemed the world didn’t want her to rest because her phone pinged in her bag on the floor. Rosalie groaned, annoyed. She dragged herself up from the mattress, rummaging through her bag to unearth the phone. There were a few texts from her mom, a voicemail from the main office number, and a few dozen emails.
She avoided replying to her mother, instead checking the message, which was a brief narration of Shelley’s quest for extra guest towels, culminating in the discovery of said towels and apology for calling her while she was out of town. Rosalie deleted the message and began scrolling through her inbox, deleting invitations to events in Philadelphia, a few Facebook notifications, and sale announcements from a handful of online retailers. Her finger hovered over an email from George Tackett from Shaylin Development from the previous afternoon. It seemed so long ago. The guilt and embarrassment Rosalie had endured since then had aged her.
This time, Rosalie didn’t delete the message like she had before. She opened it, skimming George’s message before clicking on the attached PDF of Shaylin Development Inc.’s offer for the Cocheta property. But before it could fully load, she changed her mind and pressed back to the home screen. She had too much on her plate to be able to process any business decisions.
Though she knew she would have little to say, Rosalie wished she could call Tara and talk. She was frustrated with herself, with Alex’s inexpressiveness, and with having to be in N
ew Mexico at all. Rosalie missed Tara’s companionship, but she knew she couldn’t call. It would ruin the placidness of their breakup. And Tara was the last person she should call to talk about Alex.
When it was time to drag herself into the lobby and relieve Shelley, Rosalie heaved herself up and slid back into her shoes, locking her door as she squinted against the light and heat. Shelley was sitting behind the desk flipping through a magazine, chewing gum. The only thing that would have made her look more ditzy would have been if she’d been twirling her hair. Still, she was reliable, and the guests liked her. Rosalie had been smart to hire such a pretty girl to work the desk.
Shelley looked up when she heard the bells on the door. She straightened, trying to hide the magazine. “Hey!” she said anxiously.
Rosalie lifted a hand to wave and indicate it was fine for Shelley to be reading a magazine.
“How was it?” Shelley asked, smiling.
Rosalie realized Shelley was one of the more cheerful people in Ashhawk. In comparison, she felt like an afternoon storm cloud.
“A disaster.”
“Oh, no…”
Rosalie leaned against the counter, slumping. “I’m so hungover.”
Shelley wrinkled her nose. “Hangovers are no fun.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes as though to say No kidding.
“Do you want something for it?” Shelley asked. “I’ve got aspirin.”
“I took some, thanks.”
Rosalie leaned even farther against the counter, propping her head up with her hand.
“Is something else wrong?”
Rosalie sighed. “I did something dumb.”
Shelley pouted. “Come sit and talk.” She gestured with her chin toward the couch.
Rosalie hesitated. She couldn’t tell Shelley about any of the things going wrong for her. Shelley had no idea Rosalie liked girls and no idea she and Alex had been with a bunch of gay men. Rosalie realized why Shelley was always cold toward Alex—Shelley must have known Alex liked girls and treated her accordingly. In a small town, the word would have gotten out. Rosalie knew it was too risky to say anything.
Hearts Inn Page 15