Moon Over Miami: A Romantic Comedy

by Jane Graves

  "I dropped my keys. Hold this." He handed Liz the umbrella, and she held it over both of them as he crouched down. He looked under the car and all around the storm drain.

  They were nowhere to be seen.

  But that made no sense. They had to be somewhere. There was a grate over the drain, which should have stopped his keys from falling into it.

  Unless, of course, they landed exactly the wrong way.

  With a creeping sense of foreboding, he kept looking, trying to postpone admitting the truth, until finally he couldn't any longer.

  They'd washed down the storm drain.

  He stood up and took the umbrella from Liz. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he guided her to door leading to the lobby of his building and went inside. When he made no move to go up the stairs, she looked up at him questioningly.

  "My keys went down the storm drain," he said.

  Liz looked at him dumbly. "What?"

  "I dropped them when I was helping you out of the car."

  "But there's a grate over the drain."

  "I know," Mark said, cursing his luck. "I don't get it either. They must have landed just right."

  “Or wrong. Can't we fish them out?"

  "As fast as the water is moving, they're already halfway to the Atlantic by now."

  "I'm assuming you're not one of those guys who keeps a key under his welcome mat," Liz said. "Any old criminal knows that ruse, right?"

  "Right."

  “Okay. Just so I have this straight, are you saying that unless one of us knows how to pick a lock, we can't get into your condo?”

  "That's right."

  "So what do we do now?"

  He didn't know. He only knew he was standing with Liz on one side of a locked door with his king-sized bed and nirvana on the other. Was there any way for this night to get any worse? Any way at all?

  He grabbed his phone. "There's no management on site after hours, but I can call the emergency number. With luck there'll be somebody who can let us in."

  They sat on a nearby bench and Mark dialed the number. As expected, his call flipped to voice mail and he left a message. When five minutes passed and nobody returned the call, he called again. Got voice mail again.

  He let out a sigh of dejection. "I wonder why they even call that an emergency number if nobody's going to get back to you."

  "It's okay," Liz said. "Really. We can just wait a while and then go back to my apartment."

  "And what should we drive to get there?"

  "What do you mean? We can just—" She slumped with dismay. "Oh."

  "House key, car key—same ring. I do have a spare, though. Guess where it is?"

  "Inside your apartment?"

  He dropped his head to his hands. "God, what a mess."

  "Hey, don't sweat it. This is no big deal."

  "No big deal?" he said, looking up again. "I wanted this night to be perfect, and look what happened."

  "Nah. Perfection is boring. This is worth the story."

  "Huh?"

  "Whenever something like this happens, you have to live through it, but then you also have a great story you can tell for the rest of your life. The crazier the event, the better the story."

  That was a nice sentiment, but the only story Mark wanted either of them telling about tonight was how wonderful their "first date" had been, but it looked as if it was going to be more Three Stooges than Love Story.

  "No," he said suddenly. "I'm not taking this lying down."

  "What?"

  "I promise you, Liz. This night is not lost."

  Mark slapped his palms against his soggy thighs and stood up, grabbed his phone and started Googling.

  * * *

  For the next few minutes, Mark did so much poking around on his phone that Liz was sure his fingertips were rubbed raw. She thought she was a pro with a phone keyboard, but he left her in the dust. After several minutes, he returned to sit next to her, telling her an Uber car was on the way. By the time it arrived a few minutes later, the pounding rain had subsided to a heavy drizzle.

  After they climbed into the backseat, Liz took out her phone. "Let me text Sherri to see if Bible study is over yet."

  "Not necessary."

  "Oh, yeah it is. I'm not walking in on that again."

  "We won't."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because," Mark said, "we're not going back to your apartment."

  He leaned over the seat and gave the driver instructions so quietly Liz couldn't hear what he said, then sat back with a smug expression.

  "So are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked him.

  "Nope. It's a surprise."

  A few minutes later, the driver got on I-95. When they passed by Coconut Grove, she said, "We're heading toward downtown."

  "It appears so."

  "So is that where we're going? Downtown?"

  "Looks that way, doesn't it?"

  "Are we or aren't we going downtown?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes we are, or yes we're not?"

  "One of the two."

  Liz's mouth twisted with irritation. "Thanks for clarifying that for me."

  "Are you always this nosy?"

  "Uh…have you met me?"

  Mark just smiled.

  "Oh! I know what's going on here! You're an evil genius and you're kidnapping me and taking me to your lair." She leaned in and kissed his neck. "Mmm. Just imagine all the terrible things you're going to have to do to me to make me talk."

  "I don't have to do terrible things to make you talk. That comes naturally."

  She jerked away from him. "Mark! You're driving me crazy!"

  "You're already crazy."

  "Oh, no. That's just routine crazy. You haven't seen anything yet." Liz looked at the driver. "Hey! Where are we going?"

  "Sorry, ma'am," he said, looking in the rearview mirror. "I've been instructed not to tell you that."

  Liz flashed him one of her trademark sunny smiles. "There's a big tip waiting for you if you do."

  "There's a bigger tip waiting for you if you don't," Mark said.

  Liz sat back in her seat and glared at him. "Oh, never mind. You're impossible."

  "Patience is a virtue."

  "Screw patience. I'm more of an instant gratification kind of girl."

  Mark smiled again but wouldn't budge.

  It wasn't long before they'd passed most of the way through downtown, and the car still wasn't stopping. Then the driver exited 95 and got onto 395, and Liz came to attention. A few minutes later they were on the MacArthur Causeway. And at the end of that causeway…

  "South Beach? We're going to South Beach?"

  She felt a buzzy excitement in her stomach, which multiplied a few minutes later when the driver exited the causeway and turned onto Ocean Drive. On one side of the road was a row of South Beach shops and hotels, and on the other was the Atlantic Ocean. Night had fallen, and the bright neon lights of the Art Deco District shone in the distance.

  But what were they doing there?

  Her question was answered a few seconds later when the driver turned onto a brick drive outside a beautifully restored hotel, and Liz sucked in a breath of pure rapture.

  The Cavanaugh Hotel?

  Rich people stayed at the Cavanaugh. Filthy rich people. And celebrities. And people who were famous just for being famous, who were the most famous people of all. She was pretty sure even presidents had stayed there. It combined a South Beach vibe with old world charm, and Liz thought it was quite possibly the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.

  "The Cavanaugh?" she said. "I love this hotel!"

  "You've stayed here?"

  "No way. I’d never be able to afford a place like this. Sherri and I were walking along Ocean Drive one day and ducked in there to use the bathroom. Did you know the ladies' room has cloth towels and bidets?"

  "I got us a room for the night. What do you think?"

  She wound her arms around Mark's neck. "I think you're
amazing," she said, and gave him a kiss that said so. "It has to be expensive, though. Really expensive."

  "Don't care."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Too many things have gone wrong tonight," Mark said. "From this moment on, everything's going to be perfect."

  After he paid the driver, the doorman opened their door. They stepped out, and he started to shut it behind them.

  "Wait!" Mark said.

  He opened the door again, climbed into the backseat, and grabbed the sack from Dildeaux.

  "Whew," Liz said. "That was close."

  Mark handed it to her. "Hold onto it while I check in. Do not let go of it."

  She smiled. "Not a chance."

  Ten minutes later, they'd checked in and were heading to their room. When Mark opened the door, Liz nearly fainted. Room? This wasn't just a room.

  It was a one-bedroom suite.

  Quirky art deco furniture and accessories filled the living room and dining room, which were framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Atlantic. They walked through shuttered doors into a bedroom, where the king-size bed was piled with gorgeous linens that probably cost more than she made in a month. And the bathroom had a rain shower and a Jacuzzi tub for two. On the back of the door, two big, fluffy terrycloth robes hung on vintage brass hooks.

  "I don't believe it," she said. "It's…it's…"

  "Do you like it?"

  "Like it? I love it!" She turned a slow circle. "Okay, this is the place where they charge you to breathe the air."

  "Breathe all you want to. Tonight's on me."

  "You freaked out at Sunrise Square, and now you bring me here?"

  "Funny how things change, isn't it?"

  She looked up at him with a sly smile. "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me into bed."

  "That's what I like about you, Liz. You're a smart woman."

  Mark leaned in to kiss her, when all the sudden she caught sight of herself in the dresser mirror.

  "Aaargh!"

  Mark's backed away, his eyes flying open wide. "What?"

  "Look at me! I look like I crawled out of a swamp!"

  Mark let out a breath. "You scared the hell out of me!"

  "No. I looked in the mirror and scared the hell out of me."

  Her hair hung in skinny strings along her face, and she had mascara raccoon rings under her eyes. Her clothes were only half dry, so they were sticking to various parts of her body like wadded-up crepe paper.

  "Stop worrying," Mark said. "You look beautiful."

  "I know you think you're supposed to say that, but…" She waved her hand toward the mirror. "Really, Mark? Really?"

  He took her by the shoulders. "Let me explain something. I'm usually a very patient man. Always have been. I pride myself on it. But right about now, I'm pretty much at the end of my rope. I want you naked. Now."

  Naked. That meant she had to stand in front of him and wiggle out of these wet jeans that were stuck to her legs like Saran wrap. She wasn't the most graceful person on her best day, so how was she supposed to look sexy and alluring doing that?

  Mark leaned in again for a kiss. Liz held up a finger. "Hold that thought."

  "What?"

  She eased out of his grip and backed away. "I need to freshen up a little."

  "No, you don't."

  "Oh, but I do. Five minutes."

  "Liz—"

  "Okay, maybe ten minutes, but that's all. I promise."

  Then she disappeared into the bathroom.

  * * *

  Mark flopped on the sofa, feeling as if he'd been on a roller coaster tonight, going up toward the height of ecstasy, then down to the depths of frustration.

  When he booked the room on the Cavanaugh Hotel website, he scrolled down past the Silver rooms with king beds, past the Gold rooms with an additional sitting area, and headed straight for the Diamond Suite. When he saw how much it cost for the privilege of staying in it, he nearly choked. But then he remembered how Liz told him it was time he acted like a successful man, to spend his money on things that were important to him. And nothing was more important than turning this mess of an evening into a romantic getaway that put a smile on her face. This was the most elegant hotel within fifty miles, so this was where he wanted to take her.

  He heard a noise coming from the bathroom. A blow dryer? Why didn't she understand that he didn't care if her hair was wet or dry? Hell, right about then she could go bald and he wouldn't give a damn. Then he heard water running, and his frustration ran wild all over again. The Jacuzzi tub? She was taking a bath? Good Lord—how long was that going to take?

  Four long minutes later, she turned the water off. He heard a little splashing. With a sigh of irritation, he picked up a magazine off the coffee table, only to toss it down a few seconds later.

  Then he heard his text tone. He grabbed his phone. Liz?

  Why are you sitting out there?

  He replied, I’m waiting for you.

  A few seconds later came her reply. The wait is over. Come here.

  Mark's heart turned a somersault. He swallowed hard and stood up, composed himself, and walked to the bathroom door. He turned the knob and slowly pushed it open. And what he saw made every nerve in his body hum with anticipation.

  The only illumination the room came from a pair of sconces that gave off a warm, golden light and cast an ethereal glow around the room. The Jacuzzi tub was full of bubbles. And in the midst of them, like an earthbound angel, sat Liz.

  She stared up at him, her hair swept into a loose knot at the crown of her head, with slender red tendrils spiraling down her cheeks that shimmered in the candlelight. Bubbles clung to her chest like a sparkling white evening gown, dipping low into the tantalizing hollow between her breasts. She met his gaze with a sweet smile that was more enticing to him than any come-hither stare could possibly have been. Jut the sight of her in that tub made his heart beat so wildly he seriously wondered if her body could withstand the assault.

  "Bubbles?" Mark said.

  "You wouldn't believe what's in that cabinet over there." She swished her hands through the water. "There's room in here for two."

  Yes.

  With his eyes never leaving hers, he unbuttoned his cuffs, then the length of his shirt. When he pulled it off and tossed it aside, a slow, sexy smile spread across her face.

  "Very nice," she murmured. "Keep going."

  He loved the sound of her voice, tempting, taunting, and full of desire. He unbuttoned his slacks, then paused. "Don't laugh."

  Her smile dimmed. "Uh—Mark? Those are not words a woman wants to hear when a man is removing his pants."

  "Just apologizing in advance."

  When he finally took them off, it was a good thing he'd warned her not to laugh, because he could tell she was on the verge of it. Why had he worn these damned purple boxers? It looked as if Barney the Dinosaur had crawled into his pants.

  Liz grinned. "Eddie talked you into those, didn't he?"

  "Yes," Mark said with disgust. "He said bold colors, even if they're hidden, give a man confidence. I think he needs to stick to the outer man."

  "I like them," Liz said. "Can I see how they look on the bathroom floor?"

  Oh, yeah. No problem there. He'd throw them out the sixth story window if that was what it took to get in that bathtub with Liz. It had been a hell of an evening, but if it could end like this, every single second had been worth it.

  Then he saw something he hadn't noticed before. Liz had hung up her jeans to dry on the silver fire sprinkler head near the door.

  "Hold on," he said. "That's not a good idea."

  "What?"

  "Hanging those up there. I read once about a bride who hung her wedding dress on one of those and set it off. Made a huge mess." He laughed a little. "That's the last thing we need tonight."

  He reached for the jeans. Pulled them down.

  And set off the sprinkler.

  He threw up his arm to ward off
the spray, only to realize that was like getting hit by Niagara Falls and expecting not to get wet. In a shockingly short period of time, it drenched the floor, the walls, the sinks, the towels, the bathrobes. Everything in the room, including the two of them, was soaked.

  "Mark!" Liz shouted. "Oh, my God! Do something!"

  He was doing something. He was trying like hell not to drown.

  Then the fire alarm went off, and all hell broke loose.

  13

  Mark was aghast at how much carnage one sprinkler head could cause. In the time it took him and Liz to throw on dripping terrycloth robes, it flooded the bathroom, most of the bedroom, and was seeping into the living room. A minute later the management arrived. They determined it wasn't an actual fire and shut off both the sprinkler and the fire alarm, but that didn't stop three firefighters and a pair of cops from bursting through the door. Even though Mark swore it was an accident, the cops looked at them as if they were the reincarnation of Bonnie and Clyde, then started throwing around words like "vandalism" and "malicious mischief" and "criminal intent."

  Mark couldn't believe it. Criminal intent?

  Apparently this kind of thing had happened at this hotel before, only it had been a very expensive prank by a couple of teenagers, and their parents had paid the price. Mark told them he'd never pulled any kind of prank, even when he was a kid. Then he thought about the tire thing. But that wasn't really vandalism, right? That was Liz coming up with an evil but brilliant plan. He only hoped they never found out about her history of juvenile delinquency, or they'd toss both of them in jail and throw away the key.

  But eventually the hotel manager believed them when they said it really was an accident. Because the damage wasn't that extensive and it would be taken care of by insurance, they wouldn't be filing charges. However, he did suggest that perhaps it would be best if sir and madam found other accommodations for the night.

  Mark and Liz had no choice but to put their newly-doused clothes back on, reminding him just what a miserable experience it was to walk around wet. A few minutes later they were sitting on monogrammed Cavanaugh Hotel towels in the back of another Uber car. Since it was almost eleven o'clock and Bible study would have ended long ago, they decided just to give up and go back to Liz's apartment.