We have all night, remember?
Oh, Alice, how I wish I could forget.
Chapter 9
ALICE
I don’t bother asking Ethan about his phone call. Not because he obviously wasn’t speaking to Tino. Mostly, I don’t ask him about it because I’m afraid he’ll say, “That was my girlfriend.” Or whatever he may call her: my woman, my lady, my girl, my love.
I shudder at the thought of him saying any of those phrases.
I can’t deny my physical attraction to him, but it’s strictly that: physical. The number of similarities between Ethan and Edward’s personalities are enough to make me wonder whether coming back to work at Forked this morning was a good idea.
First, there’s the need to have things done now.
Yes, I was the one who told Hank we could pick up the proofing cabinet today, but I did that to give Ethan some time to decide what he wanted to do, not because I was afraid someone else might snatch it up. The chances of that happening can’t be more than fifty-fifty. We probably could have waited until tomorrow morning to pick up the cabinet. If we’d done that, I may not have needed to come with Ethan.
But he insisted we had to pick up the cabinet today.
And now that Hank isn’t in the office, I have no way to contact him to ask if the cabinet is still there. Ethan and I may be staying the night in Poughkeepsie—in the same bed!—for no reason at all. Well, the only reason is to appease Ethan’s need to solve the proofing cabinet problem now.
Unless, of course, Ethan has another reason for insisting we stay the night. A reason he’s not sharing with me.
Nevertheless, his impatience reminds me way too much of the way Edward always needed me to help in the kitchen now. If I had to take a five-minute breather during a particularly hectic dinner rush, we would inevitably end up in a blowout argument after closing. In Edward’s opinion, if I wasn’t there for him precisely when he needed me, I might as well not be there at all.
Then, there’s the secretiveness.
For months, Edward kept the plans for his recent restaurant opening from me. And he never mentioned the brother he was basically estranged from was also his twin. But the most disturbing similarity between them has to be how they both seem reluctant to talk about each other.
I assumed, when I learned about Ethan’s achievements, that Edward’s reluctance stemmed from his egotistical nature. And it’s entirely possible Ethan’s hesitation to talk about Edward has everything to do with the fact that I’m his brother’s ex-girlfriend. But I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than that; some secret I haven’t quite figured out yet.
Nevertheless, I keep my suspicions to myself as Ethan and I eat our food in relative silence. After dinner, I try not to read too much into the disappointed expression in his eyes when I insist I’d rather go to sleep than stay and have another drink or dessert. And as we walk like condemned prisoners toward the elevators, I can’t help but feel as if this entire day is an undeniable testament to why I need to set boundaries with Ethan.
The silent elevator ride to the fourth floor is nothing short of painful. But watching him struggle to scan the key card fast enough to disengage the lock on our room is excruciating. He’s nervous.
What the hell is going on here?
“Let me try,” I say, reaching for the card, but he snatches it away impatiently.
“There’s something wrong with the card,” he insists, once again sliding it too quickly.
“It’s not the card,” I say, leaving the accusation of user error hanging in the air.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve used a hotel card key,” he says, bristling at my implication.
I take a step back to put some distance between us. “I could murder someone right now, and you’re the only person here, so you’d better open that door right now.”
He chuckles despite his frustration, then he finally hands me the card. “Have at it, love.”
I snatch the key out of his hand. “Can you please stop with the love stuff?”
“The what?” he says, moving closer to observe my technique as I slide the card into the slot, wait half a second, and slide it out.
The tiny light turns from red to green, and I hastily shove the door open, tumbling into the room to put some space between us again.
“Impressive,” he mutters, following me inside. “Is there anything the great Alice Lopez can’t do?”
“If you think my card-sliding skills are good, wait until you see me tie my very own shoes.”
He smiles and shakes his head as he watches me from just inside the door. “Now this I have to see.”
I roll my eyes as I lay my phone on top of the nightstand. “Can we go to sleep now?”
He laughs as he walks to the foot of the bed. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t sleep on the right side of the bed.”
“Excuse me? Am I still on the clock? Because I’m pretty sure my shift ended about two hours ago, so you can’t boss me around anymore.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m not bossing you around. I’m telling you I have to sleep closest to the door, you know, in case someone comes in while we’re sleeping…so I can protect you.”
I laugh out loud, maybe a bit too loud. “I’ve been living by myself since culinary school. Well, other than my current stint at my parents’ house. But the point is, I don’t need a big, strong man to protect me.”
He bites his lip as he considers this, as if he’s debating how he should respond, then he shakes his head as he seems to come to a conclusion. He strides toward me and, without any warning whatsoever, scoops me up in his arms as if he’s King Kong and I’m his captive.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, as he carries me to the left side of the bed, but he seems unable to speak from the exertion. “Put me down!” I demand.
And he does just that, dropping me not-so-gently onto the left side of the mattress.
He smiles down at me, looking very pleased with himself. “I sleep on the right side.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, popping up from the bed.
He sits on the right side of the bed and begins removing his shoes. “I don’t sleep on the left side of the bed.”
I snatch my phone off the nightstand, my heart thumping wildly from the adrenaline. “I Tarzan. I sleep right side. No sleep left side. Is that seriously the explanation you’re giving me?”
He lies back and rests his hands on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling. “Tarzan wake early tomorrow. Tarzan sleep now,” he says in a caveman voice, which, quite frankly, sounds adorable in his British accent.
We stare at each other for a moment before we both burst into laughter.
Maybe it’s the stress of the day, but I find myself laughing for way longer than I should, crouching next to the bed with one hand on the floor to steady myself. When I finally gather my wits, I look up and find Ethan is sitting up now, staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.
I suddenly feel guilty I laughed so hard. Maybe he thinks I was laughing at him and not with him. But I resist the urge to apologize.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”