“Okay, then maybe a professional coffee taster slash ice cream taster. What would you do?”
“Travel blogger, remember? You’ll be doing this with me, traveling to taste all your coffees,” Nessie tells me.
“I’d be a Lego designer,” Cooper says.
“What about you, Ty?” Nessie asks.
He shakes his head. “The hotels are all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
Something is comforting in his answer. Maybe it’s the idea of security because he doesn’t want more or different, or the fact they mean so much to him because it’s a huge part of his family’s history and that holds significance to him, but regardless, I find comfort in his answer.
25
Tyler
“This is it,” Chloe says, looking across the line of tollbooths as traffic comes to a stop before we cross the Golden Gate Bridge.
The sun is beginning to set, making the sky appear almost purple. The vibe in the car has been easy today. It’s amazing how in the short period, so much—seemingly everything—has changed, including me. I consider those first hours of our trip when I was debating staying up all night to bomb it to Washington and how all the details and stops and luggage seemed inconvenient and burdensome. And now that only a few days are remaining, I’m dreading the end.
“How many days do we have here?” Vanessa asks, making me question if her thoughts are in the same lane of melancholy and denial as mine.
“Tomorrow’s our only full day,” Chloe says, facing the window as we inch closer to the tollbooth.
“One day?” Disappointment is apparent in Vanessa’s tone, heard louder than her words. “What time does your event start?”
“Seven. But you guys don’t have to go. With us having so little time here, if you guys want to go hang out, I will totally understand.”
“No, we’ll definitely be there,” Vanessa says.
“Just think about it. You don’t have to answer now. Also, if you guys want to do your own thing in the morning since it’s our last city, that’s completely cool with me. I think I’m going to hike to the bridge and then try to see the pier in the afternoon.”
I moved my meetings up to begin at seven in an attempt to get off early tomorrow. I’m hopeful things can get wrapped up by noon so I can spend the afternoon with Chloe, but after how things went in San Diego, I’m reluctant to even mention the possibility.
“Why are you hiking to the bridge? Aren’t we about to cross it?” Cooper asks.
“Yeah, but you can walk on it,” Chloe tells him. “It sounds like it’s a nice hike. Most of it’s along the bay.”
“What about Alcatraz?” Coop suggests.
Chloe shakes her head. “You have to book reservations in advance.”
“I thought you did?” Vanessa asks. “Didn’t you forward the ticket info to me?” I catch sight of Vanessa reaching for her phone in my rearview mirror.
Chloe tips her chin upward, closing her eyes. “They were for the wrong date.”
“Wrong date?” Vanessa asks.
“We’d planned to get here last night, originally.”
The reminder packs a wallop of a punch. We’d left Austin late and stayed in Odessa overnight, causing everything to get pushed back by a day, including arriving here in San Francisco.
Our conversation in the hotel reception back in Texas plays in my mind, the way she’d tried broaching her frustrations for changing our plans, and my reaction to tell her it didn’t matter.
The queue of cars we’re in moves forward, and when we reach the tollbooth, I shove the money toward the man, my impatience rumbling like an afternoon storm in the South. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask her.
She glances at me, a shade of hesitancy across her features that I haven’t seen in days. I haven’t missed it.
I reach to hit my call button on the dash, but Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get us tickets. It’s totally fine. We only have one day, and Alcatraz takes several hours, so it would be difficult to make it all fit.”
My thoughts turn restless as annoyance creeps over me, guilt and regret working their best to deny culpability and refute that she should have told me. We could have canceled a day in Vegas and made it here.
“This is amazing,” Chloe says, her attention focused on the bridge, ducking her head in an attempt to see the high towers and cables.
“We should go and do something tonight,” Vanessa suggests. “It’s not that late. Even if we just take a walk or something.”
Chloe brushes her hand over mine, the bridge and bay outside her window forgotten as her eyes rove over my face. “It’s not a big deal.”
I blow out a breath, knowing she’s right and struggling to admit the fact. Her fingers weave with mine.
“We’re staying by Fisherman’s Wharf,” Chloe says. “Let’s check-in, and we can see how everyone’s feeling and maybe go down to the Pier 39.”
“Yes!” Vanessa answers, ducking so she can see something that she points out to Cooper.
“I expected more hills,” Cooper says.
I chuckle. “Just wait. You’ll find plenty of big-ass hills here.” I gently squeeze Chloe’s fingers, releasing a breath and the tension that threatens to spoil our limited time.
She grins, reading me like an open book.
The hotel looks out over the ocean, a pristine view that I know will steal Chloe’s attention during our short time here.
“It smells good up here,” Vanessa says, taking a deep breath from the patio we’re gathered on, picking at the charcuterie board that welcomed us to the room.
“You’re smelling the Italian restaurant over there,” Cooper says, leaning forward.
Vanessa rolls her eyes. “It’s the sea air.”
Cooper’s forehead creases with disbelief. “Pretty sure it’s the garlic bread.”
Chloe chuckles, turning to face us from the rail she’s leaning against. “Forget the garlic bread. We need to go find some sourdough.”
“Yes!” Vanessa says, nodding.
Chloe shivers as she takes a step closer to me. “I need to change though. It’s cold tonight.” It’s not that cold, but compared to Vegas and the other cities we’ve been in, it feels chilly tonight.
I glance toward the living room where the trail of employees is starting to leave. “Our things should be in the rooms.” I open the glass door that leads into the small division between the dining room that sits eight and the living room.
“This might be my favorite hotel,” Vanessa says as the others follow me inside. “The chandeliers and the beige colors with dark floors and wood… It’s beautiful.”
“I like this one, too,” Chloe says. “But I really loved the New Orleans hotel.”
“Vegas was definitely the winner,” Cooper says. “There was a water fountain in our living room.”
Chloe laughs. “Vegas might be my favorite, too.” She glances at me. “The views there were pretty flawless.” Behind her benign words, I hear the insinuation, and they paint a mental picture of her up against the glass window, bringing a wave of desire to crash over me.