Page 97 of Oh, Puck!
I brace myself for a lonely night. A minibar Snickers chocolate and some spreadsheet work. Maybe a very aggressive bubble bath to work out my feelings, or maybe just to ease that burning ache that's been simmering between my legs ever since the night ofthree times.
The door swings open, and I stop dead in the frame.
Oh.
Oh, wow.
The room glows gold in the lamplight, curtains drawn back to show the city skyline glittering beyond the window.
There's a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the desk, and beside it, a tray of chocolates. They're the expensive kind too, dark and glossy, arranged like a jeweler laid them out.
I take a shaky step further into the room, looking across at a little cluster of gift bags that are sitting on the bed, tissue paper spilling out the top. I peek inside and find a spa voucher for the hotel's rooftop wellness suite.
And there, propped against the pillows, is a folded piece of hotel stationery with my name scrawled across the front.
My hands are shaking a little as I pick it up.
Josie,
I know I've been a jerk this week. And I know you noticed the way you notice everything, which is one of about four hundred things I like about you.
It's also the exact thing that's making me write this note instead of just texting you like a normal person.
I'm not good at this. My family's never been big on talking about things, but it's something I'm working on.
You told me your dad was the only one who ever understood you. I want to be that for you too, and I haven't been lately, so I'm sorry. Something's going on with my family, and I've been carrying it alone for too long, and I know it's not fair to you, and it's not even fair to me, but I'm just trying to be honest with you.
So. Chocolate. Champagne. A ridiculous spa thing I'm told involves hot stones. Consider it a start.
We can talk tonight. If you still want to.
—D
I read it twice. Then a third time.
Something in my heart that's been clenched tight for a week finally comes undone.
He's not pulling away from me.He's drowning in something too, and this is the only way he knows how to say sorry.
Guilt hits me like a wave.
All week I've been sitting there stewing over every distant look and flat answer he gave, and the whole time he's been carrying something heavy enough to make Declan Morrison—captain, wall of a man, emotionally constipated hockey star—actually write anote.
I set the paper down beside the spa voucher, pull out my phone, and type before I can second-guess it.
Josie:Got your note. Got the chocolates. Currently deciding whether to be mad at you or eat the entire tray before you get here.
I've barely had time to hit send and draw breath before there's a knock at the door.
"That was fast.Suspiciouslyfast."
I cross the room, pull the door open, and there he is, looking like he hasn't slept properly in days.
"Hi," Declan says, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Hi." I step back to let him in, my heart pounding inside my chest. "You didn't even wait for me to reply."
"I've been standing outside your door for the last ten minutes, waiting."
