“Oh,” she replied, expression clearing. “Of course. Let me take care of this. We can only refund one night because we need twenty-four-hour notice, but — ”
Oops. I hadn’t thought of that. I certainly didn’t want Lucas (or his friend with the timeshare…I wasn’t exactly sure who had financed the room) losing out on hundreds of dollars, and I bit my lip, not sure what I should do.
Luckily, Connor cut in then, saying smoothly, “That’s not a problem. We’re sorry about the inconvenience.”
“Oh, it’s no inconvenience, sir,” she said, with a quick bat of her eyelashes. Despite her professional appearance, I could tell she was a little smitten with Connor.
Then again, who wouldn’t be?
She typed away on her computer, then said, “You’re all set. Just let me get a copy of your paperwork.” Moving away from us, she went to a printer a few feet away, picked up a few sheets of paper, and handed them over to Connor. “Thank you for staying with us, and I hope you can make it back here in the near future.”
I somehow doubted that was going to happen, but I didn’t reply, only gave her a smile and a nod as Connor folded the papers and then shoved them into the Northern Pines bag he was carrying. He thanked her, and then we were headed out the door, going to where we’d left the Cherokee waiting under the porte cochère.
And a few minutes after that we were winding our way out of Newport, heading back to the freeway. I glanced at the clock. One o’clock. Normally that would be lunchtime, but we’d eaten breakfast so late that I wasn’t really hungry yet. Anyway, I could feel the urgency building in me, the need to get out of here as early as possible before traffic created an impenetrable wall that would only delay our arrival in Phoenix.
Connor must have noticed my nervous survey of the time, because he reached out with his right hand and brushed a stray strand of hair off my cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll get out of Orange County and head east on the 10, and then maybe we can stop for a late lunch in Palm Springs or Indio or something. We’ll be fine.”
His words did reassure me somewhat…or maybe it was just the thrill I felt from that brief brush of his fingers against my skin, a touch that seemed to right the world again. Whichever it might be, I could feel my heartbeat calm somewhat as we drove north and east, especially since we didn’t encounter much in the way of traffic jams. We slowed here and there, and there were far more cars around us than I’d seen even in Phoenix, but everything more or less flowed until we were away from most of the SoCal crush, passing through towns like Redlands and Banning and Beaumont, cresting a hill and then dropping down into the low desert, into a landscape that grew sere with almost shocking suddenness.
“Which do you want, Indio or Palm Springs?” Connor asked as we passed a sprawling outlet mall. “Palm Springs is nicer, but it’s off the main highway, so we’ll lose a little more time.”
“Indio,” I said automatically. My stomach was telling me I needed to eat, that the lovely frittata I’d had for breakfast was long gone, but I didn’t want to waste any time. I was fine with grabbing a burger somewhere and then getting back on the road.
“Indio it is. It’s still about fifteen miles up the road. Can you check your Yelp app and find someplace that looks like it might be halfway decent?”
Here I still had a decent signal, unlike parts of the desert we’d driven through on the outward journey. I pulled up the app, scrolled through a few choices, and asked, “What do you want? Mexican? Burgers? Doesn’t look like there’s much else.”
“Either one. Maybe Mexican. Flagstaff’s Mexican food is kind of meh. I probably got spoiled living all those years down in Tempe.”
I nodded, chose a restaurant based on the reviews, and then told Connor which exit we should use to get off the interstate. Even though I’d tried to streamline things, we still had to drive a couple of miles to get to our destination, as it seemed as if most of the businesses in town were clustered away from the freeway.
Since we were coming in at the tail end of traditional lunch, at almost two o’clock, the place was busy, but not so much that we had to wait long for a table. In just a few minutes we were seated and had been served what tasted like freshly made chips and salsa, which I attacked as if it had been a day since I’d last eaten rather than four hours.
Connor must have gotten used to my pregnancy appetite, because he just gave a small shake of his head before he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I thought it might be a good idea to call Maya, let her know we were dropping in.”