Night Shifts Black(17)

I glance back at his face, and am surprised at the stern concentration. Maybe reality is starting to settle in his mind as well, or maybe he's simply trying not to trip with his heavy burden, but either way I have hope that once we're safely home we can reason through this. The present. The future.

The doormen give us a strange look as we approach, eyeing the chair with their characteristic skepticism, but it's in the hands of Luke Craven of Night Shifts Black, so they respond by opening the door a little wider than usual. I'm sure my reception would have been less accommodating.

"Mr. Craven! A new purchase? Please let us help you with that!" Mara Jacobson cries, rushing toward us as we enter.

"Thanks, Mara. I got it."

She glances at me, her expression more veiled than usual, and I give her a stiff smile.

"Thanks, Mara. We got it," I repeat just to watch her squirm.

She does, but has no choice except to nod in defeat. "Well, of course if you change your mind, let us know," she says, and Luke barely acknowledges her as he continues toward the elevator.

I follow him in, shifting to allow him enough room for his chair, and he finally lowers his burden to the floor. He shakes out his arms and stretches as the elevator boy pushes the buttons. Despite everything, I can't stop the slight grin of amusement as I watch the poor teenager try not to react to the strange scene. Luke seems to notice too, and when his eyes catch mine, my grin breaks. He returns it, and I suddenly feel safe again.

"Thanks, Aiden," Luke says, slipping him a bill larger than anything I'd ever tipped a server at a restaurant. Aiden will not be talking about the chair, that's for sure. I give him a smile as well as I exit onto Luke's floor and follow him to his door.

I can see him struggling with the chair and push past him.

"Here, I got it," I say, producing my own key and sliding it into the slot.

He gives me a grateful smile, and I hold the door for him as he shuffles past me.

I'm about to speak when I realize he's lost in his head again. This time it's not sadness, but the same concentration I saw on the sidewalk journey.

He stands at the top of the step leading into the giant, open living area, surveying the space with an intensity I've rarely seen before. I don't dream of interrupting, and watch him from a distance, curious about the latest glimpse into his confusing mind.

First he moves an end table against the wall and places the chair in the empty space beside the couch. He studies it for a moment, but isn't happy, and moves the end table back. Next, he tries the space under the bar. He's even less satisfied with that.

"The office," I suggest gently.

His head shoots up in alarm, and I suspect he'd forgotten I was here.

"I have an office?" he asks, and only the serious expression on his face keeps me from laughing. I figured as much.

"Second door on the left. After the extra bedroom."

He hesitates, staring at the chair.

"It's yours, Luke. No one else should have access to it."

He nods and removes it from the bar.

I follow him down the hall, completing our strange parade, and watch as he tests the doors to each room. How long has he lived here and he never even bothered with them?

"Wow, you're right," he observes, moving inside and turning on the light. "I should do more paperwork," he jokes, and I almost laugh that I'd had the same thought.

"There's a nice filing cabinet, too, for you to keep it organized."



       
         
       
        

He gives a wry smile, and I return it. Then, he focuses back on the chair. He moves a fake plant in the corner and puts the chair in its place. He steps back to admire his work and nods in satisfaction.

"Perfect," he says. "Good call." Then he turns to me with a quizzical look. "You know my suite well."

I shrug. "I'm a poor girl. This place was worth exploring."

He nods, but doesn't chastise me. I don't know if he forgives me or just doesn't care. Maybe both.

"Anything else I should know about?"

I grin. "Actually … " I take his hand and pull him from the room. We move back to the first door, and I push him into the guest room.

"Can you please explain that?"

He laughs, and I love that life has finally returned to his eyes. "I wish I could, but I have to admit that this monstrosity threw me for a loop as well."

I sigh with mock disappointment. "You're supposed to be my guide into all things ostentatious and ridiculous."

He gives me a sheepish grin. "Sorry. If I had to guess, this suite was custom built for someone who is no longer here."

"Someone who felt the need to offer their guests multiple showering options," I observe.

I continue to stare, still fascinated by the absurd luxury, and can feel his amusement. I blush when my gaze catches his.

"You're dying to try it aren't you," he teases, and I swallow.

"What? And you're not?"

He laughs again and moves into the room. "The shower or sauna?"

"Both?"

He grins and opens the glass door, inspecting the many buttons and knobs. He triggers two of them and the steam unit buzzes to life. He closes the door and steps back as bursts of hot air begin filling the sealed glass case.

"Not now!" I cry, laughing at his crooked grin.

"Why not?"

"I don't have clothes or anything!"

"Here."

He moves to the closet and removes a luscious robe that's more enticing than any blanket or comforter I've ever touched. "I'm sure there's shampoo and whatever else you need in the real bathroom right through there."

"You're not serious," I breathe. "You are serious!"

He shrugs, tosses me the robe, and closes the door before I can respond.



∞∞∞



Luke is lounging on the couch when I emerge from the guest room, wet and relaxed, wrapped in my cozy robe.

"Thoughts?" he asks with a knowing grin.

I return it and drop on another section of the massive sofa. "Surprisingly effective as a shower. Verdict is still out as a wall of a bedroom." 

He laughs and motions toward the bar.

"You want something?"

I shake my head. "No thanks."

He shrugs and finishes off his glass before relegating it to the end table beside him.

"You know, I was thinking, you can keep some stuff in the guest room if you want. For the next time you feel the need for a shower in the middle of the day."

I stare at him for a moment. He's not looking at me and already seems to be worrying more about working up the energy to refill his glass than anything to do with me. I have no idea what to make of the shocking offer he's already seemed to forget.

"Sure, maybe at least a change of clothes," I manage as casually as possible.

He nods, and finally pushes himself up from the couch.

Will he even remember he made the offer later? I try to guess how drunk he is, but it's almost impossible to tell with him.

"I'm having some people over tonight," he continues as if he hadn't just dropped the bombshell that's left me reeling.

"Ok," I say, somewhat disappointed. "When do you need me out of here?"

He glances over at me in surprise. "You're not staying?"

It's my turn to be surprised. "You want me to stay?"

He looks at me like I'm stupid and shakes his head. "Why wouldn't I? You think I'd offer you a room in my suite and then kick you out for a party?"

I swallow. Offer me a room. But somehow I sense that this "giving me a drawer" thing doesn't mean the same thing for the two of us as it does for most people. I have no idea what it means, only that I'm not about to refuse it.

"Well, I know I'm not really part of your other world."

He lets out a bitter laugh and removes the lid from the decanter. "My world." He spits the words like it's some cruel joke. "No one is part of that world, sweetheart," he mutters, taking a swig. "It's not even real."

He must sense me staring at him, waiting for more, but instead only waves his hand with a dismissive laugh this time. "I'm drunk," he explains in the most obvious statement of all time.

It's my turn to laugh. "Yeah. You are. You sure you're up for having people over?" I ask, concerned. I study him closely. Today was a hard day. I would have questioned his intention to fill the void with his old life even if he hadn't spent most of it drinking and acting like a crazy person.

He glares at me, and I know I've pushed the overprotectiveness too far.

"How about you just get ready? You may want to change into something less … Sheltertown."

"Shelteron," I correct, matching his annoyed eye roll.

"Whatever."

"And what's that supposed to mean, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Nothing. Wear what you want." But I hate the way his eyes scan me this time. It's the first time I've seen him evaluate me as anything except his friend Callie.

"You know what, I should probably just go back to my place. Maybe we could use some time apart. I wouldn't want to embarrass you with my Shelteron-ness," I mutter, rising from the couch.

"Callie … "

I ignore him and make my way toward the guest room and my clothes.

"Callie, wait!"

I hear him call after me, but there's no point in answering. He's right. I have no business with his "people" and their "less Shelteron" attire.