“How many times have you given this tour?” I ask. My question is harsher than I intend it, but I’m trying to divert my thoughts from my mother. Elias side-eyes me like he’s offended.
“First time,” he says shortly. “But thanks for assuming this means nothing. Another left.” We turn, and the hallway narrows where cabinets line either side of the walls. Elias stops halfway down and reaches over my head to open one. I step aside, afraid I’ve hurt his feelings.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Elias pulls down a tiny chocolate mint and holds it out. He rests his shoulder against the cabinet door, looking down at me. I slowly unwrap the candy and bite off the corner. Like the toothpaste earlier, it has an old, chalky flavor. I rewrap it and slip it into my pocket. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re a dick,” I say quietly to Elias. “I just figured—”
“Figured I was untrustworthy?”
I smile a little. “No. I figured you live in a hotel with a constant stream of strangers. Women. And of course there’s the fact that you’re . . .” I should stop talking now.
“I’m what?” Elias asks curiously, leaning closer.
“Cute.”
“Cute?” he asks thoughtfully. “You think I’m cute?”
My face feels like it’s caught fire, but every second I’m with Elias, the more comfortable I am with my attraction to him. Still, I try to play it cool; shrugging like my admission is no big deal.
“I’ve always thought of myself as handsome,” he says. “Thank you. And since we’re sharing—I find you intoxicating. Wholly addicting.”
Our locked gazes linger, and then I laugh. “Stop flirting with me, Elias,” I say to lighten the moment. “Let’s talk about something else. Like why you live in a hotel in the middle of nowhere.”
“You don’t like the Ruby?” He seems almost hurt, but then he looks past me and straightens. His entire face lights up. “Lourdes,” he says. “You’re back.”
I turn and find a young housekeeper, maybe just a little older than us, walking up. “Yesterday,” she says. “Seems we have some new guests.” She smiles warmly at me, and then fixes her gaze on Elias. The housekeeper folds her arms over her chest like she’s waiting for an explanation. I realize then how small the space Elias and I are crammed into is. A tiny nook that could really only be for linens or secret kisses.
Elias puts his hands on my shoulders and ushers me forward. “This is Audrey Casella,” he says. “I was just giving her a tour.”
“Of the basement?” Lourdes asks. Her eyebrows are perfectly drawn on, hitched high in a silent-movie-star sort of way. Her hair is short and dark, her skin a deep olive color. “You’re not supposed to be down here, Eli,” she says, although her voice has softened. “I’ll take her back to the lobby.”
“Lourdes . . . ,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head.
“You’ll get me in trouble.”
Elias quiets, watching her apologetically. His disposition has changed entirely, like he hates the thought of hurting her. “You’re right,” he says, and then turns to me. “Besides,” he continues with a smile, “I don’t think your brother would be very fond of me had I finished the tour.” I lean against the cabinet, a little breathless.
“Yes, Eli,” Lourdes announces, “you’re very sexy. Now move along.”
Elias chuckles and touches my arm before he slides past me. He walks to Lourdes, towering over her small frame. “We’ve missed you,” he says.
Lourdes lifts her gaze to meet his. “I know.” There’s a sudden glimpse of loss between them, and then Lourdes pushes Elias to the side. “Now run along,” she says lightly. “And don’t come back down here unless you plan to fold towels.”
“Any time.” They say good-bye, and Elias waves once to me and disappears down the corridor. When he’s gone, Lourdes lets out a deep exhale.
“Sorry to break that up,” she says. Her voice is smoky, and now that Elias is gone, she seems much happier to see me. “It’s not a good idea to sneak around with him,” she says. “He rarely thinks beyond the moment.” My stomach sinks with disappointment, but Lourdes quickly holds up her hands. “I’m not saying Eli’s bad. He’s not.” She smiles reassuringly. “He’s not the one you need to worry about.”
“Then who is?”
Lourdes presses her lips together, as if telling me she’s already said too much. She closes the cabinet with the chocolates and starts back down the hallway, motioning for me to follow. I’m struck with the smell of home once again, but this time the nostalgia isn’t as painful.
“My mother used this kind of detergent,” I blurt out. Lourdes turns to look back at me, at first confused, but then her expression softens.
“Mine, too,” she says, sadness dripping from her voice. “What . . .” She pauses. “What does it smell like to you?”