Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 79

“Doo Wop”—Lauryn Hill

Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of a bored-looking receptionist, eyes puffy, cheeks storm-struck. God, was I going to cry all day, every day like a This Is Us character?

I waved the key in my hand. “I, uhm, got this?”

I was blinking and twitching like crazy. Strangely enough, I didn’t care anymore. It was like once I’d experienced being truly and thoroughly loved by a man whose love I valued, I had genuinely started believing my own hype.

So what if I had tics? I also had great boobs and a quirky sense of humor. And I could pickle anything. I was a damn good catch. Case in point—I had gotten the hottest man in the world hooked.

“Wow. A key.” Her eyes assessed me coolly behind thick-rimmed reading glasses, voice dripping sarcasm. “Good for you. Now all you need is a door.” She was in her late twenties, completely tattooed, with bright red lipstick and super short bangs. Tough audience.

“I think it’s a key to one of the rooms here. I…er, a friend got me this to encourage me to record…” I was about to say something before Row’s voice in my head demanded I own it. “My true crime podcast.”

“Oh. It’s you!” She perked up, looking up from her phone and gulping me in, sizing me up. “Chef Casablancas told us all about you. Calla, right? Oh my God, he said you are a true crime expert. My cousin was murdered when she was sixteen!”

Oh. Kay. “Great.” I plastered on a smile. “I mean, not great. Awful. Terrible. So sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t worry.” She waved a hand. “I didn’t even know her. He said you were the most beautiful girl in the world. That’s how I was supposed to recognize you.”

Don’t you dare cry again, Cal. Pull yourself together.

“I’m…glad he spoke fondly about me.”

“He booked you an entire room for a month. Said not to let you out before you finish recording and editing a podcast.” She stood up, brushing cracker crumbs from her black dress.

I stared at her, dumbfounded.

She laughed. “Look at your face! Don’t worry, we’ll let you out. But seriously, he is so awesome. Also paid for five editing sessions with our producer, Tom. That should have you covered. He’ll show you the ropes. You need to book him in advance, though.”

My first thought was that I couldn’t do one-on-one sessions with a man and that I should find a girlfriend to bring over to those appointments. But my second thought was…why not? In the past eight weeks, I’d been kissed by Kieran, devoured by Row, and had found myself in close quarters with men all the time. Without even realizing it, I had faced my fear. What’s more, I had braved it.

“Wait, so…when can I come in?” I was waiting for the panic to settle in my stomach, but it didn’t happen. All I felt was excitement to start working on this. I was going to record my own episode about the Towpath Murders. A little English twist as an homage to Row who was in London now.

“Anytime.” She shrugged, rounding the reception area and hooking her finger, motioning for me to follow her. “As I said before, he booked you a room for an entire month. All hours of the day or night. We’re open twenty-four hours, by the way.” She guided me through a long, dark corridor full of doors, stopping in front of one. She turned to face me, opening her palm expectedly. I deposited the key in her hand. She twisted it inside the keyhole. “We have a contract I’m going to email you that you need to sign. Terms and conditions. Basically, don’t eat here, get drunk or high, trash the place, or have sex in it. How does that sound?”

“Ridiculously doable.” I snorted, getting extremely giddy about the entire thing.

“You’d be surprised.” She pushed the door open. “He had the room made for you. Hope you like it.”

I gingerly took a step inside and flicked the light on. Put a hand to my heart. Then collapsed against the wall with a gasp. “No. He didn’t.”

“Did too. Took him all night long.” The receptionist propped a shoulder on the doorframe. “You must give great head. Do you have, like, tutorials or something? All I got for my five-year anniversary with my boyfriend was a Starbucks gift card.”

Laughter bubbled out of my throat. The walls were completely covered in genuine articles about murders, mysteries, and crime scenes. All from the nineties. All yellow and worn-out. There were dozens of them. A skull-shaped mug rested by the screen, next to a brand-new coffee machine and a scented candle that looked like a skeleton in a milk bath, chilling.

“By the way, you totally can’t light that.” She pointed at the candle. “Fire isn’t allowed, no matter how small and controlled.”

The corners of my eyes burned with unshed tears, and I was laughing and crying at the same time, because apparently, I was no longer in control of my own emotions.

“How did he manage this?” I whispered. “He wasn’t even in New York this week.”

“Yeah, he was.” She frowned, giving me a strange look. “Christmas Eve.”

Christmas Eve? The last night of Descartes? The most important evening for his former restaurant, and he had chosen to be away and do…this?

“It was so cool. Came in with all of these newspapers and nineties horror movie posters and two handsome friends.” Taylor and Rhy, I bet. “Charmed everyone’s pants off and worked all night.” A dreamy sigh escaped her lips before she cleared her throat and straightened her back. “As a figure of speech. No pants were dropped. He is clearly obsessed with you.”

“Yeah.” I looked around us. “Clearly, he is.”

“You’re so lucky. True love is hard to come by.”

Even harder to keep, I thought, especially when you are me.