“I did a quick search on the way over here, and there’s a rental car place the next town over. I’ll call them first thing in the mornin’.” Hollis turns back to our host. “So just the one night, ma’am, thank you.”
That slight accent of his has slipped through again. And it sounds a lot like Connie’s as she says, “Well, we’d love to have you stay with us longer, but I’m sure you’re eager to get on your way to...” She pauses, smiles, raises her chin a bit. “Wherever you’re goin’,” Connie finishes, sensing that we’re not in the mood to chat. “Oh. Just one thing before we go up. If you could write down your info for me and sign here. And then you can pay Bud when you check out.”
Hollis follows Connie to a small desk by the stairs to fill out the paperwork. He stops writing at one point and stares at me as if trying to figure something out. Maybe he doesn’t know how to spell my name. “What?” I mouth, but he ignores me and returns to the forms.
After she reviews the information, Connie tucks the papers into the desk and claps her hands together. “Great. Now let’s get you to your room. I’m sure y’all’re exhausted.”
“Extremely,” I say. With my little backpack slung over my shoulder, I start hauling my suitcase up the stairs. I bang the backs of my ankles with the wheels five times before Hollis lets out a huff and orders me to hand it over.
Thankfully, Connie unlocks the first door in the upstairs hallway and pushes the heavy oak panel open. “We call this theMustard Seed room,” she says, beaming with as much pride as anyone can at one in the morning. “It’s our smallest, but I like to think its abundant charm makes up for the size. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
I walk in and am immediately met by dozens of eyes. The room’s golden-yellow walls are covered in paintings of... Jesus. That’s definitely Jesus. White Jesus. Black Jesus. Brown Jesus. And he’s doing all sorts of stuff. Holding a sleeping child. Pledging allegiance to the flag. Rescuing a drowning man. Building a table. Cuddling a corgi. And those are just the ones above the bed.
“Wow,” I say.
“Yes. ‘Wow’ is... ‘Wow’ is a good description of this room,” Hollis says. “The art particularly is... wow.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you like it,” Connie says. “I just love doin’ paint-by-numbers. Not so often lately, what with bein’ so busy and my hands not always cooperating, but...”
“You painted all of these?” I ask.
“Well, if you count fillin’ in bunches of little spaces with the right color paintin’, I suppose I did.”
My lips part to ask her where she found a paint-by-numbers Jesus in space, but Hollis subtly shakes his head. He’s probably right. I don’t exactlyneeda space Jesus painting in my apartment. But boy, do Iwantit. I mean, he’sin spaceand also cuppingthe entire galaxyin his hands!
“Breakfast is from seven to nine in the dining room. That’s the room to the left when you first came in. You’ve got all your toiletries in the en suite, and there’s extra pillows and a quilt in the chest at the end of the bed should you need ’em. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, this is great. Thank you, ma’am,” Hollis says.
“You’re very welcome, dear. Mine and Bud’s apartment is upstairs if you need us. Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Hollenbeck.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
Hollis cuts me off, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me toward him. “We’re not sure what we did to be blessed with such graceful hospitality. Good night, Miss Connie.”
She hands Hollis two room keys, then shuts the door behind her. When the sound of her footsteps recedes, Hollis drops his arm. The heat of his body disappears from alongside mine as he strides across the room and throws his duffel bag onto the emerald-green velvet armchair in the corner.
“Let her think we’re married,” he says. “She seems pretty religious. Might not be cool with us sharing a room if she knows we’re just friends.”
Pretty religiousis an almost comical understatement considering all of the Jesuses staring at us, but that’s not the part of what he said that captures my attention. “Aw. Hey. You said we’re friends.”
Hollis rubs his temples. “It’s been a long day, Millicent. Don’t make a big deal of it. I’m really not in the mood.”
His gruffness doesn’t distract me from the fact that he doesn’t try to deny our friendship. That’s... progress?
My eyes drift from Hollis to the bed. I gaze longingly at the fluffy pillows and the sage-green-and-mustard-yellow floral-print comforter.
Hollis must notice where I’m looking. “Do we need to Rock Paper Scissors to see who’s going to be sleeping in the chair, or can we be extremely tired adults about this?”
“I’m okay sharing the bed if you are.”
“Fine with me.” He tucks a gray T-shirt under his arm and digs around in his duffel bag for whatever else he needs.
“Hollis,” I say, and wait until I have his attention. “I am really sorry, you know. About the car.”
He says, “It’s not your fault.” But the tone in which he says it and the grumbling under his breath certainly makes it seem like he actually believes otherwise.
“Then why are you mad at me?”
