Page 29 of Always Almost You

“They’ll know her name,” the clerk continued, “but they won’t give it to you. We protect guest confidentiality.” She studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “If this were a movie from the thirties,” she said quietly, “I’d slip you the information. I have a feeling it would lead to a happy ending. But things are different now. I’m sorry.”

Mike thanked her and continued down the hall. Two housekeeping carts sat outside open doors near the far end. One of those rooms could have been Lauren’s. A housekeeper stepped back to her cart.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching her. “Have the guests in both of these rooms checked out?”

She nodded.

“This may sound strange,” he said, “but was there a dog in the room you’re cleaning?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

He swallowed.

“But in that one,” she added, pointing to the other room, “yes.”

His heart kicked. “Do you know when they checked out?”

“Very early,” she said.

Mike stood still for a moment. Lauren and Pumpkin must have been that early departure. It was time to abandon his infatuation with the mystery woman and her dog. Some things weren’t meant to be. He returned to his room.

The golden dog bounded toward him as if he’d been gone for days.

Mike gave the irrepressible creature a vigorous rub down. He switched on the television and checked out of his room by following the prompts on the screen. He scooped up his backpack, looked down at the dog, and exhaled slowly. “Looks like it’s just you and me, buddy.”

They exited the hotel using the parking lot door and walked along the exterior of the building, avoiding the lobby. The shuttle waited at the curb as they rounded the corner to the front of the hotel.

Mike took the last remaining spot at the back of the shuttle. The dog settled at his feet. Mike lowered himself into his seat, then quickly stood. He removed Pumpkin’s bowl from his back pocket. “Stay,” he commanded, not knowing if the dog would obey.

The golden remained in place.

Mike hurried down the aisle to the shuttle driver. “Does the hotel have a lost and found?”

The driver nodded. “At the front desk, but we’re leaving now. You don’t have time to get in there and back.” She called to a bellman who stepped up into the shuttle. “Would you please put this in the lost and found?”

“Sure,” he said, extending his hand to Mike.

“Thank you,” Mike said, handing over the bowl and his note with a twinge of regret. It was irrational to hope that this bowl would somehow reconnect him with Lauren. She’d been a pleasant interlude, and nothing more.

“On second thought”—Mike quickly said as he handed the bellman a five-dollar bill—“keep the note, but, the bowl? I think that is something I need to keep.”

CHAPTER 22

Lauren’s travel day began far more auspiciously than the one before. The Raleigh–Durham airport had been bustling when she arrived, but her flight departed on time and was smooth the entire way to JFK. Pumpkin, once again, was a quiet and unfazed travel companion. Their scheduled layover before the short hop to Providence stretched a little more than four hours, allowing her plenty of time to consider what might have been.

Lauren located the pet relief area for Pumpkin. She’d switched her phone out of airplane mode as they’d taxied to the gate. Now, while Pumpkin sniffed methodically for her “spot,” Lauren opened her messages. There was no text from Mike. She tapped over to email. Nothing. The hopefulness in her expression dissolved as she scrolled. She told herself not to care. They’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours. She bagged Pumpkin’s waste as another traveler entered with a guide dog.

Pumpkin strained at her leash.

“She’s working, sweetheart,” Lauren murmured. “Remember our rule. We don’t distract service dogs.”

“Thank you,” the handler said.

Lauren smiled. “Of course.” She disposed of Pumpkin’s waste and added, “the bag dispenser is forty-five degrees to your right and six feet in front of you.”

“That’s very helpful.”

“The sink’s on the opposite wall. The room’s about eight feet across.”