5. Drew: The Meet Cute?

Chapter five

Drew – The Meet Cute?

"Wyatt. Drew Wyatt," I tell the front desk clerk over the phone. To avoid causing chaos at the hotel by tossing the Bellamy name around, I decided to register under my mother's maiden name instead. Troy of all people scowls at me, clearly planning to give me crap for it.

"Uh, I'm sorry but didn't you say you couldn't be the one to check out the hotel because your face is too well known?" I ask, as I finish booking my room from my kitchen counter.

"I figured it's such a small town that no one will really know the family name," he says, as he types away on his laptop.

"You know what happens when you assume, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waves a hand dismissively.

"Our company has grown to the size it is now in just a few years," I remind him. "So always assume the owners of a hotel, big or small, know the Bellamy name. There's some free business advice for you," I smirk. And you already know that, you hypocrite .

His return smirk gets a stiff look. He doesn't like being called on his crap, especially when I do it. "Have fun in paradise, Mr. Wyatt."

The plan is simple. Scope the place out like a tourist, gather the info my brother needs, and keep my head down in the process. No one needs to know anything personal about me or my reasons for being there, because there's no way in hell I'm staying longer than necessary.

The flight to Florida is as dull as I expect my stay to be. The in-flight meal tastes like cardboard even in Business Class these days, and I almost doze off during the generic tech-thriller movie. But soon enough, it's over, I've driven to my destination in my rental car, and I'm standing at the check-in desk at the Seaside Inn.

"You're all checked in." The older clerk, whose name tag says Susan, smiles as she hands me my room key. "Would you like some help with your bags?"

"No thank you," I say as I make my way to the elevators.

The less I have to talk to people, the less they get to know about me. On the flight over, I rehearsed a story in my head about who I am, why I'm in Florida, and all that crap that strangers feel entitled to ask simply because we chose the same vacation spot.

For the time being, I'm just a guy from Upstate New York on a short (I hope) vacation. I'm not married, have no kids, and I just needed a break from my corporate job as a headhunter. Simple…easy to follow and remember. It's not too far off from what I do for work and gives me little opportunity to slip up.

If I keep my head down, I shouldn't have to talk to anyone for more than a few minutes at a time. I'm relying on my grumpy demeanor to give people the hint to leave me alone.

Once I get my key to 217, I decide to change into swim trunks and a t-shirt before checking out the amenities.

"Slow down, bud!" I hear a girl call out, and faint sounds of a struggle.

Before I can even reach the elevator doors, a giant furry monster rounds the corner, pulling a small girl helplessly behind him before slamming into me.

The dog's yanked his walker off balance in his enthusiasm. Just before she hits the ground, I see this small girl is actually a young woman. She falls too fast for me to catch her, but the dog immediately takes notice, turns around, and starts licking her face as if to apologize.

For a moment, she and I exchange a silent stare. I can't tell if she's admiring something in me, but I know for certain I'm doing that with her. I've never seen such blue eyes before. Before I can even offer a hand, her wide-eyed expression squints and changes to one of annoyance.

"Uh, how about instead of just staring at me, you offer to help me up?" she snaps, breaking her silence. "I guess chivalry is truly dead," she sighs, as she gets to her feet. Damn, this woman is feisty!

She keeps rambling on and I can't keep up with all that she is saying. I know I should probably be apologetic, even if it was the dog's fault for coming around that corner like a racehorse in the home stretch. I try my best to apologize, even though, again, it wasn't my fault. No one can say I don't have a gallant streak somewhere.

"Why the heck are you smiling like that?" she snaps.

Uh, because I've never been snapped at by someone as cute as you are . But then shock wipes the comeback off my tongue. Wait, I'm actually smiling? Yeah. I was. And that part was her fault. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you behind this guy." I point to the furry creature now sitting by her feet, looking at her with eager eyes. "You're kind of tiny, and he's the size of a baby elephant."

"And that's your excuse for standing there like an unusually cute bump on a log? You should know what they say is true about tiny women." She puts her hands on her hips.

"Big attitude?" I smirk.

"Look at that, you're catching on already." Her voice drips with sarcasm.

"Well, I'm not just unusually cute, I was in shock for a moment." I grin briefly, dishing back some attitude in return. "Forgive me, I'm not used to being around feisty little pixies like yourself."

"Feisty little pixie?" Her brows raise and for a moment. I wonder if she's thinking about slapping me. I thought Floridians were supposed to be happy and laid back all the time, but not this girl.

"As you said - little girl, big attitude," I reply.

"Excuse me," she says, as she brushes past my arm, calling Duke, her furry companion to come along with her. He gives me puppy eyes for a moment before obediently following.

What the heck just happened? I ask myself, as I wait for the elevator.

I can't help but watch her leave. She's got the look of a laid-back Floridian but the feisty attitude of a big city girl. How is that even possible? Is she visiting from somewhere else? Because that would explain the attitude. And natural beauty like that doesn't come from even the most seasoned plastic surgeons.

All I can think about when I make my way to my room is that girl. I should be annoyed, ticked off, and ready to escape this small-town hell. But instead, I've decided that I have to know her.

There's no way someone like her is just another run-of-the-mill kind of girl, not with that personality, at least. I lean against the window that looks out onto the beach just in time to see her walk the dog out onto it. It takes me aback to see her furrowed brow smooth when the dog playfully jumps on her as they near the beach, almost like our run-in never happened.

Under the sun's rays, she's radiant. Her bright yellow sundress floats around her as she moves, making her look like something out of a dream. Her wavy golden hair bounces in the breeze as she playfully walks with her companion, who is equally excited.

I almost forget that she just got done ripping my head off for running into her. She radiates warmth when she smiles in a way that I can't help but admire.

I always thought it was cheesy to hear someone described as having a "beaming smile."

Maybe it's because I've never seen one until now.