Chapter One
CATO
Sitting next to Kyle on the plane, I glance out the window, watching our descent. Kyle is busy on his phone, playing some sort of slot game. This is typical for us lately—two people, together but separate. Hopefully, this weekend getaway is exactly what we need to reignite that spark we first felt two years ago.
“Are you excited?” I ask.
Kyle glances up, nodding. “Yeah. Sure. Weather should be nice.”
“Definitely. There’s so much to do too. We won’t be bored.”
He nods, returning his attention to his phone. I notice the woman across the aisle staring at my boyfriend, trying to be sly about it but failing. I get it. Kyle is hot. He looks like the typical Southern California surfer with wavy blond hair, big blue eyes, and a Hollywood smile. He’s not from California though. He’s from Detroit. I’m no slouch in the looks department, but Kyle is one of those people everyone stares at. I thought I snagged a prize, but sometimes he can be very distant. Even more so lately.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been slammed trying to get my freelance writing business off the ground. I haven’t had as muchtime to nurture our relationship. Hence this weekend away from home to reconnect. Assuming I can lure that phone out of his hand.
As the plane taxis, we start gathering our things. Kyle glances at me, offering a slight smile. He looks at me like that a lot lately. I’m never sure what he’s thinking, and I won’t bother asking. After two years, I’ve learned if Kyle wants me to know what he’s thinking, he’ll tell me.
After exiting the plane and grabbing our bags, we find ground transportation and catch a ride to the hotel. I can’t wait to see it. The Hillcrest Hideaway is supposed to be a tucked-away bungalow-style hotel in an LGBTQ+ friendly area right in the heart of San Diego. It’s six miles from the beach, which isn’t horrible. The pics online were inviting and looked like a nice romantic place to spend a weekend.
It’s a short drive from the airport, but when we arrive, I double-check the sign in front. It doesn’t quite look like the pristine place represented online. The landscaping is overgrown and the paint on the sign is chipping. Hopefully, the inside is nice.
Outside, I inhale the warm, salt-tinged air. This is nothing like what we get back in Phoenix. It’s late morning, but the sun is already tempting me to hit the beach.
“This doesn’t look like the pictures you showed me,” Kyle says with a huff.
“Please don’t be a diva. It’s not a five-star hotel, but I’m sure it’s nice. Let’s just go inside and check it out.”
We grab our luggage and drag it up the steep driveway that leads to the hotel entrance. Kyle already looks put out, so I cross my fingers that the room makes up for it. Those hopes wane when we enter the lobby. It’s definitely seen better days. The wicker furniture looks like it’s been here since the eighties andthe peeling palm tree wallpaper isn’t doing much to convince me it hasn’t.
Behind the imposing front desk is a tiny female with long black hair. I say tiny because she’s barely tall enough to clear the desk. A man with long white hair is behind her, but he has his back turned to us. She bumps him with her elbow, and he swings around, looking frantic but then smiling when he sees us.
“Guests. Welcome to Hillcrest Hideaway. Are you checking in?”
Kyle makes a noise of contempt, but I ignore it. “We are. Cato Michaels.”
The woman flips open a big book, dragging her hand down the page. “Michaels. Got it. You’re in room 300.”
“Three hundred,” the man repeats, turning to a wall of old-school keys. That’s cute. “Here we are. I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Great,” I answer while Kyle continues to look unamused.
The man steps out from behind the counter, wearing bright-yellow pants that only come to his calf and a long tunic of sorts in orange. Colorful. “I’m Howie. I own the place.”
Smiling, I nod. “Nice. How long have you been in business?”
“Oh, the place has been here since the sixties, but I took over about five years ago.”
“So there’s some history here?”
“Definitely. The original owners were a trailblazing gay couple. I’m proud to carry on the tradition.”
“Did they pass away?”
Howie looks back at me over his shoulder. “No, no. They just retired. No kids or family who wanted to take over, so they put it on the market.”
“Lucky.”
“I think so.” He pushes the lobby doors open into a tropical paradise.