Chapter 69
Ellie's POV
Jackson glanced at me, clearly not registering my panic. "The Martinez family arranged accommodations for all the performers and student representatives. There's a thank-you luncheon tomorrow—kind of mandatory for everyone who participated in today's ceremony."
Hotel. Overnight. With Jackson.
"Oh." I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out slightly higher than normal. "You... didn't mention that before."
He had the grace to look apologetic as he merged onto the coastal highway. "I'm sorry. I thought I did? This morning, when we were going over the schedule?" He frowned, glancing at me again. "Did I forget to say it out loud?"
Had he? This morning felt like a lifetime ago—I'd been so focused on the performance, on his promise to explain everything, on managing my own anxiety about spending the day with him. The details had blurred together.
"Maybe," I admitted. "Or maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. This morning was kind of..."
"Intense," Jackson finished. "Yeah. I know." His hands flexed on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. I should have been clearer about the whole itinerary."
"It's fine," I said automatically, even though my heart was doing gymnastics in my chest. "It's not a big deal."
Except it kind of was.
Because we'd just agreed to be friends. Just friends. Like, literally an hour ago. And now we were spending the night in a hotel?
Separate rooms, I told myself firmly. Obviously separate rooms. The Martinez family wouldn't put two students in the same—
"They booked adjoining suites," Jackson said, as if reading my mind. "Separate spaces, but with a connecting door in case of emergency or whatever." He shot me a quick look. "Totally separate. I just wanted you to know the layout so you wouldn't be surprised."
"Right." My voice sounded weird. "Makes sense."
Thalia was doing somersaults in my chest, torn between excitement and anxiety. Adjoining rooms. A connecting door. We'll be right next to each other all night.
This was fine. We were adults. Mature college students who could handle a simple overnight stay without making it weird.
Except everything about this felt weird.
Not bad-weird. Just... aware-weird. Like every nerve in my body had suddenly woken up and was paying attention to Jackson's presence—the way he drove with one hand on the wheel, the subtle shift of his shoulders when he changed lanes, the fact that we were going to be sleeping in rooms separated by a single door.
Friends sleep near each other all the time, I reasoned. This is totally normal.
But the warmth still lingering on my shoulder from that photo? The way my heart had stuttered when he'd said maybe he saw something we're trying really hard not to see?
That didn't feel like friendship.
That felt like something much more dangerous.
I forced myself to look out the window instead, watching the ocean blur past. The sun was getting lower now, painting everything in shades of amber and rose gold.
"You okay over there?" Jackson's voice broke the silence.
I turned to find him glancing at me, expression concerned.
"Fine," I said quickly. "Just... taking in the view."
His lips quirked. "It is pretty spectacular."
"Yeah." I swallowed. "Listen, about tomorrow's luncheon—do I need to dress formally? I mean, I brought clothes, but I wasn't exactly planning for a fancy event..."
"Semi-formal should be fine," Jackson said easily. "The Martinez family likes to keep things elegant but not stuffy. Did you pack something suitable?"
I thought about the sundress and cardigan I'd thrown in my bag at the last minute. "I think so? If not, I can probably find something at a store nearby."
"There's a shopping center about ten minutes from the hotel if you need it." His tone was gentle, considerate. "We can stop by tonight if you want."
The casual thoughtfulness made my throat tight.
"Thanks," I managed. "That's... really sweet of you."
Jackson's ears went slightly pink—barely noticeable in the fading light, but I caught it. "It's nothing. Just trying to make up for springing this on you."
We fell into silence again, but it felt different now. Less awkward, more... comfortable. The kind of quiet you could share with someone who understood you.
The hotel appeared as we rounded a curve—a beautiful Spanish-style building nestled against the hillside, with terracotta tiles and white stucco walls that glowed in the sunset. Bougainvillea cascaded over the entrance archway in explosions of pink and purple.
"Wow," I breathed.
Jackson pulled into the circular driveway, where a valet was already approaching. "The Martinez family has good taste," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "This place has been here since the 1920s."
A uniformed doorman opened my door before I could reach for the handle. "Welcome to Casa del Sol," he said warmly.
I grabbed my overnight bag from the back seat.
Jackson came around the car, his own bag slung over his shoulder. He looked at me, and something in his expression made my breath catch.
"Hey," he said softly. "You sure you're okay with this? I know it's sudden, and if you're uncomfortable—"
"I'm fine," I said, and mostly meant it. "Just... processing."
He nodded slowly. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "Me too."
We walked through the entrance together, and the hotel lobby took my breath away. Vaulted ceilings, hand-painted tiles, and enormous windows overlooking the ocean. The last rays of sunlight streamed through, painting everything gold.
Jackson approached the front desk while I stood back, trying not to gawk like a tourist. The receptionist greeted him warmly—"Mr. Wilson, we've been expecting you"—and I realized the Martinez family must have called ahead.
"Two adjoining suites," Jackson said, his voice carrying back to me. "Under the Martinez family reservation."
Jackson returned with two key cards, holding one out to me. "Rooms 408 and 409. They're next to each other, connected by a shared door, but..." He paused, meeting my eyes. "Totally separate spaces. I just wanted you to know I wasn't assuming anything."
"Thank you," I said, taking the key card. Our fingers brushed briefly, and that stupid electric feeling shot up my arm again.
We rode the elevator in silence, both staring at the ascending floor numbers like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Jackson gestured for me to exit first.
The hallway was quiet, carpeted in thick burgundy that muffled our footsteps. Jackson stopped at 408, sliding his key card into the slot.
"This one's yours," he said. "I'm right next door if you need anything."
"Thanks," I said. "For... everything. Today. This week. All of it."
His voice was gentle when he replied. "You're welcome, Ellie."
I slid my key card into 408's lock and pushed the door open. The room beyond was beautiful—king bed with crisp white linens, French doors leading to a small balcony, ocean view stretching to the horizon where the sun was just starting to sink into the water.
"Get some rest," Jackson said from the hallway. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."