Buch lesen: «Room Service»

Welcome to the Hush Hotel!
Check out the couple in room 1212…

“You know what toys the suites are equipped with?” Jacob’s voice left no doubt as to what category of “toys” he was referring to.

Em took a big gulp. “I think so.”

He stared at her, the kind of deep, dark, edgy look that might have sent her running if it hadn’t been him. But she knew him now, and his bark was far worse than his bite.

At least, she hoped so.

“There are toys for every kind of sex adventure the hotel guests could want.”

She took another gulp. “I know. I want…I want to see.”

He muttered something to himself that sounded like “Don’t do it, Hill,” rubbing the day-old growth on his jaw in agitation.

She wanted to feel the roughness of it against her skin. “Show me,” she whispered.

“I must be insane. Insane.” He walked away a few feet, then stalked back, taking her hand. “Come on, then.”

She wanted to tell him not to worry, it would be okay. But of course it wouldn’t. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Dear Reader,

It’s been a while since I wrote a book for Harlequin Blaze. Too long. In fact, I’d wondered if I would remember how…. But happily it was like getting on a bike. Fun, exhilarating and always exciting.

This story is part of the DO NOT DISTURB series, which takes place in the plush, exotic hotel Hush in New York City. The setting itself was a character, as the hotel caters to the…um, let’s call it the sensually adventurous. I singed my fingertips writing a couple of the scenes…. I wonder if you’ll be able to tell which ones.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading DO NOT DISTURB. And don’t forget to check out eHarlequin.com for related online stories.

In the meantime, check in to Hush…and enjoy the fun.

Jill Shalvis

Room Service
Jill Shalvis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Prologue

Los Angeles

EMMA HARRIS WAS PART Hollywood business shark, part Ohio farm girl, and though that might seem like an odd combination, it had always worked for her.

Until now.

Now she was a twenty-seven-year-old TV producer facing her last chance in this business. If she blew it, then goodbye job, goodbye career, goodbye to it all because she’d be washed up. Done, finished, finito, before she’d even hit the big three-oh.

But she was too determined, too stubborn, to allow that to happen. Of course, it didn’t help that everyone at the production company she worked for thought her luck had run out, including her own assistant, who’d quit last week to go to work as a grip at an NBC sitcom. But Em would never give up.

Nope, she was made of sterner stuff than that. She’d grown up in Ohio, on a thriving family farm, which she’d left to go to college and then produce television shows. Her parents were still horrified, certain that a girl like her, with strong morals and ethics, couldn’t possibly make a go of it in Hollywood, but she was dead set on proving them wrong.

She loved this job. She simply wouldn’t believe she couldn’t make it work, her way.

But she’d been summoned by the boss…reminding her that determination was not enough, not in Hollywood. Drawing a deep breath, she made the long walk from her office to his. Outside his closed door, she smoothed her skirt, decided there was no hope for her hair so she didn’t even try and, after pasting a smile over her worried frown, knocked with every ounce of confidence and authority she had.

“Come in!”

Em opened the door. From the big leather chair behind his big, fancy network desk, Nathan Bennett scowled.

Em locked her smile in place. “You wanted to see me?”

“Emmaline Harris. Sit.”

Great, her full name. Never a good sign. She entered and sat where he indicated—a smaller, far less comfortable-looking chair, which was there, she knew, to make people feel inferior.

She wouldn’t let it work. After all, she’d been raised with her mother’s words ringing in her ears. “Em,” she’d say, hands on her hips, her jeans dirty from hard work. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

A quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, of course, and Em had always believed it. She was tough enough for this town!

Nathan looked at her for a long moment, as if measuring his words carefully. “Do you know why you’re here today?”

To be fired. Unless she could fast-talk her way back. Which she could do, she told herself. She could fast-talk with the best of them. It was lying and manipulation she had trouble with. “I’m pretty certain.”

Nathan nodded, looking stern and unhappy, and Em felt as if she was sitting in front of the principal, only this was worse, far worse, because being ousted here meant so much more than a few days suspension without homework. It meant bye-bye paycheck.

But she would not be saying bye-bye to her self-respect. Nope, if she was going down, then she’d go down with pride intact.

Nathan steepled his fingers. “We hired you, Emmaline, in spite of your utter lack of experience in this business, because we thought you were a bright star on the horizon, just waiting to make her mark.”

“Sir—”

“We thought you’d do great things for our production company.”

“And I hope I’m just getting started.” She tried the smile again.

It still wasn’t returned.

Instead, Nathan rearranged his already perfectly arranged pencil and pen set to the right of his spotless blotter. “Emmaline, can you explain the last three shows you produced here?”

“Well, I—”

“And why each failed?”

Her smile faltered. Yes, she could. But she wouldn’t. Because that would mean hurting others. When she’d first come to town, she hadn’t understood the rules—or, rather, that there were no rules. She got it now, the challenge being to make that work to her benefit without compromising herself. “I’m sure everyone here has had some trouble at one time or another,” she said. “Three failures in the whole, big scheme of things—”

“These were your only shows, Em. You’re batting zero here.”

They both knew she was a hard worker, that wasn’t the problem. In fact, she’d been throwing herself headlong into every project from her first set of LEGO at age three, and had been told time and time again by her family and teachers that she was made of pure tenacity and grit.

Unfortunately she had a soft heart to go with that drive, which often threw a wrench into being the best of the best. Because she wouldn’t lie, nor would she hurt anyone or anything on her way to the top. She couldn’t live with herself if she did.

Which was why she couldn’t explain to Nathan about the failures of her three shows. “I know my record looks bad, but I can do this, Nathan. Please, just give me another shot. If I could just have the reins of a show from the very beginning—”

Already shaking his head, he leaned back in his chair. His hair was black, devoid of any gray, and with a similar comb-over style to Donald Trump’s. His face was tanned from his last vacation in the Bahamas with the third wife, and he wore diamond studs in his ears that could pay Em’s salary for at least five years. He’d probably never been fired in his life. “You’ve had your shot,” he said firmly. “Three of them.”

Sure. First up had been the exciting reality show involving two brothers, both sweet and adorable inventors, with IQs off the map. Em had thought Ty and Todd so wonderful, and because they’d been struggling to make ends meet, too, she’d made it her personal mission to get the word out on them. Only as it turned out, Ty and Todd had failed to mention the word had been out once before, and that they were in court for patent infringements. By the time the first episode aired, both the network and Nathan had been sued.

With failure ringing in her ears, Em’s second attempt had been her chance to prove the previous disaster had been an unlucky break. But right from the beginning, the crew on the safari-adventure-themed reality show had fought viciously amongst themselves, backstabbing and sabotaging at will. Because Em hadn’t been allowed to hire them in the first place, she’d been left in the position of being unable to control them. That, coupled with the fact that not one of them could read a map, and it had been a “lost” cause before they’d even begun.

Em’s third and last effort had been a talk show where, not-so-coincidentally, the host had been Nathan’s niece by marriage. A lovely, funny, sharp woman making her way up the ranks in the comic circuit, a woman who’d had an incredibly unlucky streak in life culminating in a horrific car accident the year before and was now, secretly and unfortunately, addicted to her prescription meds. A secret, of course, that could ruin her. When Em had discovered it, the woman had begged and cried and pleaded for Em not to tell.

Of course Em didn’t tell, it wasn’t in her genetic makeup to do such a thing, but when the comic had self-destructed—on live TV—the decision had cost Em the show, garnering her the knowledge that she didn’t want to work with relatives of her boss ever again.

Now she had three failures like balls on a chain around her neck. Each had occurred, Em was certain, not because she was a bad producer, but because she’d been handed the cast and crew instead of picking them herself.

The stakes had never been higher, she knew this. But she also knew anything was possible, including making it in this business. Her way. “I can do this, Nathan,” she said again. “I know I can. You just have to give me a real chance to do so.”

“Emmaline—”

“A real chance.” She stood, putting her hands on his desk, leaning in, desperate to make him see how badly she wanted this. “If I could pick the crew and the host this time—”

“You don’t have any experience in that area.”

True enough. Until college, she’d driven a tractor, she’d run a hay barn and she’d managed the books for the dairy division of her family’s farm.

Having graduated from college with a business degree in TV development, she knew it was time to hold down a job in her field, not a hay field. And she wanted it to be this job. “You saw something in me, you just said it. Please, let me try again, just one more time.”

Nathan twirled a mechanical pencil in his fingers and did that long silent pause that always made Em want to squirm. Finally he let out a long sigh. “I know I’m going to be sorry, but…yeah.”

“Yeah?” In shock, she laughed. “Really?”

Looking unhappy about it, he nodded.

“Oh, my God, thank you thank you thank you,” she cried, running around his desk to throw her arms around him.

Awkwardly, he patted her on the back. “Okay now.”

“I’m sorry.” She dropped her arms and stepped back, but she still couldn’t swipe the wide grin off her face. “You won’t regret this, not for a minute.”

“Just promise me you’re really going to make this work,” he said solemnly to her face-splitting smile, though if she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes did actually twinkle. “Because, trust me, Em, if you screw this up, you’re done in this business for good.”

“Oh, I’m going to make this work.” She inhaled deeply to keep from hugging him again. “So tell me…what kind of show is it going to be?”

She envisioned another talk show, or maybe a well-written, sharp, witty sitcom. Yeah, that would be so perfect, something that would make people laugh—

“We want a cooking thing.”

Em stared at him, some of her elation fading. “A cooking thing.”

“With a dynamic chef who can really entertain. You know, juggle knives, toss the ingredients around. Like those chefs at the Japanese restaurants, only without the ethnicity. You’ll cook everything across the board on this show, from burgers to beef tartare.”

Tartare? She didn’t even know what that was. “A cooking show,” she repeated, thoughts racing. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the inner workings of a kitchen any more than she understood the aerodynamics of a plane.

“Cooking shows are hot right now,” Nathan said.

A cooking show, when Em could burn water without trying.

“You should start with the chef. He’ll be the key to your success. I actually have one in mind—”

“But you just said I could hire—”

“The staff to support the show.”

She fixed her smile back in place, adding an easy nod that she hoped covered up the panic hurtling through her veins instead of blood. Cooking show…“I was hoping you’d trust me to hire everyone for the show.”

“I do. Just go check out the chef I have in mind. He has charisma in spades. He’d draw the audience right in. Women think he’s sexy as hell, too.”

“Who is he?”

“Chef Jacob Hill, currently running Amuse Bouche, the world-class restaurant inside Hush, an equally world-class hotel in New York.”

“You mean that new hotel that’s themed for…”

“Sex? Yep, that’s the one. You can leave ASAP.” Nathan stopped and looked at her. “Oh, one more thing.”

She was still reeling from the fact that she wasn’t fired, that she was doing a cooking show and that she was headed to a hotel that specialized in sexual exploration and adventure.

“I know your potential, Em. It’s why I’m doing this. But listen to me. You’re going to have to…”

“What?”

He sighed. “Harden that ridiculously soft heart of yours. Toughen up.”

“I’m plenty tough.”

“Not in the way I’m talking. It’d help if you learned to conform to the way we do things around here.”

“You mean like lie and cheat?”

He offered her a smile, his first. “Exactly. If that chef won’t come willingly? Hire someone to find a hair on their plate at Amuse Bouche. In a place like that, he’d be ruined instantly. He’ll be begging to do the show.”

She stared at him. “That’s despicable.”

He shrugged. “That’s life.”

“I would never do something like that.”

“Yeah.” His smile faded and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Here comes number four.”

“I am not failing a fourth time.”

He didn’t look convinced, but to his credit, he didn’t say so. “You’ve got yourself one month to get this show off the ground. Go break a leg.”

She moved to the door when he opened it for her, feeling a little stunned, a little overwhelmed, a little excited and a lot sick.

“Good luck,” Nathan said wryly.

No doubt, she was going to need it.

1

New York

THREE DAYS LATER EM stood in the gorgeous lobby of Hotel Hush, looking around in marvel. The carpet beneath her feet was a pattern of blacks, greens, grays and pinks, and felt so thick it was like walking on air. The grand furniture and artwork on the vast walls brought to mind the great old salons of the roaring twenties.

She knew from Hush’s Web site that the place catered to the young, wealthy and daring. It was eighty guest rooms of fun, flirty sophistication and excitement, with additional offerings such as designer penthouse suites complete with personal butlers, an “it” bar named Erotique that attracted the glitterati of New York, a luxurious spa, a rooftop swimming pool…

And every available amenity was geared toward Hush’s hook: erotic fun. Guests could use their room’s private video camera complete with blank tapes, or any of the “toys” in each armoire. And downstairs in the basement was a discreet entertainment parlor where couples could engage in semiprivate exhibition fantasies, and more.

“More” being sensual pleasures that only those with an extremely open, worldly point of view would dare experience. According to the info Em had gotten online, anything could be obtained here, tried here, seen here. Anything at all.

Em couldn’t even imagine the half of it. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here for the pleasures. She was here to see Amuse Bouche, and its chef. Nathan had chosen well. It was rumored that Chef Jacob Hill was unparalleled in the kitchen, any kitchen, and that he was a virtual modern-day god.

And wildly, fabulously sexy to boot.

People said that his food was out of this world, that once you ate something he cooked, you fell for him hook, line and sinker. They said that his waitstaff had to guard the doors to the kitchen, beating women off with a stick every night.

She hoped that translated to great TV.

She’d tried to learn more about him, but interestingly enough there wasn’t much to learn. She’d found several lists of impressive credentials, but with an odd omission—anything prior to five years ago was a complete blank.

Which meant either Chef Jacob Hill was relatively new to his field, or he had a past he didn’t care to advertise.

An enigma.

And the last piece to the puzzle of Em’s success.

Hopefully he had one element common with the rest of the human race, that he could be coaxed, by either the promise of money or fame, all the way across the country to L.A.

“Look at this place,” Liza said in awe. Liza was Em’s oldest friend and newest assistant. That she looked like Barbara Eden circa I Dream of Jeannie had turned out to be invaluable in the industry as far as getting things done her way. Which was good, as Liza, never a warm, fuzzy sort, never one to back off from a good fight, liked to get her way. This made her an extremely efficient assistant, if a rather fierce one.

“They sure take the art deco theme seriously, don’t they?” She looked all around them. “This stuff is all museum quality.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why the male guests come here.” This from Eric, Em’s second-closest friend, and new location director. He was looking at a bold, bright painting of a very beautiful and very nude woman stretched out on a luxurious daybed for all to see—and he was enjoying the view greatly, if the smile on his face was anything to judge by. “The quality.”

Liza rolled her eyes. “We’re here for the restaurant.”

“Yeah, and trust me, as a chef, good restaurants hold a special place in my heart, but we’re really here to save Em’s ass—Oomph.” Rubbing the ribs Liza had just elbowed, he glared at her. “What? It’s true.”

Liza shook her head in disgust. “It’s not true, and you’re not a chef.”

“Am so.”

“Are not.”

Em sighed. The two of them possessed a unique talent for getting a reaction out of each other, be it annoyance—or sexual tension.

Eric went back to ogling the nudes.

“You’re a dog,” Liza said to him. “Men are dogs.”

“Woof, woof,” Eric said.

If Eric was a dog, he was a good-looking one—tall and very Californian in his casual chinos, untucked polo shirt, tennis shoes and sunglasses shoved to the top of his blond mop. He had eyes the color of an azure sky, and could stop traffic with a single smile.

Also handy when it came to getting his way.

Em couldn’t do this without either of them.

“I’m going to check in,” Liza said. “I’m getting a room as far from yours—” she pointed at Eric “—as possible.”

“Works for me.” Eric gave a careless shrug. “Last chance, Em. Save yourself all the trouble and use me as your chef. You know I’m good.”

He was good, but not formally trained, and such a goofball that no one ever took him seriously. She was afraid that would be apparent on the TV screen. “Eric—” Emma said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to the bar.”

“Works for me,” Liza snapped, and with a mutual growl, both of them were gone, leaving Em standing in the lobby alone. “Well,” she said to herself. “This is going to be fun.”

The three of them together had always been fun before. They’d made their way through college, existing on fun.

That is, until last year. That had been when Eric had been stupid enough to tell Liza he loved her, then given her a diamond ring and married her.

The marriage—based on fun and lust—had lasted for two wild, sexually charged months before they’d had an explosive fight. And because neither of them had ever had a real relationship, neither of them had known what to do with real love. Now, with all that emotion still pent up inside them, with no way to deal with it, they snarled and growled and bickered.

Em loved both of them, but if they didn’t realize that they just needed to trust themselves—and get back in the sack—then she was going to lock them together in the same room until they figured it out for themselves.

Another time, though. Because right now, Eric was right. She had to save herself. To that end, she walked toward check-in. The front desk had the same sexy sophistication as the rest of the lobby, with its chest-high black marble counters. The wall behind matched, broken only by the neon-pink HUSH blazing in the center.

The check-in process was handled by a pretty woman wearing a black tux with a pink tie and a friendly smile. “Twelfth floor, same as your friends. Room 1212 for you. It’s got a great view of the city and should have everything you need. Feel free to call us for anything.”

If only it were that easy. Just call the front desk for Chef Jacob Hill…She took the room key with a wry smile and caught up with Liza and Eric at the elevators.

Eric held out a beer, lifting it in a toast. “This place is really something. You can actually smell the excitement in the air.”

Liza inhaled and shrugged.

Eric laughed. “This place is for people who want a rush, who want to feel cosmopolitan, exotic. I feel it.”

“Since when did you ever want cosmopolitan, Mr. Beer-on-the-couch-with-the-remote?” Liza asked.

“Since two women in Erotique practically lapped me up just now.”

Liza’s eyes fired with temper but she merely inquired, “Erotique?”

“The bar. You should have seen me in there. Hot stuff, baby.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You should have kept me while you had the chance.”

“Ha.”

Appearing happy to have irritated the thorn in his side, Eric smiled at Em. “Here’s to phase two,” he said and lifted his beer in another toast. “To getting our TV chef.”

Liza nodded. “To Em’s success.”

“Absolutely.” Eric’s eyes locked on hers and went warm, his smile genuine.

Liza’s slowly faded.

“What?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

Liza shook her head. “Did we just…agree on something?”

He laughed. “Doubt it.”

“No, we did.”

“Mark the calendar,” he said softly. “Hell must have frozen over.”

“You’re a funny guy.”

“No, it’s true.” He stepped closer to her. “When we were married, you’d disagree with me no matter what I said. I’d say, ‘honey, the sky is blue,’ and you’d say, ‘nope, it’s light blue. Maybe dark blue. But not just blue, because I wouldn’t want to agree with you on anything, even a frigging color thing.’”

Liza took a step toward him this time, her body leaning forward. “That’s not what I did.”

Their noses nearly touched. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it, babe?”

The two of them were breathing heavily, tension dripping off them in waves, and not all of it anger.

“Guys,” Em said.

“You know what’s the matter with you?” Liza asked Eric.

“No, but I’m guessing you’re about to tell me.”

“Guys?” Em said again.

“You think you’re God’s gift to women,” Liza said to Eric. “It’s obnoxious.”

“I’ll try to keep it to myself then,” Eric said lightly. “Thanks.”

“This was stupid,” Liza said. “Being here, the two of us.”

“Right. Em, you want to give up on this whole chef search and just use me? Seeing as I’m God’s gift and all? Then we can all go home.”

“We’re doing this,” Em said. “You guys can do this. Please.”

Eric looked at Liza. Liza looked back. Both sighed and nodded.

Em let out a breath. She’d done her research. She was as prepared as it got. They needed Jacob Hill, and she intended to get him.

Her way.

As they waited for the elevator doors to open, Liza scoped out a gorgeous man walking through the lobby.

Eric watched her, eyes shuttered.

Em sighed, then bent to pet a sleek black cat who’d showed up out of nowhere, wearing a bright pink collar with a tag that read Eartha Kitty. With a purr, Eartha Kitty wound around Em’s ankles until the elevator doors finally opened.

Em stepped on. The inside was as plush as the rest of the place, lined with mirrors and decorative black steel. As she contemplated the row of glowing pink buttons, the doors began to close—without Liza and Eric, who were facing each other and once again bickering over something or another.

Fed up, determined to do this with or without them, Em pushed the twelfth-floor button. The doors slid all the way closed, and blessed silence reigned. With a sigh, she leaned back against the mirror, closing her eyes. If Liza and Eric didn’t kill each other by sunset, she’d happily do the deed herself.

No, better yet, she’d lock them up in one of the rooms here and let them work out their frustrations.

Unfortunately, Em had no outlet for her frustrations. Most of the men in her life had turned out to be toads. Okay, all of them had turned out to be toads, and though she’d kissed quite a few while looking for her prince, he hadn’t yet showed up.

Opening her eyes, she caught a glance of herself. Yikes. Hair wild, eyes tired…if a prince showed up today, he’d go running at the sight of her. She closed her eyes again, opening them only when the doors slid back, revealing…the second level?

How had that happened?

A man stepped into the elevator. He wore black Levi’s and battered boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt with the pink HUSH logo on his pec. His eyes were covered with mirrored aviator sunglasses, and when he shoved them to the top of his head and looked at Em, her heart stopped. Not because he was drop-dead gorgeous. No, that description felt too neat, too pat, too…GQ. In fact, he was the furthest thing from GQ she’d ever seen.

He was tall, probably six-four, all tough and rangy and hard-muscled. His hair was cropped extremely short, and was as dark as his fathomless eyes, which were set in a face that could encourage the iciest of women to ache. And that face told the tale that he’d lived every single one of his years as fast and hard as he could.

Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t appealing. In truth, she couldn’t tear her eyes off him. But she could tell he was the kind of man who would worry his mother, the kind of man who would worry a father with a daughter. He seemed…streetwise, tough as nails, edgy, possibly even dangerous.

And then he smiled.

Yeah, big and rough, and most definitely badass. This was a man who’d seen and done things, the sort of man who could walk through a brawl, give as good as he got, and come out unscathed.

A warrior.

Em would have sworn her heart gave one last little flutter before it stopped altogether.

But the most surprising thing was what he said.

“Good, you’re here.”

Um…what? Her? Em looked behind her, but they were alone. Me? she mouthed, pointing to herself, nearly swallowing her tongue when he nodded.

“You.” His voice wasn’t hard and cold, as she might have expected, but quiet and deep, and tinged with a hint of the South, which only added to the ache in her belly.

What was it about a man with a hint of a slow, Southern drawl?

Before she could process that thought, or any thought at all actually, he slipped an arm around her and turned to smile at the two women who followed him onto the elevator. “See?” he said to them. “Here she is.”

Both women were very New York, sleek and stunning, and…laughing? Whatever the man had been referring to, they weren’t buying it. “Come on, Chef,” one said, shaking her head.

Em stood there, not quite in shock, but not quite in charge of her faculties, either, because the man had her snug to his body, which she could feel was solid muscle, and warm, so very warm. Her head fit perfectly in the crook of his shoulder. At five foot nine she’d never fit into the crook of anyone’s shoulder before, not a single one of her toads, and feeling—dare she think it?—petite and delicate made her want to sigh. The feminist in her tried to revolt, but was overpowered by her inner girlie-girl.

Then the man holding her tipped his face to hers. He had a day’s growth of dark stubble along his jaw, a silver stud in one ear and the darkest, thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen. He could convince a nun to sin with one crook of a finger, Em thought dazedly.

He was still smiling, only it wasn’t a sweet, fuzzy smile but a purely mischievous, trouble-filled one.

My, Grandma, what big teeth you have. Really she needed to get herself together. But he was so yummy she hadn’t yet decided whether to smack him or grab him. And then he leaned in, brushing that slightly rough jaw to her ear, the friction of his day’s growth against her soft skin making her shiver.

“Do you mind?” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “If I kiss you?”

Kiss her? She wanted to have his firstborn!

“Just for show,” he murmured, drawing her in closer as if she’d already agreed.

Em’s mind raced. He didn’t look like the toads she’d been with lately. He didn’t feel like a toad. But would she ever really know unless she kissed him…?

No, it was crazy; it was beyond crazy, letting a perfect stranger touch her, much less kiss her, but something about his mocha eyes, about what she saw in them—places and experiences she’d never even dreamed about—made her let out a slow, if unsure, nod.