Excerpt of Can't Help Falling in Love by Cheryl Harper

Randa stopped in front of the doors but they automatically
swung open. The music notes on the doors were probably a nod
to the gates of Graceland. They weren’t so bad. She decided
to take a picture and think about it before she made a
recommendation to replace them. But the air conditioning
that wafted out was as beautiful and welcome as the smell of
fresh-baked cookies. If she were a cartoon character, she
would have floated in with her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Sam nodded as she waved and she stopped to absorb the lobby
of the Rock’n’Rolla. It was green. Really, really green. And
not like green paint or carpet. Green like the rainforest.
Plants exploded along one wall of the lobby and she could
hear the faint trickle of a waterfall. Heavy wood chairs
were scattered around and the floors and walls were some
kind of natural stone. What she could see of them. She could
feel the cool stone through her shoes and she wanted to sigh
with relief.

But she was distracted because right in the middle of the
lobby floor was what appeared to be a dead dog. Well, not
dead, but surely dead to the world. Every now and then the
loose lips would twitch. Randa approached it carefully
because while she loved dogs, she didn’t really have much
practical experience. Dogs didn’t work with the all-white,
all-designer, all-expensive Whitmore design aesthetic. Her
mother had told her that often enough. Eventually, Randa had
stopped asking.

Randa squatted and teetered on her four-inch heels for a
minute before she reached out to pet the dog’s long, silky
brown ears. Little green bows fluttered as the dog drowsily
stretched and moved closer to her. She knew she was wearing
a stupid grin, but the softness of his—no, her droopy
ears—and the satisfied “hmph” she let out before she went
back to sleep were reasons to smile. Randa didn’t care who
saw it.

“Can I help you?”

Randa glanced up across the empty lobby to see a thug in
another ugly Hawaiian shirt standing behind the front desk.
Thug might be too harsh. He was tall, dark, and not handsome
but . . . attractive in intensely focused kind of way that
made her nervous. Randa froze as her eyes locked with his.
Close-cut hair gave him a military look, but the dark ink
that ran from his wrist to the sleeve on his left arm said
he was dangerous. Or different. Or both, but he was wearing
a Hawaiian shirt after all. Unless he was robbing the place,
he was part of the staff.

She’d spent most of her life swimming in deep waters where
the sharks were hard to see behind designer labels and
expensive haircuts. This man was so different that he might
have been a whole new species. One with really nice muscles,
big hands, and enough controlled power to merit a second and
third look. He watched her like he knew her, knew everything
about her because hesaw her. He didn’t give her the obvious
leer that she’d seen and dismissed a million times. This
guy, when he looked, saw more than most people. Randa had
spent a lot of time blending in with the perfectly bland
Whitmore woodwork. Being the subject of that much focus made
her restless. She knew exactly how a fluffy bunny felt when
it looked up to see a hungry mountain lion. Well, except the
bunny would run away. She wasn’t sure which direction she’d
run if he crooked his finger right this second. Away was
definitely safer, but all of sudden she was tired of safe.