The first was an antique leather-bound journal with a worn strap holding its covers shut, the second was a heavy envelope with my name, Melissa Gordon... written on it in neat (if old-fashioned) cursive hand. The letter inside was typed on expensive heavy-weight paper that had the company watermark in the center of the page. The letter explained that the law firm had been retained by a small, independent museum to find and return the accompanying diary to the nearest living heir of the doner.. It was a stew, possibly left over from the other night. He used sliced bread to sop it up, and cleaned his dishes after.That appetite sated, he decided to do an abbreviated workout, figuring the class had to count for something. When he was done with that, he took a brief shower then saw it was late. Not bothering to dress and still damp, he slipped between the cool sheets. He scented Elaina on one of the pillows and snuggled down with that, his mind eased, and he quickly fell into sleep.The. ”We head to the hotel and come to find out it was a suite so no one would be sleeping on the sofa. We go to dinner and still chat but now it was turning into flirting. A few bottles of wine in and she was opening up on how she doesn’t want to get married to her fiancé and how she loves what she does but then pulls a full 360 and tells me that she is lonely too when she travels. We finish dinner and head back to the elevator and all is quite until she just turns to me and starts kissing me. She. Reception was still very dark. The only map the receptionist was ableto give me wasn't very helpful: one of those simplified diagrams thatshowed how to reach somewhere from the nearest major road. It suggesteddistances to the major towns that would be impossible without morepetrol. I asked the receptionist if there was any other solution."Is there a place nearby that I could get petrol?" I asked."Sorry, one hundred and forty kilometres to nearest auto gasoline." Is there any petrol here? What.