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"Charlotte, I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," Isla's voice floated down once more, tinged with embarrassment. "But I seem to have left my glasses somewhere downstairs."
“Let me,” Simon said, starting toward the stairs.
"Stay here," Charlotte instructed Simon, her tone laced with urgency. "I'll be quick."
As she moved to assist Isla, locating the glasses in the front foyer, Charlotte couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Here she was, orchestrating a ballet of near-misses, each step executed with the precision of a seasoned performer. Yet, with every pirouette, she grew more and more frustrated with the dance.
"Here they are," Charlotte handed the forgotten glasses to Isla, who offered a sheepish grin in return.
"Thank you, truly. Now, go enjoy your evening!"
"Goodnight, Isla," Charlotte said, though the repeated refrain felt like a wish hanging by a thread.
Descending the stairs, the sight of Simon waiting for her, patience etched into the lines of his face, was a balm to her frayed nerves.
"Sorry for all the interruptions," Charlotte said, her voice heavy with laughter and exasperation as she reclaimed her seat across from him.
"Nothing to apologize for," Simon reassured her, raising his glass. "To us, and to moments worth waiting for."
Their glasses chimed in agreement, the sound echoing through The Crown Inn like a vow. She watched Simon, who had stood up once more, ostensibly to stretch his legs but likely growing restless from the interminable string of interruptions.
"Nature calls," he said with an easy smile. "I’ll be right back."
"Of course," Charlotte replied, her laugh a touch too high-pitched, betraying her inner turmoil. As he disappeared toward the restroom, she couldn't help but think how each absence felt like a reprieve and a curse all at once—a stolen moment to breathe, yet another chance for Isla to emerge.
Her thoughts were a whirlpool, spinning faster with every soft footstep she heard above. If Isla steps out now, while Simon's away... Fate seemed to favor the dramatic tonight. The floorboards creaked a warning overhead just as the restroom door clicked shut downstairs.
"Charlotte?" The voice floated down like a leaf on the wind, Isla’s silhouette appearing at the top of the staircase.
"Coming!" Charlotte called. She ascended the stairs two at a time, a forced calm settling over her features as she greeted Isla with a practiced smile. "What can I help you with?"
"Would you happen to have a spare charger? My phone is nearly dead," Isla explained, her tone apologetic.
"Let me just check in the kitchen drawers,” Charlotte said, already plotting her course to retrieve her own charger—she would deal without one for a night.
The humor of the situation was not lost on her—the universe playing its own game of hide and seek. She thought that the Harrisons would be the tough ones! But she procured the charger with a triumphant flourish.
"Here you are," Charlotte presented it to Isla, who took it with grateful hands.
"Thank you, Charlotte. You really do think of everything, don't you?" Isla remarked, unaware of the irony.
"Trying my best," Charlotte responded, her laughter genuine despite the undercurrent of stress.
"Goodnight, again," Isla said, the finality in her voice suggesting that this might indeed be the last request of the night.
"Sleep well," Charlotte replied, her relief palpable as she watched Isla retreat to her room and close the door with a soft click.
Descending the staircase once more, Charlotte's gaze lingered on the deserted hallway leading to the restrooms. And then there he was, reemerging into the dimly lit foyer area, his presence a beacon drawing her back into the sphere of their interrupted romance. His brow furrowed slightly as he caught sight of her, reading the subtle signs of her frazzled state.
"Everything alright?" Simon asked as she approached, his concern as endearing as it was unnecessary.
"Perfectly fine," Charlotte assured him, her voice steady as she reclaimed her seat. “All settled for the night, and we're free to enjoy what's left of ours."
"Sounds like a plan," Simon agreed, reaching across the table to gently squeeze her hand. "We’ve certainly earned a bit of peace."
Their fingers intertwined, and Charlotte allowed herself a deep, calming breath. With Isla's needs attended to and the night stretching before them like a blank canvas, Charlotte felt the anxiety ebb away—for now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
