Our rooms are the last two along the corridor and are opposite each other.
‘They’re both en-suite,’ the woman tells us, which I am extremely happy about; I don’t want to be bumping into Tom on the way to the bathroom in my pyjamas.
I purposely avoid looking inside Tom’s room when she opens the door for him and he goes in, because it isdefinitelynothing to do with me what his room’s like.
My room has a white ceiling with timbered joists, a polished oak floor covered in a big Persian-style rug, huge antique mahogany wardrobe and chests, and a very impressive four-poster, complete with curtains. It’s all decorated in pale blues and jade greens, which go beautifully together. The shower room is lovely in a different way – very modern and angular, with jade-green floor tiles and white walls and pale blue towels.
It’s utterly gorgeous.
I just wish Tom wasn’t opposite.
I’m glad I brought my favourite (and most flattering) pyjamas.
Although I will certainly not be seeing him during the night, obviously.
* * *
I’ve just finished washing my hands and face and sorting my stuff out when there’s a little tap on the door.
It must be Tom.
I check my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and adjust my hair slightly, before arranging my features into a nonchalant smile and opening the door to… Ruth.
Over her shoulder I see Bea at Tom’s door.
‘We thought it might be nice to have a little walk around the village before we’re due downstairs. I think we have an hour before we’re meeting for drinks?’ Ruth says.
‘Perfect,’ I say. Infinitely better than sitting in my room annoyed with myself for feeling awkward about Tom.
Tom also agrees to their suggestion and the four of us troop downstairs and begin to walk up the road.
Bea and Ruth set an extremely fast pace.
‘I hope I’mhalfas fit as them at their age,’ I say to Tom as we match their strides.
‘I know. We’re literally going to be out of breath and need serious showers at this rate.’
We continue our speedy march until Bea tells us that it’s time to go back to the pub and get changed.
‘We’ll see you downstairs in the main bar at six,’ Ruth says as we part at the top of the stairs.
Which means, I think, as I nod, that I will maybe have to walk downstairs with Tom.
I really don’t know why I’m making such a big deal ofseeing Tomin my head. It’s actually all very easy and simple and there is no need to be like this; I’m being very silly.
Except… he’s basically drop-dead gorgeous. In every way – right now I’m remembering the way his forearms flexed under his rolled-up shirt sleeves when he pushed open the very heavy pub door and how he carriedallour bags upstairs without appearing to even notice – and I don’t want to allow my thoughts to even get started on the way his thighs are filling out his jeans. And the gorgeousness of his face.
And also he’s very funny and very kind and very nice and very good company.
It’s really almost impossible not to love him.
And that is a problem for me because it is not fun loving people who don’t love you back. I mean, I’m sure he quitelikesme, as a person. But he definitely doesn’t love me, and he never will. And I think he might suspect that I like him more than I should. And therefore I do feel awkward around him.
I shouldn’t, though. He’s nice and he wouldn’t think less of me, and also, hemustbe used to it. Alotof people must find him very attractive.
Tom interrupts my thoughts to say, ‘See you later, then.’
I nod.
