“Let’s just say she doesn’t consider chicken and pasta a balanced emotional experience.”
That gets a quiet laugh.
“And Alfie doesn’t like the team dinners,” I add. “Too loud. Too many people. He lasts about five minutes before he looks at me like I’ve betrayed him.”
“That sounds familiar,” she says. “I also struggle with large groups of loud men discussing protein intake.”
“That’s basically the whole evening.”
“So room service sounds ideal.”
The lift slows.
“Second floor,” the automated voice announces.
“This is me,” she says.
I hand her the suitcase. She takes it carefully, our fingers brushing briefly. Neither of us mentions it.
“801,” I repeat. “End of the corridor.”
She nods. “801. Got it.”
There’s that small pause again. Like neither of us quite wants to just walk away.
“I’ll just drop this off,” she says. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Take your time.”
She gives me that same small, warm smile.
“Thank you again,” she says.
“For what?”
“For… letting me meet him.”
I nod. “He’ll like you.”
Her cheeks colour slightly at that.
“We’ll see,” she says.
The doors start to close and she gives a small wave before they slide shut between us.
As the lift starts moving again, I’m standing there thinking something I probably shouldn’t.
I hope she actually comes up.
Chapter 12
Ava
Istand outside room801 for a second longer than necessary, adjusting my glasses and then immediately adjusting them again even though they are already straight.
This is ridiculous.
I talk to colleagues every day. I correct their grammar. I send polite but firm emails about formatting. I can knock on a hotel door without behaving like I’m about to sit an exam.
