Page 51 of Brighter Together

Too business like.

About Friday…

Sounds like I’m about to apologise.

Are we okay?

Pathetic.

I deleted that one so fast I nearly threw my phone across the room.

In the end, Ella and I have exchanged exactly two messages since she walked into her building on Friday night. One from her on Saturday morning asking whether I wanted her to print additional copies of the extension brief for Manchester, and one from me saying yes.

Romance is alive and well.

I stare at myself in the mirror above the chest of drawers and adjust my tie for what must be the fifth time.

It was probably straight the first time.

Get a fucking grip.

I drag the knot down again.

The trouble is I’ve had two days to think, and too much thinking has never done me any favours. Saturday was busy enough that I managed to avoid dwelling on the kiss for stretches of almost twenty minutes. Sunday was worse. By mid-afternoon, I’d checked occupancy forecasts, reviewed next month’s staffing levels and walked through the new housekeeping rota despite Sheila telling me none of those things required my attention.

Then I spent half an hour standing in my kitchen wondering whether Ella regretted kissing me.

I finally went to bed after midnight.

I didn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her leaning towards me in the car, her hand against my face and her mouth on mine. Worse, my brain had decided I needed perfect recall of the little sound she made when I slid my hand into her hair.

I groan and grab my jacket.

Today is a particularly bad day to be running on three hours’ sleep and a dangerous amount of coffee.

Unfortunately, today is also not negotiable.

Ella and I are driving to Manchester to meet the shortlisted architecture firms for the extension project.

Together.

We’re then staying overnight in a hotel owned by an old friend of mine before the final meetings tomorrow morning.

Again, together. In separate rooms, of course, but still.

When I made the booking several weeks ago, the arrangement seemed completely normal. Now the thought of spending the next thirty-six hours in Ella’s company has my stomach twisted into knots while another part of me is far too enthusiastic about the prospect.

Wonderful.

I grab my garment bag and rucksack and head downstairs.

The hotel is already fully awake, with phones ringing, breakfast guests drifting through reception and someone from housekeeping pushing a trolley towards the lift.

John spots me first.

“Morning, boss,” he greets me with a grin.