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With a sigh, I'm about to stand up when suddenly, the logs burst into flames, bathing the room in a warm glow.
I turn, a look of triumph on my face, only to see William holding a remote control, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"You knew how to work it this whole time?" I exclaim, half exasperated, half amused.
"Yes, I have the same model at home. I just thought I'd let you have your moment with nature," he replies, trying to stifle his laughter.
I roll my eyes as I join him at the couch. “I think I’ve had my fill of nature for one day.”
We settle in silence, blinking at each other with matching grins.
William’s hand rests on my knee and a zing shoots through me.
He leans in.
Oh my gosh, he’s going to kiss me!
My heart is thumping, and I’m doing a happy dance in my head.
But then I break out into a nervous sweat and start to worry obsessively over what all of this means.
I can’t kiss William! He’s supposed to be meeting Sasha’s grandmother and doing an art deal. I’m not here to play house and be his girlfriend.
Besides… our story has started out on a lie. And William made it very clear that he values honesty above all.
His hot breath mists my cheeks, and his beautiful, velvet lips brush mine for a split second, when I make a screeching sound and jolt backward.
“I’m sorry. I have to go to bed…”and scream into a pillow, I add silently.
William clears his throat and nods. “My apologies, I must have misread the signs…”
“Oh. No,” I wave my hands, backing away now.
“I would love to do that with you.” I touch my lips. “You’re great. I’m… totally into it. But I just… can’t.”
Oh, my heck I sound like an idiot right now.
I wince as I give him an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, my grandmother will be here tomorrow, and we should get an early night. In separate beds. Far. Far away from each other.”
William’s left brow lifts, but he recovers himself and gives me a professional nod. “You’re right. Of course. We can’t forget why we’re here.”
As I retreat to my room, I’m trying to remember the last time I was kissed.
I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as I mentally scroll through my history, which feels as patchy as my own grandmother's quilt.
It's a bit like trying to remember the last time I had a piece of really juicy watermelon – it's been a while, and the more I think about it, the more I crave it.
I can't help but chuckle, realizing I'm comparing romance to ripe fruit.
"Classic Emily," I mutter to myself.
The last kiss that comes to mind was with Derek, the barista who thought cappuccino art was a gateway to profound emotional connections.
I shudder at the memory of his coffee-scented beard and his insistence on reading coffee grounds like tarot cards.
Then there was that blind date with Tom, who had the unfortunate habit of talking exclusively about his pet iguana. The date ended with a peck on the cheek and me feigning an allergic reaction to avoid a second date.
I sigh, rolling over on the bed.
