11. We will not be an only one bed trope
CHAPTER ELEVEN
we will not be an only one bed trope
PRESENT
Well, shit.
“What kind of upgrade downgrades the number of beds?” I ask, storming into the bedroom and opening the closet door like I’ll find a second mattress hiding inside. “I definitely had a room with two beds before and confirmed it when I added you.”
The bed looks like a king, and I know I’d be completely safe sleeping beside Forrest, but with our history, with Bridget, with feelings, I just can’t. We can’t.
I’ve been very careful since we resumed our friendship to ensure I never crossed any line with Forrest. I had my chance. I blew my chance up. I don’t get another one.
He’s never given any indication he felt any different, steadily dating over the last year and encouraging me to do the same.
He even offered to set me up on a blind date with one of the architects at the firm he works at.
With how adamant he was that we’d hit it off, he basically built a brick boundary between us.
Message received. I understand our ship has sailed. This tiny sliver of my brain seems to be the only party that doesn’t understand that. Or maybe it’s my hormones.
I just hope he knows that I know where we stand, and I would never do anything like this on purpose to try to trap him.
“Cam, it’s o—” Forrest starts, reaching for me, but I cut him off. His hand drops.
“I’ll fix this. Don’t worry.” Ironic thing to say considering how much I’m worrying. “I’ll fix this.”
I pick up the phone from the nightstand and jam my finger into the button for the front desk.
“Mountain Sunrise Resort,” Hope’s chipper voice answers. “This is Hope. How can I help you?”
“Hope. Babe. My love. This is Camilla Viottolo in the Camelback suite,” I answer, willing myself to keep the cool head Forrest is still somehow maintaining.
He continues watching from the doorway, expression unreadable. Is he annoyed? Tired? Unbothered? Angry? Does he blame me?
I put the phone on speaker so he can hear.
I’m trying. I swear.
“Oh, hello Ms. Viottolo. How are you finding the room?” Hope asks.
“Well, it’s really quite beautiful. The champagne was a very kind touch, but uh, we’ve got a bed problem. There’s only one.” I expect some kind of gasp with that bomb I dropped, but no such luck.
“That’s right! All of our suites were recently upgraded to deluxe king beds. Have you sat on it yet? It’s like sleeping on a cloud,” Hope continues.
“Hope, we’re two people. Two friends. We need two beds. So, the suite is so kind, but I’m going to need to switch back to my reserved room with the two beds, please.”
“I—uh.” She’s tapping away on her keyboard again when I remember what she said at check-in.
I wait, hoping she can magically materialize a room. The only sound on the other end of the line are those keys clicking away followed by silence.
“You’re completely sold out…” I mutter.
“I’m so sorry. We are,” Hope says, her voice wavering, and I really do think she’s sorry.
“I can see if there will be availability after check-out tomorrow, and maybe we can move things. The couch does pull out into a full-sized bed in the meantime, though it does still need to be updated as part of our renovation.”
The poor girl sounds so nervous. I’m frustrated, but there’s nothing she can do tonight, and I don’t want to ruin her night.
I look back at Forrest and find him moving toward me.
“Thank you, Hope,” he says once he’s close enough to be heard without shouting. “We’ll take a look at that.”
He mouths another It’s ok at me.
“I’m so sorry again. I assure you I’ll look into this and connect with you in the morning.” Hope’s voice draws my attention back to the phone.
“Thanks for your help, Hope. We’ll check back with you tomorrow. Have a good night.” I sigh, and after Hope says good night, hang up.
I start to tell Forrest I’ll take the pullout, but he’s disappeared.
In the living room, I find the coffee table pushed to the side—champagne and fruit neatly arranged in the little kitchenette—and Forrest pulling the folding bed out of the couch, his forearms on full display.
I tell myself to ignore them and focus on the issue at hand.
“Forrest, I can stay on—” I try again, but he holds a hand up.
“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. Then he smiles. “It’s my bed. Keep your paws off it.”
I feel guilty, though. The metal bars make a terrible squeaking sound as they straighten out and the thin mattress is nothing compared to the plush bed in the other room. Forrest quickly places his body between me and the bed so I can hardly see around him.
But I made and was responsible for the reservation. This is more my fault than his.
“My significant youth would do much better on the pullout. Are you sure your old bones can handle it?” When in doubt, call Forrest old. It’s a tried-and-true strategy of mine.
“I’m positive,” he says, collecting the spare blanket and pillows from a bag at his feet. He must have gotten it from the closet. “This pullout and I will be quite happy together.”
“I know there’s a pullout joke somewhere here. I just can’t quite find it,” I say before I can think better of it.
“Thank god for small miracles,” Forrest says, shaking his head.
I ignore him and pick up the champagne. While the ice in its bucket has melted some with our late arrival, the bottle is still cold.
“I say we toast to this little adventure we’ve embarked on together.” I tilt the bottle in Forrest’s direction to see if he’s game.
“Alright,” he says as he finishes making the bed. He takes the bottle and uncorks it, making it look easy even though I’m certain I’d have lost an eye if I tried.
I start searching the few cabinets for glasses, but only find disposable cups wrapped in plastic. I scrunch my nose at those. They hardly feel celebratory, though they are on theme for the way today has gone just a little bit sideways.
With a helpless look over at Forrest, I pick up the sad cups, but Forrest shakes his head, holding the bottle out to me.
“Just drink it, would you?” he instructs, scoffing lightly at my desire to be proper. “I promise I don’t have any cooties you don’t already have.”
Oh.
I do as I’m told, then Forrest takes the bottle, avoiding my eyes after his little quip toeing the line of mentioning our past. But he tips the bottle back, drinking from the same spot I just did.
“To Arizona adventures,” he says as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and passes the bottle back to me.
“To Arizona adventures,” I echo, taking another long pull and saying a silent prayer this trip goes well.
We pass the bottle between us a few more times before my eyelids start to droop.
When I let out a very unladylike yawn that hinges my whole jaw open, I decide it’s time for sleep.
I set the bottle in the fridge and take my turn in the bathroom first. Showering, changing into pajamas, doing my skincare routine, and brushing my teeth.
“All yours,” I announce to Forrest as he lazily flips through the channels on the TV.
“Thanks,” he says, standing and collecting his things. “And thanks for letting me come with you here.”
“Thanks for wanting to come,” I answer and close the bedroom door.
Despite staying up late to try and counteract the two-hour time change, I still wake early. Only a thin sliver of light sneaks in through the thick drapes, and it’s pale pink and soft.
I realize what view could be waiting for me outside and launch out of bed, throwing back the curtains to the start of dawn peeking over the horizon.
The balcony I stepped onto yesterday from the living room stretches across the bedroom too, and I slide back the glass door to find a startled Forrest looking at me from where he’s sitting, wrapped in the blanket from his bed.
I guess he really didn’t pack for these November mornings and evenings. I shiver when my bare foot touches the cold concrete balcony, but I’m unwilling to go back inside for socks or my hoodie, lest I miss the sun beaming across the Arizona desert in a brilliant splash of pastels.
“I see you still wake up aggressively,” Forrest notes, another easy reference to our past. Sometimes I forget he knows what I’m like straight out of bed. I flush at him reminding me.
Forrest was always slow in the morning—sleepy, warm, soft.
“I do,” I admit. “Have you become a morning person, too?” I ask. He used to be very resistant to getting out of bed in the morning, and it’s early.
I reach for the cold banister to shock myself back to the present.
Forrest shakes his head. “Not a chance. I’m not sure what got me up today. I think it’s first-day excitement.”
This venture into my past in Arizona seems to have opened the door to other memories. Memories we shared. Maybe for both of us.
“I never want to miss a moment,” I say, trying to be just as casual about bringing up our past, even just little hints at it, but I feel anything but.
I picture those lazy mornings for him, when I’d get up, make coffee, and crawl back into bed, pressing my freezing feet to Forrest’s still-warm legs. I can practically feel the way he’d wrap an arm around me and pull me close in an attempt to make me stop trying to wake him.
Forrest rises from his chair and comes to stand beside me, throwing one end of his blanket around my shoulders before leaning forward to rest his forearms on the railing. We’re not touching, but the warmth from his body heats me everywhere.
Cool mornings under warm blankets with Forrest still seem to do it for me.
I tell myself the goosebumps peppering my arms are from the chill in the air.
We stand there together, quietly, watching golden light spill across the pool, mountain, cacti, and entire city. It’s theoretically the same sun that rises in Massachusetts, but here, it’s a different kind of breathtaking, even in November.
Today is the fresh start I need, and having Forrest by my side reminds me that a new beginning doesn’t need to happen alone.