11. Kate
You have got to be kidding me.
I assess the room around me, my mouth on the floor as I take it all in. The room is gorgeous, yes. Everything is white, with gold and blue accents on the curtains and the floor, and wicker accent furniture. Very coastal vibes with abstract art of the sea and sand on every wall. It’s as if the interior designers of the hotel wanted an endless reminder for their guests that they are at the beach. It’s a beautiful oasis compiled in one single 800-square-foot space.
I would be in heaven if it weren’t for one teeny-tiny issue.
There’s only one bed.
One. Bed.
Alright, maybe tiny isn’t the best way to describe the severity of the crisis before me. This is a problem. A big problem.
“Katherine Stanley. There is only one bed. One. Uno. Isa. One singular bed in the center of this room.” I talk like someone is with me, listening, which there isn’t. I’m alone, waving my arms around manically, presenting the room to my audience of one. Me. “And talking to yourself isn’t going to make this situation any less crazy, so maybe stop that. Right now.”
I halt, taking a deep breath and pinning my arms to my sides. Forcing myself into submission physically is the best way to prevent a freakout, right? Of course it is. I nod confidently, feeling ready to handle this situation with a level head.
Then, as if I am screaming into the abyss, my brain decides to alarm over and over.
THERE IS ONLY ONE BED!
Adrenaline courses through me as I scramble throughout the room, looking under the bed, the couch, in the bathroom, anywhere they might store a futon or secret mattress around here. I even feel the walls for secret buttons or handles to pull down a bed from the wall. Panic starts to rise in my chest as I come up empty. Of course there’s only one bed. This room was reserved for ONE person. Ugh, freaking Bill. If he didn’t have such an unstable heart, I would call and give him a piece of my mind without fear of sending him into an arrhythmia.
“Alright, this is fine.” Deep breath in. “Everything is going to be fineeeeeeee—”
“What is—”
“Ahhh!” I jump around, clutching my chest as Malcolm stands in the doorway.
He chuckles, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling as he stands there, all broad country-boy manliness, in the doorway of this immaculate and overly fancy resort hotel. Such a stark contrast. If he had it his way, we’d all sleep in a Super 8 this week. “Saves money,” he’d say. His eyes dance all around my face, probably analyzing and processing that I was just in the middle of a minor freakout. I can’t help but blush under his gaze.
Why is he looking at me like that? Has he always looked at me that way?
“Is everything okay?” He laughs again, the sound soothing the tension creeping up my neck. Shutting the door behind him, he sets his bag down and walks into the kitchen nook.
He can’t see the issue yet, the one bed is around the corner of the kitchen, blocked by a decorative wicker partition. A versatile option for privacy and aesthetics, I guess.
“Uh, yeah! Actually, no. Ugh.” I rub away the sweat lining my forehead. “Did you get toothpaste?” I sit at the kitchen island as he walks to pour himself a glass of water from the complimentary pitcher we had waiting for us. I was too stressed to even notice the little amenities we have all over the place. Water in the fridge, fresh fruit on the counter, a fancy set of toiletries in a basket with a cute fluffy headband. Goodness, this place is perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
“I did. Let’s see what we have here.” He finishes off his water and walks around the island, slowly taking in each nook and cranny of the place. I put my head in my hands and just wait for the inevitable freakout to come. I hear him hum in either appreciation or scoff in annoyance as he makes his way through the suite. “This place is a little bow gee, isn’t it?”
“It’s bougie,” I correct, smiling into my palms.
“Right, whatever. We could’ve saved if we—”
“You’re joking if you think the parents would let us take their kids to a Super 8.” I walk around the island to get myself some water and watch him eye everything. Shake the curtains. Shimmy the couch. Fluff the chair pillows. Do all men do this?
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs as he looks out the balcony door, which overlooks the ocean—another thing I missed in my freakout. “Let’s go out here.” He smiles at me over his shoulder before going onto the balcony, leaving the door open. The warm, salty air beckons me.
I follow him but feel the bed staring at me, taunting me, with its pillow eyes.
We sit in the chairs nestled side by side on the balcony and take in the view overlooking the private hotel beach and vast ocean that stretches farther than I can see. It’s late in the afternoon with the sun hidden by a few clouds, small beams of sunlight peeking through and glistening on the water just below us. I scan the groups of students scattered on the beach, pointing out our kids to Malcolm. Some are sunbathing, some are playing volleyball, and the others are playing football. My chest warms at the scene, the current crisis not feeling as significant as gratitude swells in my heart.
They really are good kids. And this place is beautiful. And I’m here with my best friend. Yet, I’m freaking out over something so small. Surely we can manage one king-sized bed for a few nights.
Taking a deep breath in, I taste the salt from the air and lick the corners of my mouth. The idea of sitting out here in the morning with a cup of tea sounds splendid. And to have this man drink his coffee next to me doesn’t sound too bad either. The sun warms my face as I close my eyes and picture the next few days.
My involuntary smile pinches my cheeks as I ask, “Isn’t this perfect?”
“So perfect,” he whispers slowly.
I look over at Malcolm, who is…staring at me?
His smile is a different one. Soft and tender. I don’t see that one very often. It’s reserved for when he goes to the woodworking show, or when he watches Saving Private Ryan. The smile he has when he’s completely engrossed in the thing he’s taking in. Heat splotches my cheek as he clears his throat and turns toward the beach. “Absolutely perfect.”
Something about that smile sends an unfamiliar sensation zinging through me.
“So…” he says without looking at me, “what are we going to do about the bed?”
“The bed?” I cringe, the sensation fully replaced with anxiety as it ripples itself deep down into my belly. “So you’ve seen it?”
“First thing I saw, Kate. But I had a feeling you were worried about it, so I figured I’d let you have some more time to process before bringing it up.” He leans back in his chair, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. “So, what’s the plan, Stan?”
“Leaving it up to me? Gee, thanks.” I groan and pull my legs up under me on the chair.
“Of course not.” His tone is steady and comforting as he reassures me. “I just know that sometimes you see something one way and can get so riddled with anxiety about how it might affect someone else.” He shrugs casually, like the simple fact that this man truly knows me and just revealed my inner turmoil like he was recalling what he ate for breakfast this morning is just that—casual. Continuing, he adds, “And sometimes—and I mean no offense—those feelings can cloud the other possibilities. Right?”
“Maybe,” I answer reluctantly. Giving him a side eye roll, I rest my chin against my knees and let out a big sigh. Of course he’s right. I get so focused on the negative possibilities that I see right past the possible solutions. And Malcolm is usually there, patiently waiting for me to realize this.
“What has you worried?” He drums his fingers against his chest, making a light thumping noise against the solid peak of it, and I gulp. Another feature now registered in my brain for a future episode, I’m sure.
“We’ve never shared a bed before…” My words linger like the salt on my lips, my eyes pinned on the rise and fall of his chest.
His chest expands and deflates smoothly. “You are correct. We haven’t.”
“And I know your back will be ruined on that sofa.” I poke his chest. I can’t help it. He grabs my finger, sending goosebumps up my arm. I swat his hand away and retreat my arms back around my legs, hoping he didn’t catch what that touch did to me. Episode buffering.
“It might not—”
“Oh, don’t even,” I cut him off. “You were debilitated for a week after crashing on my couch at Christmas, and this week is too busy for us to be walking around like crippled old people.”
“Some say I am a crippled old person.” His eyes sparkle at me as he jokes, memories of our first meeting flashing in my mind.
“Well, yes, you are,” I say pointedly. “Hence, I should consider your limitations in this decision.”
“You take the sofa, then.”
I scoff at him. “How chivalrous of you.”
“Well, what’s your plan, then?” he asks, waiting for a response. When I don’t say anything, he asks, “Do you want to share a bed with me, Katherine?” The words come out low and slow, like a kind of purr under his breath. It sounds…sensual. And I find myself suddenly fixated on his mouth. My body involuntarily reacts with a shiver.
I’m hallucinating. The salty air is shriveling my brain cells, that’s all. I have to block out images of his lips and other things that try to push their way into my mind.
A laugh escapes him when all I do is stare at him unblinkingly. “Well? Do you want to?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. What is happening?
Panic ripples through me, and I can’t help but dodge the message his eyes are sending me. “You wish I did!” I shove his shoulder. I catch his smile falter for a moment in response. He’s just playing, Kate. That’s all this is. He’s aware you’re stressed, and he’s lightening the mood for you. That’s what Malcolm does. He’s doing what any good friend would do. No need to overthink every little thing.
“If you’re comfortable with sharing, I’d feel much better if we both got to enjoy the comfy bed. But if that’s weird, we can switch.” I force nonchalance with my words, but the thought of me sleeping on the sofa threatens to give away the fact that I am dying to see what that mountainous plush of a bed feels like against my spine.
Waves crash under us, drawing my attention back to the beach. The tiny balcony space is filled with a soothing white noise, drowning out the pestering anxious voices in my head. If I’m being honest, the thought of sharing a bed with Malcolm and waking up to seeing his face cast in sunlight every morning makes my heart do a backflip. I’m not sure why, but I can’t imagine spending this week any other way. Maybe it’s just an opportunity to enjoy a beautiful place like this with a man like him.
“Can I be honest?”
Not if it’s a rejection, I think.
I assess him. His eyes are closed with the late-afternoon sun casting a radiant halo around his hard features, softening them as he relaxes into his own thoughts. I’m slowly starting to feel at ease about this situation—and oddly, a little excited. I hold my breath and say, “Of course.”
“Brennan would never let me live it down…” His words fade into a whisper at the mention of his friend. Malcolm’s jaw ticks, as if he can tell the protective walls around his memory just cracked a tiny bit. It’s rare when he talks about Brennan.
“What?” I ask softly.
“If I gave up the chance to share a bed with a woman like you.”