19. Mia
Chapter nineteen
Mia
I had invited Will to the Christmas party with all the confidence in the world but now it’s nearly here, I’m full of nerves. The sun is setting as we drive up the winding hill road to the Sternenschein Alpenlodge. The view is breathtaking. Damien was right—when I spoke with him earlier in the week he told me the staff go all out with decorating for the Christmas party. There are simple, tasteful lights in the trees, starting from the very bottom of the hill, which gives a real winter wonderland vibe. As we climb, I see more signs of Christmas—fully decorated outdoor trees, more lights, a sleigh, a fake reindeer.
Even the parking lot is fully decked out. Faux ice stepping stones, lit from somewhere I can’t see, lead the way to the resort door. A massive gold ribbon is threaded around the door, as if it’s a wrapped gift.
Inside is breathtaking. Every spare corner has clusters of fully decked out trees of various heights, all elegantly decorated in different but complementary themes. Right inside the door, the theme appears to be crystal. Each glass ornament glows on the rich green trees, subtly shimmering and sparkling as the light shifts. Vibrant red poinsettias are dotted around above our eye line, drawing my eye up to the expansive, beautifully lit ceiling.
While the receptionist is frantically typing into the computer, I find it impossible to take my eyes off Will, who is chatting with another guest. I’m constantly in awe of his knack for befriending everyone he meets.
I turn my attention back to the receptionist. She is biting her thumbnail, staring intently at the screen. After a few concerning noises, she apologizes and excuses herself. I turn to check out the lobby—and Will—as I wait. The receptionist returns with a second woman who looks at the computer and frowns.
“I’m so sorry Ms Davis, but would you mind following me into the office?” the second woman asks. I follow her in
“I’m so sorry for dragging you back here. I thought you’d want to avoid other guests hearing about this mix-up.” She threads her lanyard through her fingers, not meeting my eye. “We’ve overbooked again, I’m so sorry. You and Mr. Sinclair were in separate rooms, but something has happened…” she trails off. “We’ve sold all of the other rooms, but there are some guests who haven’t arrived yet…” She gives me space to react. “I wanted to check with you before we turn away other guests.”
Something shifts inside me, as if simultaneously, my drive to not involve myself with the resorts, and my self-restraint in relation to Will are rapidly unraveling. “Will and I can share. It’s no problem.” I am one hundred percent certain, without even asking, that Will will say yes. “It’s much better it’s us than other guests, you were completely right,” I say firmly. “And you’re sure there aren’t any other guests overbooked? We could always find another place to stay nearby.”
The woman’s gold earrings bounce as she shakes her head. “It’s just the one booking that’s affected, at least. And I’m sorry, we’ve only got a king room—we’ve already checked in all of the suites. There is a couch, and we can bring in a roll-away bed, but it’s not a suite.” She tucks her smooth dark hair behind one ear, then fiddles with her necklace, biting her lip. I feel awful for her, it’s almost as though she expects me to shout at her. “I’m so sorry about this mixup. And we can always find somewhere in town for another guest, if you’d prefer. It would only be a second twin room…”
“These things happen. And I appreciate you keeping this away from the other guests. Better us than a paying guest.” The woman looks relieved, which only serves to highlight how stressed she had looked before.
I touch her arm. “Hey—are you alright? You've seemed really stressed right from when we arrived.” Now I’ve had the chance to study her, I realize she looks awful. I’m used to the reception staff when I’ve visited being cool, calm and collected, and while I’d never been to this Christmas party before, I can’t imagine it’s that out of the ordinary for them to be busy. Surely that alone isn’t enough to cause this reaction.
Her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly, she takes a deep breath and visibly fortifies herself. She puts on a customer service smile. “Sorry, Ms Davis, I’m fine. It’s been a challenging day. Let’s get you sorted into your room.”
I reach out and touch her arm. “Hang on a second, is there anything I can do to help? Someone I can grab for you?”
She looks both ways, though we're alone in the back office, then lowers her voice. “Sorry, I always find it a bit more difficult when Bryce is here. Something always seems to go wrong when he’s watching.”
I suppress a sigh. I haven’t managed to make it five minutes without Bryce being a pain in my ass. I knew my instinct to be suspicious of him was right. I nod, attempting to go with ‘sympathetic’ rather than ‘fucked off’.
“You mentioned the room had been double booked ‘again’? This has happened before?”
She frowns, nodding. “Ever since we switched over to the new software, bookings have been temperamental. It’s maybe happened four or five times since we switched a month ago.” About once a week then. I know nothing about hotel bookings, but that sounds frequent to me.
“Must be really frustrating for you guys,” I say.
She lowers her voice. “We’ve raised it with Ingrid and she’s talked to Bryce about it. The software is cheaper, so we’re sticking with it.” She shrugs again. “Not much we can do, and mostly, people have been so good about it, thank god.”
A cost-saving measure. Interesting. I make a mental note to try to find out more about it.
“Alright, then. Do grab me, though, if you want to tell me more, won’t you? I’ll chat with Will, but I’m sure we’ll be fine to share. We’ll let you know about the extra bed.”
When I emerge from the back room, Will is leaning against the counter. The smile he gives me when he sees me almost melts me where I stand. Jesus Christ, I have to pull myself together if we are going to be brushing our teeth in the same bathroom for the next couple of days.
I flash the keycard at him. “Let’s go, Mr. Sinclair.” I say, picking up my bag. Will says goodbye to the second woman on the counter and saunters over.
“Everything okay with Alice?”
“Alice?” I ask.
“The receptionist? The woman you were talking to.” Trust Will to have found out someone’s name without even talking to them. I push the button for the lift.
“Yes, she’s fine. Well, actually—and I’m not joking, promise—they’ve only been able to give us one room to share. They’re overbooked. Teething issues with a new system, sounds like.” I tell him about the spare bed option or us getting a different hotel. As much as I’d like to pretend this is the only choice, I can’t force it.
I can’t read Will’s look. Does he not believe me that they double booked us? Then he shrugs in his classic low-stress Will way. “I won’t suffocate you in your sleep. You need to be at the resort, Mia. You own it.”
I guess we’re sharing a bed. So much for those warm feelings I have been trying very hard to ignore.
We drop our bags upstairs and change from our plane clothes. As I wait for Will to emerge from changing in the bathroom for dinner, I add bright red lipstick. His eyebrows shoot up when he emerges and sees me, and a rush of heat floods through me as I realize he likes what he sees.
“You look gorgeous.” He takes a step toward me with his arm out as if he’s going to embrace me then he stops, dropping his arm to his side. “You always do.” He gives me a self-conscious smile.
I hate that we’re so awkward around each other. A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. “Clearly not, you’ve never looked at me like this at the pub, have you?” I grab my shoes out of my suitcase and pull them on while steadying myself against the wall. They are simple black pumps, in the highest heel I dare. They make my legs look amazingly long.
“You’re right. I should tell you that more often,” he says, voice tinged with regret.
The restaurant is busy, but not completely packed. I’m glad we didn’t arrive any later. Will pulls out my chair for me, for possibly the first time ever.
Once the waiter leaves, I ask, “What was that? The chair?”
He very obviously looks around at the ridiculously fancy dining room. “Are you not my date? Does this not seem like the kind of place a guy would pull out his date’s chair?” Touché. I had said that.
Will presses his lips together and shifts in his seat. “I’ve always wanted to take you to a fancy place like this. On a proper date, I mean.”
I open, then close my mouth. This is the most overt he has ever been about wanting to pursue a relationship with me. I open my mouth again, then remember Chloe’s words. ‘But what if it does work out.’ And what if it does? Right now, I can’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t take the risk.
Before I can say anything, Will asks, “Do you think our server was okay?” He had seemed frazzled, though the service was excellent. I follow Will’s eye. The server is behind the bar, holding both hands to his temples, eyes closed.
We look at the others. All of them seem stressed, frantic, or overworked. Instead of walking calmly, they are rushing. Two servers almost crash at the kitchen door, twice. “Maybe it’s because it’s so busy? They were more relaxed last time I was here, but it wasn’t this close to Christmas,” I suggest.
The concern about the staff nags at me while we eat. I’ll need to find some time to discuss this, and the booking system, with Ingrid, the manager of Sternenschein Alpenlodge. Could this be related to what the receptionist had talked about too?
I’m standing at the end of the bed in my pajamas, wet hair soaking into my back. The rush of water from the shower is thundering in the background as I stare at the bed. White sheets, a white duvet, white pillow cases; it’s so inviting, but I have been so focused on my worry about the staff, I had forgotten about the shared bed situation until we got back to the room. Immediately, my earlier preoccupation with how I was going to sleep next to Will without touching him floods back. The bed is big, sure, but it’s hardly like we can build a wall between us.
I climb between the sheets, trying to leave a decent gap between me and the center of the bed, and try to read my book.
Knowing Will is so close, naked under running water is excruciatingly distracting. I consider quickly getting myself off to cool down my feelings before we sleep right next to each other, but knowing my luck, he would walk back in right as I’m climaxing. Instead, I force myself to slowly inch my way through my novel.
I have almost given up trying to focus when Will comes back in, bare chest red from the shower, hair dripping. He’s wearing sleeping shorts, and is holding the towel in front of himself as if he’s worried his shorts are too tight to be decent in front of me. That’s what I imagine, anyway. I can barely tear my gaze away from him back to my book. A small smirk from Will suggests I have not managed to be as subtle as I hoped, and I sink down under the covers to give myself a less straight-on view.
Somehow I manage to successfully avoid staring as Will gets into bed and picks up his book from the nightstand on his side. The silence is thick, our pages turning a little too slowly, and our breaths are deliberately even. I wonder whether Will is sensing the same tension as me.
After what feels like an hour, I break. “Can we talk about how weird this is? I can’t ignore the elephant in the room.” I drop my open book onto my stomach.
Will raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment, torturing me by reading for a few seconds more before placing his bookmark between the pages.
“I don’t see an elephant.” His voice is husky, almost as if he’s just woken up. I love it. It feels like I’m hearing something that’s completely forbidden. Will’s eyes crinkle, a sure tell that he’s trying to avoid laughing at himself. I fling my arm to the side and smack him in the stomach with the back of my hand. Will brings his knees up as protection.
“Hey now.” Will’s voice is a playful growl. “If we’re sharing this bed for the next couple of days, we’re going to need some ground rules. First rule: dick hitting is definitely out.”
I roll my eyes. “I was a million miles away from your dick.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Sure about that, Mia?”
My clit throbs with want. Jesus Christ. I roll onto my side toward him.
Will rolls toward me, mirroring my posture.
“There doesn’t have to be an elephant if we don’t want, Limpet,” he says quietly.
We lapse into quiet and eventually Will rolls over. But I can’t sleep. I’m lying on my side facing away from Will, one knee bent over the other leg, blanket pinned under my arm, trying to make my breathing slow and even so he thinks I’m asleep. Will is so close behind me the heat of his body snakes its way under the covers toward me.
I want to reach my arm back until I touch skin, and see where that takes us. Instead, I breathe, Will breathes, and we are silent and still together. I wish I knew what he had been thinking today. He was flirtatious, and kind, and had been touching me more, like he did before. But if his feelings have changed, he isn’t being vocal about it.
And don’t I need a person who is going to be vocal about their feelings, and talk me through what they want and need? I’ve been talking about that with my therapist Una for years now, and it is one non-negotiable I have for my next long-term relationship. Joel hadn’t been able to talk when we were together, and if I’m honest, I couldn’t either. And eventually, it broke us. I sigh.
Immediately, Will asks, “Are you okay? What’s happening in your brain?” He isn’t asleep, after all. He’s the child, up past their bedtime pretending to be sleeping.
I laugh a small dry laugh. “I was thinking about Joel, believe it or not.”
I can feel Will shifting in the bed, rolling onto his back, maybe? “Why were you thinking about Joel?” We’re silent for a few seconds. “Why were you thinking about Joel here?”
“I was thinking about how our communication was the thing that ended things for us—” I roll onto my back. “—and how, since then, I’ve worked so hard to learn how to communicate. That I can’t have another proper relationship where we can’t communicate in a healthy way. We have to be able to talk about our feelings.” I hope Will understands the real meaning of my words, even as I ironically speak in a coded way.
He nods. A few seconds later he says quietly, “You deserve that.” The starched sheets crinkle as he moves, and I wait for him to say more. I want him to say more—but I also want him to have a graceful exit if I’m completely misinterpreting these feelings. Maybe they are only my feelings, and Will sees me only as a very good friend. A very good friend, who sometimes kisses me back.