Kate
You have got tobe 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 thebeach.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, maybetinyisn’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, theone bedis 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.
