Relief unfurls in my chest. Thank god for Theo.
But then the woman hesitates with a scrunched-up face, and my relief dies a sudden death. That’s never a good sign.
She clicks around, pressing her lips together. ‘Looks like there was a mix-up with the rooms.’
I stiffen. ‘What kind of mix-up?’
The typing stops. She glances up and winces. ‘We had you down for two rooms, but I’m afraid all that’s left is a queen-sized double on the top floor.’
I inhale sharply.
Next to me, Brodie swears under his breath. Half grunt, half muttered curse.
‘Excuse me, but how’s this possible?’
‘If it was booked through a travel platform, sometimes the room inventory isn’t updated in real-time. I’m so, so sorry.’ The receptionist shrugs, clearly frazzled. ‘We’ve been overbooked all week. I just checked every other hotel in the area. Nothing left. Skye in early September, what can you do? If you want, I can get you a couple of extra blankets and drinks on the house?’
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Brilliant.
Brodie exhales. Not a sigh, exactly. Just this stoic release of a man who isn’t going to make this easier for me.
‘Not the end of the world,’ he says.
I glare at him. ‘You’re six foot two.’ I turn back to the receptionist. ‘Are you a thousand per cent sure there’s nothing else?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not unless you fancy sleeping in the drawing room.’
I hiss a breath out through my teeth and don’t look at him. It’s past nine, I’m knackered.
‘We’ll take it.’
The receptionist hands us the key. I snatch it before Brodie can, grab my suitcase, and head for the stairs.
The second I push open the door to our room, I stop dead. So does Brodie. It’s nice enough. Cosy, small window, little desk. The air smells like lavender and old books. Cute.
But the bed?
A queen-sized vintage metal frame bed sits in the middle of the room. Looks as though it belongs in a gran’s spare, right down to the white throw and patterned pillows. Delicate and decorative, guaranteed to squeak if you so much as cough on it.
Brodie drops his bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. ‘Christ.’ His voice is far too amused for my liking. ‘This’ll be fun.’
I cut him a dry look. He lifts one shoulder, eyes flicking to the bed, then to me, then back to the bed. Like he’s weighing something up.
Okay, yeah. We’ve already snogged like horny teenagers. Which was ill-judged enough. But sharing a bed means something else. Something I’m not ready to name, let alone risk.
I fold my arms. ‘I’ll take the floor.’
Brodie scoffs. ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll take it.’
‘You’ve got a match in two weeks.’
‘You’re the one who’s still crawling out of the hangover hole.’
We stare each other down, silent, the air between us brimming. He’s standing too close. I can smell him. Salt, the faintest trace of whatever soap he took from the hotel, and underneath it all…Brodie.
My stomach tenses, and I pull my arms in tight. I am not making the same mistake twice.
He rubs the back of his neck. ‘We’ll both fit. It’s only a few hours of sleep, Harrington.’
