I turn my face into the water, grinning. "Can't hear you over the chainsaw snoring!"
There's a pause. Then I hear her laugh through the door. "I hate you!"
"No you don't!"
I take another three minutes. Maybe four. When I finally shut off the water, I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist. Then I do what I've been planning since I saw the schedule.
I move her moisturizer from her side of the counter to mine. Set her toothbrush right next to my shaving cream. Her lip gloss goes on my side too.
I'm grinning the entire time.
When I walk out, towel slung over my shoulder, Sam's sitting on her bed scrolling through her phone. She glances up.
"Shower's all yours," I say. "I left it nice and organized for you."
Her eyes narrow. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. I'm a gentleman."
She stands, suspicious, and pushes past me into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind her.
***
Twenty minutes later she comes out in the hotel robe, hair damp and loose around her shoulders. I'm already in bed, half-watching some documentary about urban planning that I don't actually care about.
Sam climbs into her bed, pulls the covers up to her waist, and picks up her phone.
I wait a few minutes, then slide out of bed and head back into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
The counter is exactly how I left it.
Her moisturizer is still on my side. Her toothbrush is still next to my shaving cream. The lig gloss hasn't moved.
I stare at the toothbrush for a long moment. Then I brush my teeth and leave everything exactly where it is.
***
When I come back out, Sam's standing near the clothing rack we used for the photoshoot earlier. She's staring at the three-foot gap between our beds like she's measuring it.
Then she grabs the metal frame and wheels the rack forward. The wheels squeak against the carpet.
She parks it directly between the two beds. Not blocking the gap completely, but close. A wall of linen and brass.
"Just getting it out of the way," she says, not looking at me.
I stop at the foot of my bed. "Uh-huh."
"The room feels crowded with it against the wall."
"Sure."
She climbs back into her bed, pulls the covers up, and reaches for the lamp on her nightstand. The room goes dark except for the glow of the alarm clock.
I close my laptop and set it on the nightstand. Lie down. Stare at the ceiling.
We're both lying there in the dark, facing each other across the gap. The clothing rack is a silhouette between us, fabric swaying slightly from the air conditioning vent.
"Why do you really hate flying?" Sam's voice is quiet, almost careful.
