‘I have no idea.’ His eyes darted across the table. ‘I’m so tired, I can’t compute the time difference, let alone anything else.’
‘It’s all good.’ She waved her hand nonchalantly. ‘Whatever feels right will fall into place.’ Sarah stifled a yawn and her shoulders drooped.
‘Done?’
‘I’m exhausted.’
‘Me too. Why don’t you have a shower first? I’ll call down to reception and get this cleared, then we can get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’ She stood and hesitated for a moment. ‘Can I give you a hug? It feels weird that we’re married, yet I’ve only ever held your hand. And badly, at that!’
Matthew threw his head back and laughed. ‘Come here,’ he said, opening his arms to welcome her. She was a foot shorter and her head rested perfectly against his chest, tucked under his chin.
Sarah wrapped both her arms around his torso and held him tight. ‘Thanks for having me on the ride.’
Matthew couldn’t recall the last time he had hugged someone. Sarah was warm and soft in his arms, and she placated his restless nerves. He drew in a deep breath, enjoying the strength and comfort he found in her closeness.
God, this feels nice, he thought.
Sarah was the first to pull away. Casting her eyes to the bed, she said, ‘We’re sharing that tonight.’
‘I can sleep on the chaise. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘Matthew, don’t be ridiculous. We’re both adults. I’m exhausted. You’re on edge. We both need a good night’s sleep. Which is your side?’
‘I usually take the left.’
‘Perfect. Mine’s the right.’ Sarah unzipped her suitcase and withdrew a double-layered bag of white powder and held it up to the light to assess its contents.
‘What isthat?’ Matthew asked with an edge of concern.
‘Flour.’
‘What for?’
‘To feed Fergus.’
Matthew’s curiosity was piqued. ‘And who – or what – might I ask, is Fergus?’
‘My sourdough starter.’ She pulled a container from her carry-on bag and passed it to Matthew. ‘Sixty years old and still going strong. This has been passed down the generations. It was originally my grandmother’s. Mum’s is called Fergie, and this is Fergus. The original – Grammy’s one – was called Ferguson, after her maiden name.’
‘What’s a sourdough starter?’
‘It’s a combination of flour and water that ferments and gets all yeasty and grows a whole bunch of gut-healthy bacteria, which you use to make sourdough bread. You feed it flour once or twice a week, unless of course you plan on making bread. In that case, you feed it the night before.’
‘You broughtthison the plane?’
‘Obviously.’
He peered into the small plastic container at the bubbling grey mass. ‘Sarah, you’re going to teach me many things this year. I just know it.’
‘The feeling is mutual.’ Sarah gathered her things, including Fergus and the bag of flour, and tucked herself away in the bathroom.
Matthew drew in a long calming inhalation and his eyes surveyed the room. This was it. Everything he had prepared for. It was all on the line.
He walked to the window, pulled the external shutters closed, then flicked the room service switch on the phone handset.
His eyes hit the bathroom door and he closed them tight. She was just as easy to talk to as she had been during their Zoom calls, and even more beautiful. And he would be sharing a bed with her tonight. It had been a long time since he’d let anyone share his bed.
