“You’re capable of more than you think,” he reminds me. “And even if you can’t handle it, we can find something else for you to do.”
“I refuse to ruin this trip for you. If I can’t handle the dock, then?—”
“Then I’ll be with you. No questions asked.”
My heart skips a beat. I really don’t deserve this man.
As we walk down the hall to our room, I’m glad I brought him. He’s the right choice.
Our key card to the room is outside of the door. I’m still in a good mood when Nate bends down to grab it before using it.
I knew to expect one bed and a couch. What I didn’t expect,however, was for it to bethistiny.Not only is it smaller than I anticipated, it’s decked out in roses and champagne. On the bed is a massive pack of condoms.
“Wow,” Nate says. “So this is the honeymoon package. I expected it to be ... bigger.”
I shove away my horror. “Never expect a package to be bigger.”
At least he’s joking. At leastI’mjoking. It means I’m not suffocating in this tiny room.
“There’s a couch too. It’s basically the lap of luxury.”
I eye the thing. It’s a modern piece and looks like a pile of bricks with fabric over it. “That couch is a love seat at best.”
“I can scrunch.”
My eyes immediately narrow. “There’s no way you’re sleeping on that.”
“Well, there’s no way you are either.”
“I’m smaller than you. It won’t be comfortable, but it would work better.”
“Still, it’s a no from me.” He moves his bag to the couch, watching me every step of the way.
“We could just share the bed,” I offer.
“No.” He says it immediately and with more firmness than I expect. I blink at him, eyes wide. “I mean ... I wanna give you your space. I don’t need a bed.”
His light tone feels off, and I realize that he’d rather be uncomfortable for the whole trip than share a bed with me. This aversion to touching might become a big problem.
I move my bag near the bed. “Pardon me, but I think I need to use the little girls’ room.”
“There’s only one bathroom. But have fun anyway. Don’t fall in.”
I go to shut the door to have a moment to myself, but then I realize something truly horrific.
Thereisno door.
“Uh,what?”
“It’s a toilet,” Nate calls. “Shouldn’t be too different.”
“I’m not talking about the bathroom. Nate, there’s no door.” I don’t even have to raise my voice for him to hear me. “Nate, there’sno door.” I have to repeat it uselessly to make sense of the nightmare I just uncovered.
“No way.” I hear him walking toward me. “I bet it’s one of those pocket ones.”
He gets to the open doorway and reaches for the solid wood. He pauses when he realizes that there truly is no way for there to be a pocket door. His hands press flat against the surface as if there’s some magical way to make a door appear.
“What kind of place is this?” he asks.
