Page 24 of Meet Me Back Here

I pick up the phone from the nightstand and jam my finger into the button for the front desk.

“Mountain Sunrise Resort,” Hope’s chipper voice answers. “This is Hope. How can I help you?”

“Hope. Babe. My love. This is Camilla Viottolo in the Camelback suite,” I answer, willing myself to keep the cool head Forrest is still somehow maintaining.

He continues watching from the doorway, expression unreadable. Is he annoyed? Tired? Unbothered? Angry? Does he blame me?

I put the phone on speaker so he can hear.

I’m trying. I swear.

“Oh, hello Ms. Viottolo. How are you finding the room?” Hope asks.

“Well, it’s really quite beautiful. The champagne was a very kind touch, but uh, we’ve got a bed problem. There’s only one.” I expect some kind of gasp with that bomb I dropped, but no such luck.

“That’s right! All of our suites were recently upgraded to deluxe king beds. Have you sat on it yet? It’s like sleeping on a cloud,” Hope continues.

“Hope, we’re two people. Two friends. We need two beds. So, the suite is so kind, but I’m going to need to switch back to my reserved room with the two beds, please.”

“I—uh.” She’s tapping away on her keyboard again when I remember what she said at check-in.

I wait, hoping she can magically materialize a room. The only sound on the other end of the line are those keys clicking away followed by silence.

“You’re completely sold out…” I mutter.

“I’m so sorry. We are,” Hope says, her voice wavering, and I really do think she’s sorry. “I can see if there will be availability after check-out tomorrow, and maybe we can move things. The couch does pull out into a full-sized bed in the meantime, though it does still need to be updated as part of our renovation.”

The poor girl sounds so nervous. I’m frustrated, but there’s nothing she can do tonight, and I don’t want to ruin her night.

I look back at Forrest and find him moving toward me.

“Thank you, Hope,” he says once he’s close enough to be heard without shouting. “We’ll take a look at that.”

He mouths another It’s ok at me.

“I’m so sorry again. I assure you I’ll look into this and connect with you in the morning.” Hope’s voice draws my attention back to the phone.

“Thanks for your help, Hope. We’ll check back with you tomorrow. Have a good night.” I sigh, and after Hope says good night, hang up.

I start to tell Forrest I’ll take the pullout, but he’s disappeared. In the living room, I find the coffee table pushed to the side—champagne and fruit neatly arranged in the little kitchenette—and Forrest pulling the folding bed out of the couch, his forearms on full display. I tell myself to ignore them and focus on the issue at hand.

“Forrest, I can stay on—” I try again, but he holds a hand up.

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. Then he smiles. “It’s my bed. Keep your paws off it.”

I feel guilty, though. The metal bars make a terrible squeaking sound as they straighten out and the thin mattress is nothing compared to the plush bed in the other room. Forrest quickly places his body between me and the bed so I can hardly see around him.

But I made and was responsible for the reservation. This is more my fault than his.

“My significant youth would do much better on the pullout. Are you sure your old bones can handle it?” When in doubt, call Forrest old. It’s a tried-and-true strategy of mine.

“I’m positive,” he says, collecting the spare blanket and pillows from a bag at his feet. He must have gotten it from the closet. “This pullout and I will be quite happy together.”

“I know there’s a pullout joke somewhere here. I just can’t quite find it,” I say before I can think better of it.

“Thank god for small miracles,” Forrest says, shaking his head.

I ignore him and pick up the champagne. While the ice in its bucket has melted some with our late arrival, the bottle is still cold.