“This is a nightmare.” I mumble under my breath, and then take a step away from the small desk.  Tom puts a hand out to me, and gives me a warning look.

“It’ll be fine.” He says softly.  He turns back to the older man at the desk, who is looking through a reservations book.

“So, Mr. Williams, you have one room.  Two beds?” Tom asks, and I watch his shoulders slump slightly.  We are both exhausted, cold and drenched with rain.  My stomach is still angry, the soothing effects of the chocolate having worn off.  And now we’ve stepped onto the set of what must be a terrible romantic comedy, or in our case, a bad dramedy.  One room left. At least we’ve got two beds going for us.  I don’t really mind sharing a room with him, because to be honest, I would sleep on the couch in the common room as long as I was dry, warm and fed.  Still, it’s a little inconvenient considering our current situation.  What can go wrong, will go wrong.

“Yes. We’ve a wedding this weekend, so we’re mostly booked.  Lovely couple they are! Though the bride looks a bit like…have you seen those blind mole rats?” Mr. Williams starts to ramble, in the way that old men often can, and I see Tom shift impatiently on his feet.  He doesn’t want to be rude, but he’s in just as bad a state as I am.

“—three hundred guests! At a small place like this! Some people.” Mr. Williams continues, and Tom opens his mouth to interrupt him, but he then stops and gets back to the subject of our room. “The room we have is one we usually reserve for a family with children.  It’s two twin beds.  I’m afraid that’s all we have.” Mr. Williams says apologetically, holding up his hands. Tom nods, and glances at me over his shoulder.  I shrug.  At least it’s two beds. It’ll be better than spending the night cold and damp in the car.

“Thank you. That’ll do.  Is there anywhere nearby we can get dinner?” Tom asks, and my resolve melts a little, so happy that he’s taken charge so I can play my part as “lump in the corner”.  I pray that there is somewhere we can get something, anything to eat.  I’d settle for an old shoe if I could chew it.

“Well, The Cottage is closed on Sundays and that’s about all there is around here.  But I can have the missus whip you up something.  Bring it up to your room?” Mr. Williams offers, and I nearly run forward and kiss him with happiness.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I pipe up, grabbing my bags off the floor, suddenly feeling relieved.

“Sure. Your room is first right at the top of the stairs.” He hands Tom an old key, and gives us both a quick smile.  Tom nods, thanks him and then turns and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.  I notice the dark smudges under his eyes, the wary look on his face, and I can tell he’s moments away from collapsing.  I give him a tiny smile, and I reach forward and squeeze his arm quickly.  Tom turns and leads the way up the old, rather ornate staircase.  I follow closely behind at his heels, sighing softly.

“Are you alright?” He turns and looks at me as we get to the top of the stairs.  I nod, feeling bone weary.

“Tired. Cold. Hungry.” I manage.  Tom nods, and reaches down, taking the bags from my hands. 

“Alright, well let’s get you settled in then.” He says softly, and then walks to the closed door to our room.  When he opens it, we step inside, and I shut the door behind us. 

Despite everything, the room is nice.  More than nice.  It’s cozy, and comfortable.  Mr. Williams hadn’t been lying, though.  There are two twin beds, separated by a small nightstand.  Thick, pillowy comforters lie on top of each bed, and so despite the fact that they are small, they look rather heavenly.  A large, curtained window covers most of one wall, and I can hear the rain beating steadily against it.  Tom turns on a lamp, and the room is aglow with warm light.  There’s a wood backed chair in the corner, a small dresser, and a door to the bathroom. 

“Do you mind if I take a shower? I feel like I’ll never be warm again.” I ask, staring longingly at the bed.  Tom shakes his head, his eyes on the other bed.

“Go ahead.  I’ll make sure we get something to eat.” He sets down our bags, and then sits down on one of the beds.  He groans softly, then flops back and doesn’t move.

I leave him on the bed, and I grab a change of clothes from my bag, then head into the bathroom.  It’s a tiny room, but there’s a shower and when I turn on the water it is almost instantly hot, so that is all that matters to me.  I try not to take too much time, but I can’t help but stand under the spray for longer than necessary.  There’s some vanilla scented soap, which I use, and it feels more luxurious than anything ever.  Probably because I’ve been cold all day, and stuffed into a tiny car.

After my shower, I change into my pajamas and wrap a towel around my head, then quietly open the door.  The steams rushes out, and I feel the cooler air hit my skin.  Tom’s turned off the main overhead light, and all that’s on is the small lamp.  He’s still lying almost exactly where I’d left him, but his boots are off and he’s got one arm over his eyes.  His long legs are bent at the knees and his feet are planted on the floor, as if he’d been sitting up, fallen over and then simply passed out.  Perhaps it wasn’t far from the truth.  I watch him for a minute, not sure if he’s really asleep or just resting. 

I quietly set my things down, and see there’s a tray on the dresser.  The most delicious looking sandwiches I’ve ever seen, along with a big pile of biscuits and a pot of tea.  I could kiss Mrs. Williams, whoever she is.  My stomach rumbles in anticipation.  I quickly pull the towel off my head, my hair falling in wet wisps around my shoulders.  I run my fingers through it as I walk over to Tom.

He’s definitely asleep.  I can see the steady slow rise and fall of his chest, the even way he’s breathing.  I debate for a moment just letting him sleep, but I know he’s just as hungry as I am.  I lean forward, and gently, so as not to startle him, I rub his arm.  He starts, his arm quickly moving from his eyes, and he starts to sit up.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.” I say softly, and his eyes clear as he remembers where he is.

“Sorry, I passed out after the sandwiches came.” He clears his throat, sitting up.

“Sandwiches are exciting.” I smile.  He looks at me as if he’s not sure what he’s seeing, and then he nods.

“How was your shower?” He asks.

“Perfect.” I hum.

“I’m next.  Get started eating.  I’ll catch up with you.” He stands up, and I step out of the way.  He slides past me in the narrow aisle between the beds, and I watch him walk over and grab a cookie from the tray.  He devours it in two bites, and then leans down to dig through his duffel bag. I watch him sort through his things, his brow furrowed as he does.  A simple thing.  An every day action.  But it’s a face I know well, and an action that makes my stomach hurt for some unknown reason.

“Tom.” I say his name softly, and he looks up, still bent over his duffel.  He gives me a quick, lopsided grin.

“Gracie?” He stands up, clothes in his hands. 

“This is my fault, I’m sorry.” I say carefully.  He frowns and shrugs good naturedly.

“It’s not.  And don’t worry. It’s one night and we’ll be on our way in the morning.” He nods.  I swallow hard.

“I do want to be your friend.  I’m sorry about what I said last night.  I was…reacting and not think.” I manage. Tom takes a deep breath, looking away and then puts his hands on his narrow hips.

“Friends would be nice.  I would like that.  But you don’t need to ask.” He says softly.  I nod.

“Okay. Go take your shower.” I turn away, pretending to straighten out the already perfect covers on my bed.

****

I’ve already devoured most of one sandwich by the time Tom steps out of the bathroom.  His hair is damp and messy.  He’s changed into sweats and a clean tshirt.  No socks, his big, strangely elegant feet make soft padding noises as he walks across the hardwood.  He drops his jeans on the floor by his bag, and then grabs half a sandwich, eating it nearly as fast as I’d eaten mine.

“Good god.” He groans, sitting down on the edge of the bed, staring absentmindedly at the remaining crust in his hand. 

“It’s good.” I nod.  We’re both too tired for much more than that.  I pour us tea, and then hand Tom a steaming cup.  We drink it like it’s a sports drink and we’ve run a marathon, big gulps.

“I’ve never tasted anything better.” He grins and then flops back on his bed, mug resting precariously on his flat stomach.  I sigh and lay down as well, my head hitting the pillows with a soft thud. 

“Mmm. This is fantastic.” I close my eyes.

“It was a good idea.  I couldn’t spend another minute in that car.” He moves, but I don’t open my eyes.  I hear his mug clink softly on the nightstand, and then the squeak of his bed.

“Me either.  I want another cookie, but I’m too tired to get up.” I groan.  He laughs, and then moves.  A second later, a cookie is placed in my half open hand.  I smile, and keep my eyes closed as I take a bite.

“Thank you.” I sigh.

“Have you been to Cross Street Bakery? They make cookies like these.  I went on a terrible date there once, though.  So I never go there.” He says absently. I open my eyes, and see him sitting, his back against the wall, his legs pulled up onto the bed.  He looks like a little kid.

“I haven’t been to Cross Street, but I know what you’re talking about.” I nod.  “And dating isn’t really my thing, so I wouldn’t know about the rest.” I add in with a smirk.  Tom laughs.

“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?” He asks.  “Mine includes my date having an allergic reaction to something she ate.” He grimaces. 

“Yikes.” I shrug. “I don’t know.  You know, I’ve never really been on a real date.” I look at him, watching his reaction.  Tom peers at me over his knees, and then sits up a bit straighter.

“Come on.” He shakes his head.

“Well, I mean, not a traditional date.  Where the guy picks me up, and we’re all dressed up.  Maybe he brings me some flowers—and not the cheapo ones from the grocery store.  Ones from the flower carts.  Do you know what I mean?”  I ask.  Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the sudden rush of calories, or the somewhat forced sense of intimacy, but I can’t stop talking.

“Yeah.” He nods, watching me.

“So yeah. Flowercart flowers. Picks me up.  Takes me somewhere planned.  Good conversation.  Nice banter.  Long walk home.  Goodnight kiss on the front step.” I sigh, and then flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

“But you’ve been on dates before.” He interjects, sounding a bit shocked.

“Sure.  The kind where we meet at a bar or for coffee, and we split the check and we talk about stupid, boring shit and then I walk myself home.  I go on those all the time.” I laugh.  

“Sounds romantic.”

“What? Do you always take your girlfriends out for real dates, then?” I prod, turning my head to see him.  Tom shrugs.

“Not always, but I’ve been known to pull out all the stops for someone special.” He says simply.

“All the Susies and the Serenas and the Jennys of the world?” I say before I can stop myself.  Tom is quiet, his face unreadable, but his brow creases just slightly.

“Are you keeping tabs?” He says softly.  I huff.

“No.”

“Hm.”

“I just don’t get it.” I look at him, my thoughts heavy with fatigue.  He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to continue.  “You date all these women.  You told me from the start you didn’t have time for a relationship.  But then you’ve never…” I fade off.  I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but it can’t be going somewhere good.

“I’ve never what?”

“Nothing.  I’m tired and rambling.” I close my eyes, feeling a weight settle in on my chest.  A few seconds later I reach up, grab the toggle on the lamp and turn it off.  We’re thrown into darkness, the sounds of the rain pattering down outside.  It’s soothing, calming, and manages to help quiet the monsters rumbling in my heavy chest.

There’s quiet for some time, and though I can’t quite fall asleep, I’m almost sure Tom has.  I’m surprised when he speaks a moment later.

“I’ve missed you, Gracie. I know I messed up a lot with you.” His voice is soft, hesitant. I don’t answer for some time.

“Don’t you ever miss it? The real intimacy? Of having someone who knows you and accepts you for whatever you are that day? Some people hate the predictability, but that’s all I want.  How can you ever have that with those women you date?” I whisper.

“Because I don’t.” He replies simply.  “I’ve only ever felt that way with one person.”

“Kelly?” I ask softly, his ex fiancé coming to mind.

“No. Not Kelly, Gracie.” His voice is low, deep and clear in the quiet room.  He doesn’t need to answer.

I move before I let my brain catch up.  Before it can tell me to stay put.  I slide across the narrow aisle between our beds, and when I get to Tom, I feel him react in surprise.  He moves though, pulling aside his blankets and making a space for me.  I slip in between his warm sheets, and curl up against him.  He’s solid, warm and I fit perfectly in the space between his arm and chest. 

We kiss because there is no other answer to what is happening.  He tilts my face to his, then gently pushes me onto my back, and slides on top of me.  There isn’t much room in the tiny bed, so we have to shift carefully.  The weight of him, the heat of his body, it makes me grab onto him, hold him tightly and pray that I’m not dreaming.  His mouth is warm and he breathes me in as he kisses me.  I wrap my arms around his neck and chest, whimpering softly against his mouth.  It can’t be normal to feel this way.  To feel as if you want to climb inside someone.  That mere touching isn’t enough.  That there must be another way, a higher way of being with them. 

“Tom.” His name comes out a soft whimper, a plead.

“I’ve had dreams about you saying my name.” He says into my neck, his arms sliding underneath me.  I feel a slight tug of panic—of worry that I won’t be able to control myself if I’m not careful.

“Tom, we can’t… I can’t.” I breathe, biting my lip and pressing my head back as I do.  It’s not quite the truth, but it’s not really a lie either. Everything in my body is screaming for his touch.  But I am afraid to fall back on the physical side of things. Sex. The one thing we always fell back on.  Tom hesitates for a second, his lips at my shoulder, but then he moves so we’re face to face.

“Okay. I know.” He leans down, kissing me softly.
            “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have climbed in your bed then.” I say lamely.

“Don’t apologize. You’re welcome in my bed any time you want, no strings attached.” He slides off me, but doesn’t let go.  We settled against each other in the tiny bed, like spoons nestled in a drawer. We’re both silent, but my thoughts are racing.  I pull his arm around me, up between my breasts and press his hand against my mouth. He pushes his face into my hair, and then kisses the top of my shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up.” He whispers.  I squeeze his hand and take a deep, shaky breath..

“I will. I promise.”

 ****

I dream about ravines and cliffs and spaces so far apart that they make the Grand Canyon look miniscule.  I’m awoken the next morning with a start, gray dim light filtering in through the window.  Tom’s wrapped around me, and I know instantly that something must be wrong.  I can hear my phone buzzing noisily on the nightstand, where I had plugged it in the night before to charge.  I sit up, sliding out from Tom’s warm arms.  He opens his eyes, awoken by the buzzing as well. 

I glance at my phone, and frown.  It’s my Aunt Tara.  I haven’t talked to her in quite some time.  Maybe over a year.  Since I’m always in Sandbanks with Tom’s family for the holidays, there’s been less and less reason to talk to my Aunt.  Or really any of my family.  I glance at Tom, who has an eyebrow arched inquisitively at me, his eyes half closed, drowsy with sleep.  I shrug and then answer the call.

“Hello?” My voice is hoarse, cracking slightly.

“Gracie? It’s your Aunt.” Her voice comes through loud and clear, rough from years of smoking.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” I have no idea why she’s calling, and it’s alarming.  I sit up all the way, my head feeling full and heavy from sleep.

“Your father is dead, Gracie.  He died sometime last night.  The funeral will be on Friday.” Her words are clipped, quick and almost uncaring.  As if she’s telling me a weather report or something she’s had to repeat often.  I suddenly feel numb, cold all over and my head starts to spin.

“Grace?” Tom’s voice behind me, reading my body language.  I mumble something to my aunt and then hang up, my motions robotic.

I turn to Tom, and he blanches at the sight of me.  I don’t know what I look like, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.  Things start to spin and then surge forward at warp speed.

“Are you alright? Is everyone okay, Gracie?” He sits up, his hands on my arms.

“My father died.  My father is dead.” I whisper, my lips going numb as I speak.