Page 30 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Cindy launches into a story involving a life raft and emergency smoke signals that I have trouble following, but for a few minutes of peace and Lila’s small smile across the table, I try to pay attention and laugh in the right places.

When the waitress comes to clear our plates, I order chocolate cake for both of us.

“Well, I think we’ll head up to bed,” Cindy says, pushing up from the table. “I brought our good earplugs just in case noise travels though, so don’t worry.” She shoots one last wink at Lila before taking her husband’s arm and leaving the dining room.

“Well, that’s a relief, since mother says I snore.” I joke, and Lila laughs, though her eyes grow wide at the solitary large slice of chocolate cake the waitress just set down between us on the table. Two forks on the plate next to it.

“Sorry that’s the last one, but I brought two forks in case you want to share,” she says. “Anything else I can get you? Coffee? More wine?”

“I’m okay for now.” Lila looks up.

“Thanks.”

I watch with admiration as Lila’s mouth closes around her fork with her first bite of cake. And whether it’s from the way her eyes close in ecstasy or from the nearly half a bottle of wine I’ve already had, I can feel myself get hot.

I grab my wineglass tightly, draining the last remaining sips.

“This cake really is amazing,” Lila says. “Want a bite?”

“I thought we were sharing it?” I lift an eyebrow at her.

“Well, since I’ve already eaten a third of it, I just assumed you wanted me to have it.” She smirks at me.

“I’ll take a bite.” I lean forward over the table and eagerly take the bite she offers me from her fork.

“That is good. Wow.” I blink, letting the sugary smooth frosting wake up my tastebuds from the painful gulp of wine I swallowed. “Okay we are definitely stopping on our way back.”

She laughs, eating another bite of cake. I pick up the second fork, not quite content to only have the one bite anymore.

We finish the cake, the silence much more comfortable than when we sat down.

“Well should we go see about rooms for the night?” I ask when the plate is scraped clean.

“Yeah, I could use a hot shower, too.”

We make our way through the emptying dining room and back to the front desk to find the same woman seated behind it with a warm smile.

“Did you two enjoy dinner?” she asks brightly.

“It was delicious,” Lila gushes.

“Our cook is one of the best there is. Now will you two be needing a room tonight or did you get your car situation figured out?”

“I think we’ll need rooms for the night,” I emphasize the plural in the word.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear, we only have the one left tonight. With the storm, more people stayed an extra day. It’s a miracle we have one at all actually.”

I glance at Lila, and she doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Right, well I guess that’s better than nothing.”

“It’s our honeymoon suite, very romantic.” She smiles and makes a note on the ancient-looking computer.

Didn’t this lady just hear me say we wanted two rooms? Why would she think we would want a romantic room? The absolute last thing I need right now is to get this night all wrapped up in something it’s not or make Lila uncomfortable.

She slides a key across the desk, a key that has little hearts all over it. Excellent.

“Top of the stairs on the third floor. It’s labeled.”

“Thanks.” I do my best to keep my tone neutral, but the knowledge that I’ll be spending the night with Lila after two glasses of wine has my nerves jumping like they’re trying to qualify in the Olympic trials.

I gesture toward the stairs for Lila to go first and follow her up to the third landing with three doors leading off of it. One is labeled simply Room 7, the other Maintenance, and the final door, directly across from us, is painted white with bright pink roses and labeled Honeymoon Suite.

I sigh, fitting the key into the lock, and push the door open.

We’re greeted by a large open room, a small sitting area to the left with two cushy-looking armchairs in front of a fireplace, an end table between them with a bucket of ice holding a champagne bottle, two flutes sitting ready next to it.

In the middle of the room, against the far wall, is an enormous bed.

I have a California king at home, and this must be at least a foot bigger than that.

The white comforter is covered in red rose petals, and I stifle a groan.

How did they prepare this? Did it sit ready for a couple to awkwardly stumble upon, or did they set it up when we went to dinner, anticipating our use of it tonight.

Lila walks through the doorway, giving the room no more than a cursory glance before dropping her purse onto the bench at the foot of the bed, and strides toward the door that must lead to the washroom.

She pushes open the door and gasps.

“What is it?” I ask, stepping into the room finally and shutting the door behind me.

“Come look at this shower.” Her voice sounds oddly breathy, but I step up behind her to peer into the bathroom.

The shower is enormous, with two shower heads facing each other and a large glass door separating it from the rest of the room.

“I bet the water pressure is great.” She nearly moans.

I laugh. “Go on. Take a shower. I’ll clean up the flowers.”