Page 37 of Taste

I snorted. For the first time in what felt like months, I let out a small laugh.

“Don’t quote Hugh Grant movies at me, Mabel will have your head on a plate.”

“They made me up to look like Julia Roberts once, all red wig and lipstick. I looked like a mass murderer in drag.”

“Mabel is very talented with a bit of paint in a box.”

“They are indeed. I mean, look at them. Whatever they wear, they’re bloody stunning.” He shuffled closer, carefully caressing my fingers, testing the waters.

“I’m not staying the night,” I said, insanely proud of myself for having the courage to do so. “I need to go home and stay away from you for a little while. This whole evening has been like some big bomb you’ve dropped on me, and I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with the fallout. I need to sit down and talk to Mabel. I really need some time to do that. Why didn’t they tell me? How the hell did they manage to keep all this from me?”

“Heartbreak does strange things to people,” he said. “And they dealt with it better than I did. They moved on. I didn’t. It’s taken me a long time to try to be the bigger person,” he whispered, his face eager and his eyes full of hope. “It’ll be strange, but I suppose it’ll make a nice change at work. Not to have to be so…I don’t know…”

“Hard.” I finished his sentence. “I need a little space to breathe. I just need to figure this one out. Give me some time.”

“All the time in the world. I want you to be happy. I want all the good things for you and for Mabel. You need to know that. I want good things for me as well. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“We fucked this up before we even met.” I smiled. It was the truth.

“I know,” he said quietly. He didn’t lean into me again, just lay back on the sofa in silence with his hand in mine. We sat there for ages before I realised he’d fallen asleep.

It was almost light outside when I left, wearing a jumper that smelled nothing like me. I needed time and distance, space to think, because this game we were playing? I didn’t like it anymore.

FINN

Four days later, my agony got the better of me. I’d suffered through my days off, wishing more than I ever I could go into work and feel like myself again, and now here I was. Back in my dusty, grotty office, my inbox tantalisingly full of much-needed dull electronic therapy that would have my mind ticking over nicely and tire me out so I could finally sleep.

I’d spent the previous four nights reliving my stupid confessions. The experience had been like having my skin scraped raw right in front of him, and then he’d left. Of course he had, because he’d told me he would, and I’d respected his choices and left him well alone. I’d even dropped off my note for Mabel, asking them to come and see me, while they were both in the restaurant so I wouldn’t bump into him.

But it was doing me no good, being back at work. It hadn’t slayed my inner turmoil. Instead, I was anxious, fluttering between menial tasks and failing to complete any of them.

“Dude.” Seth appeared in my office doorway. “Mr Nick-it-all is checking out today. We need someone to raid his room.”

Thank God Seth was on the ball, because I surely wasn’t. I called through to security on the radio to ask them to escort our duty housekeeper to Mr Nicholson’s suite, where we no doubt would find half our restaurant silver neatly packed in boxes ready for him to remove from our property. I was tired. I was so fucking tired.

“Copy that,” crackled back through the radio static, a voice I recognised as Elizabeth, a woman who looked like she should be in a retirement home but was hard as nails and a solid duty supervisor. I made a mental note to look into why she hadn’t been promoted in the last round of reshuffles up there. She deserved to be. I needed to remember things like this.

“Thank you. Let me know what the tally is up there,” I said, trying to find a more cheerful tone to counteract my usual bite.

“Half the hotel, probably. What’s Mr Nick’s location?”

“Seth?” I called, hoping he was still loitering around within earshot. He was.

“Breakfast in the restaurant. Mabel’s on it.” He grinned. “Mr N’s already asked for new cutlery, claiming it’s dirty. Mabel offered him a set of our finest disposable plastic ware. The girls over there are in hysterics.”

“We shouldn’t make fun of our guests, Seth. Kleptomania is a disease.”

“Come off it, Finn, He’s a thief. Deserves everything he gets. I can’t believe Mr Klutz won’t let us call the cops on him.”

I couldn’t believe that either. But then we had a reputation to protect, and it was easier to handle Mr Nicholson’s habits with a low-key visit to his room before he checked out, relieving his always carefully packed luggage of his pilfered haul of hotel property.

I relayed the information to Elizabeth, who assured me she had me covered, and then retreated to my office, once again filled with gratitude that my team was as good and experienced as they were. I didn’t have the strength for catastrophes today. Just steady calm work. Check out and check in. Don’t give me trouble. Not today. Please.

Not when I still needed to figure out what to say to Mabel.

“Boss?”

“What?” I snapped. Reuben’s shit-eating grin filled the doorway.

---