Page 23 of The Dating Coach
The simple support in his words hit me harder than any grand declaration could have. I blinked against sudden tears, overwhelmed by the gift of being seen so clearly.
"Gemma," he started, reaching for me.
"I should check on Mia," I said quickly, not ready for wherever that moment might lead. "Make sure she gets warm clothes."
I fled before he could respond, but I felt his eyes on me as I went. In the safety of the bathroom, I stared at my bedraggled reflection and tried to calm my racing heart. The careful boundaries I'd built were crumbling, washed away like the morning's trail.
Chapter 12: Gemma
The motel room was exactly what you'd expect from a place called "The Highway Haven"—wood paneling that had seen better decades, a carpet pattern designed to hide stains, and a painting of a lighthouse that seemed to watch us with judgment. The nor'easter had turned what should have been a three-hour drive home from the cabin into a highway shutdown, forcing six people to cram into the last available room at the only motel for miles.
"At least it has three beds," Karen said optimistically, then immediately claimed one by throwing herself across it. "Dibs on this majestic queen-sized throne!"
"That's a double at best," Henry corrected, eyeing the bed with suspicion. "And I'm pretty sure something died in that comforter. Recently."
"Then it's haunted and therefore more interesting," Karen declared. "Frank, Mia, we're having a séance later. BYOB – Bring Your Own Banshee."
I stood by the door, dripping steadily onto the questionable carpet, trying not to look at Liam. The front desk clerk had assumed we were three couples, and neither of us had corrected him when he'd handed over the keys with a knowing wink. Now we were here, in a room that seemed to shrink with every passing second, and I had no idea how to navigate this.
"I'll take the chair," Liam offered immediately, gesturing to a vinyl monstrosity in the corner that looked like it had survived from the 1970s through sheer spite.
"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "You're six-two. You won't fit."
"I've slept in worse places," he insisted. "This is luxury compared to sleeping on a bus floor."
"No one's sleeping on floors or chairs," Karen announced. "We're all adults here. Adults who can share beds without it being weird. Henry, you're with Frank. Mia, you're with me. Gemma and Liam get the other bed. See? Problem solved."
"But—" I started to protest.
"Unless you want to share with Henry, who I can personally attest kicks like a mule when he dreams," Karen continued smoothly. "Or Frank, who sleep-talks entire hockey plays. Your choice."
"It's true," Frank admitted. "Last week Henry recorded me calling a power play in my sleep. With hand signals."
I looked at the last bed – a double that would barely fit two people, with sheets that had probably been washed but still seemed suspect. Then I looked at Liam, who was determinedly studying the lighthouse painting like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Fine," I said, aiming for casual and missing by miles. "But if you hog the covers, I'm pushing you off."
"Noted," he said, and was it my imagination or did his voice sound strained?
We took turns using the bathroom to change out of our wet clothes. The heater wheezed to life with concerning noises, providing minimal warmth and maximum anxiety about potential carbon monoxide poisoning. By the time everyone was in sleeping clothes – or in Frank's case, boxer shorts and avintage Pinewood Hockey tournament shirt – the awkwardness had reached peak levels.
"Nightcap?" Henry suggested, producing a flask from somewhere. "Bourbon. The good stuff."
"Define 'good,'" Karen said, but she accepted the flask anyway.
We ended up sitting on the beds, passing the bourbon around and playing Never Have I Ever like it was freshman year, while Mia slept peacefully. The alcohol eased the weird tension—or at least gave me an excuse for the warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with Liam sitting close enough for me to feel his body heat.
"Never have I ever," Karen said, clearly tipsy from her small share of bourbon, "pretended to be bad at something to make someone else feel better."
Everyone drank, which led to a round of confessions about throwing games, failed tests, and miscellaneous deceptions.
"Never have I ever," Frank continued, "wanted to kiss someone in this room."
The silence that followed was deafening. Karen drank immediately, winking at everyone. And Liam... Liam raised the flask to his lips while looking directly at me.
I drank too, the bourbon burning away any pretense that this was still just business between us.
"Well," Karen said into the charged silence. "That's not awkward at all. Moving on! Never have I ever..."
