Page 77 of Always the Bridesmaid

We are presented with a feast of Asian delights and ordinarily I would be gobbling it up just as quickly as Charlie, but tonight we both seem to be picking our way through the dishes slowly.

We order a bottle of wine with dinner and after main course, though we decline desserts, we decide to have one more cocktail at the bar.

It’s busier now and when we sit on our stools, our knees are pressed together. There’s a moment, a joke, and then Charlie's hand is on my knee and I don’t push it away. My instinct isn’t to flinch; I enjoy the contact.

When we are sitting in a black cab, Charlie his usual gentlemanly self, dropping me to my hotel before heading home himself, I am overcome with the need to explore that kiss. We pull up to my hotel entrance and the driver stops to let me out.

I don’t immediately reach for the door; I look at Charlie. I don’t know what I’m thinking or what I’m trying to convey in this look but I don’t think I’m telling him to stay in the cab and go home.

‘I’ll see you at eight thirty on platform nine and three quarters, then?’ Charlie asks, but his voice is uncertain and, I think, asking a very different question.

He has mentioned tomorrow, our last day together. The thought of not seeing him again makes what I am about to say both necessary and possibly excusable.

‘Would you like a nightcap?’

I’m tense; my mouth is dry. He wants to be friends but I think maybe there’s something more between us tonight, and I’m terrified. I’m terrified he’ll say no. I’m terrified he’ll say yes.

As we walk through the hotel foyer, my heels click against the tiled floor. It feels incredibly loud. As if it would draw the attention of every person in the reception area and in the residents’ bar as we pass. I don’t dare look, keeping my focus on the elevator ahead.

I’m as nervous as the night I lost my virginity, which is crazy.

This is Charlie.

I can back out of this at any time, pretend I really meant a nightcap, that it wasn’t a clichéd innuendo.

There’s zero pressure and I know that.

Yet, I don’t call it off. There’s a small, quiet voice in my head saying this is a bad idea. There’s a huge, loud voice telling me I want this. I want Charlie.

My thoughts are in danger of spiraling, I feel Charlie’s fingers graze mine. Then our fingers interlock, our arms are pressed together, and we step inside the elevator.

I watch the floor number increase on the digital sign above the doors, my body on fire, feeling like I’m about to explode from the inside out, until finally, we reach my floor.

Letting go of Charlie’s hand, I slide the room card from my purse and the door light flashes green.

This is it. I can still back out.

I push the door open. Room service has been to turn down the bed and there’s a lamp light on in the main room.

Stepping inside, I set my purse down on the side table and turn to face Charlie. He’s right there, in front of me, asking me in a look if this is what I want.

With a steadying breath, I nod.

He brings his fingertips to my face and traces the line of my jaw, then places his palm where his fingertips have been.

Finally, my lips meet his with a sigh. The tension I have been carrying all night melts away as I lean into him. It’s not like my dream. It’s better. Bigger, somehow.

And it scares me.

I’m back in my head, weighing up those two voices, and I pull away from Charlie’s kiss, unable to look at him.

Then he holds my chin gently between his index finger and thumb, slowly encouraging me to raise my eyes to his. I do.

And I’m no longer in my own head as he kisses me again. Firmer, longer.

I moan with pleasure, my fingers moving into his hair, my palms caressing the base of his neck.

His tongue gently parts my lips and meets mine, our kiss deepening.

---