No Reservations (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 21

2016

Just in case it isn't Ryan at the door, I grab my wine bottle to use as a potential weapon and sneak over to the door, flinging it open abruptly so the element of surprise is firmly in my favour. If it does turn out to be that bastard from "Scream" then he'll be getting lamped over the head before he can even think about asking me what my favourite scary movie is.

However, it is Ryan. And he is surprised. He jumps back, one hand over his heart. "Fuck! You nearly gave me a heart attack, Iona."

"Sorry." Apologetically, I lower my bottle. "I couldn't take the chance in case it was a serial killer."

He shakes his head, a wry smile turning the corners of his lips up. He's holding a torch in one hand that illuminates the space around us. "Are you okay?" He asks softly. "I know you were never the biggest fan of storms; thought I'd better check on you."

I'm beyond touched that he remembers this about me.

"I've just been hiding under my covers and trying not to cry, but no big deal," I shrug. He sees right through me.

"I'm not trying to be sleazy here," he begins. He seems nervous. "But if you want some company, you can hang out in my room if you want?"

"You mean that?" I ask. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about being alone with Ryan again but . . . I also don't want to be alone with myself. Another flash of lightning lights up the whole corridor just then, and it's my turn to jump.

Ryan nods. "I've got something in there that I think might help." He winces. "Why the hell did that sound like an euphemism?" He mutters to himself and I can't help but giggle. I love how sometimes he still reverts back to Ryan 1.0. He scrubs a hand across his face, shaking his head again. "Will you join me?" He nods at my half-full bottle of wine. "You can bring your 'weapon', if that makes you feel safer."

I take a deep breath. "Okay," I agree, following him to his room.

I've walked almost completely into the room before I take in what's in front of me. "W-what is this?" I ask hesitantly. But I know exactly what it is.

Ryan has made me a pillow fort.

I honestly want to burst into tears at the sweetness of the gesture. My eyes slide back to him, and he's rubbing at his face again, looking away awkwardly. "I just . . . I knew you were here alone and that the storm was coming so I thought I'd have one ready just in case," he mumbles bashfully.

"I can't believe you remembered," I breathe. I mean, I must have told him once, in passing, about the storms and the pillow forts. I don't even know how it came up in conversation.

"I remember everything," he says quietly. Even in the dim room, lit only by a few torches dotted around, I can tell he's blushing again. Why does he have to be so ridiculously adorable?

He clears his throat. "Take a seat," he invites me, gesturing towards the fort. "Hopefully it's comfy enough, I took all the spare bedding out of the staff cupboard in the utility room." He holds up a bottle. "Unfortunately I don't have any board games . . . But I do have whisky."

My hero. Superman to the rescue. Actually, it's Clark Kent again as Ryan is wearing his glasses tonight; I always preferred Clark anyway. Dressed in tartan pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, his cheeks still flushed and his hair messy, he looks cosy and huggable and good enough to eat. And, God, do I want to take a bite.

I try to divert my thoughts into safer, cleaner areas as I settle myself into the fort, propping a cushion behind me so I can lean against the bed. "What type of whisky have we got then?" I ask, accepting a fleecey throw from Ryan and wrapping it around my shoulders. I'm hoping it will keep me warm for now.