No Reservations: Ryan's Version (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 18

2016

The rest of that weekend passed relatively uneventfully; that being said, it was still pretty hectic, and I barely saw Iona. There were a couple of lingering glances and heated smiles when we did cross paths though, or so I imagined anyway.

On Monday morning, the staff started leaving as soon as the guests were gone. And I walked into reception to find Iona shutting up shop for the next few days.

"Are you going away anywhere this week?" I asked, trying to sound casual. I was assuming she wasn't, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. The very idea of being alone with her was way too exciting though.

"Nah." She shook her head. "Just going to hang around my room and catch up on my sleep probably." Big brown eyes met mine, and she flushed slightly. I could barely drag my own gaze away from her, lost in thoughts of her in bed. In those fantasies, she was most most definitely not sleeping. . . and I was there too, of course.

"Good to know," was all I could say. I walked out of the building to try and calm myself down.

Angus was just about to pull out of the car park when I stepped outside. He rolled down his window and winked at me. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he teased. I knew exactly what he was talking about; he had clearly already realised Iona and I were going to be the only folk left behind.

"So the sky is the limit then?" I retorted dryly, and he chuckled.

"Stay safe," he shouted, driving off with a wave. I shook my head. Angus somehow seemed weirdly invested now in the idea of me and Iona becoming a thing, and it was definitely odd . . . But at least it meant he'd backed off from chasing her.

I need a plan, I thought later, as I sipped a pint in the village pub. This was the first time I'd been here since that drunken night a few weeks previously. I'd considered inviting Iona, but ultimately decided against it; I still had no idea how to move things forward with her and I didn't want to mess it up. It felt like, when it came to her, it had to be perfect.

Of course, I reflected ruefully, my need for perfection had been one of the many reasons (or excuses) why I hadn't tried to make a move sooner back at school. And look how that had turned out!

I was halfway down my second pint when I heard someone behind me mention the storm. I'd forgotten that we were due one the following day; there had been some chat about it on the news, but with all that had happened over the weekend, it had completely slipped my mind.

I was relieved it was happening while the hotel was shut though; one of the storms the previous year had knocked the power in the area out temporarily, and a few of the guests had went ballistic. That hadn't been fun to deal with, unsurprisingly.

As I raised my glass to my lips again, a memory suddenly struck me from many years ago.

We'd been sitting in my bedroom one evening, not long after the summer holidays had ended. We were meant to be studying, but in reality we were playing Sonic the Hedgehog.

The air had been thick and humid all day, but despite the heat the sky had remained grey and ominous. "Do you think there will be a storm later?" I'd asked Iona, glancing out of the window. "It looks that way."

She shuddered at that. "Christ, I hope not. I hate thunderstorms."

She then told me then about a childhood fright she'd had, which had left her traumatised by thunderstorms. She was also convinced she would be struck by lightning at some point - I don't know where she had got that idea from, but the belief seemed to be firmly embedded in her brain.

"From then on, any time there was a storm, my mum and dad would make a pillowfort for me and my brother," she said dreamily. "We'd all snuggle up in it together, and play board games. It distracted me from what was going on outside." She laughed wistfully. "We don't do it anymore but it was . . . nice."

Her eyes had fluttered closed as she recounted the memory and I'd watched her face, mesmerised as always by how pretty she was. I remembered praying for an immediate storm so I could protect her . . . I was sure I could make her a pillow fort if the need arose. Then I felt instantly guilty for wishing for something that would terrify her.

No storm arrived on that particular evening after all. But the conversation had always stuck in my head. To be perfectly honest, I had so many conversations featuring Iona catalogued away in there. Tell me a rough date, and I would easily be able to pull out at least one memory from around that time period. Hand me a pop quiz on "The Iona Stewart Years: 1981 - 1999" and I would pass with flying colours. Although if the quiz content delved at all into the latter half of 1999, then my grade would definitely start to drop, for obvious reasons.

I frowned at that thought. Being ghosted still hurt. She'd stuck the knife in when she left, then twisted it brutally when she hadn't returned. I reminded myself that this was all in the past though; maybe I'd never get a proper explanation for it, and I really wanted to just look to the future now.

So I thought, again, about this possible storm. Maybe Iona's feelings about storms had changed over the years; maybe she was okay with them now? But, if she was still scared of them, I knew I wouldn't be able to leave her to fend for herself. I walked back towards the hotel, wondering what I could potentially do to help.

And an idea started to take shape in my head. It would involve most of the bedding in the staff cupboard, and possibly a bit of inspiration from Pinterest. I would also have to try to understand how Pinterest actually worked.

It might be a silly plan, it might be pointless. If no storm came, then it would be unlikely Iona would ever find out of its existence and it would have been a massive waste of time.

But if a storm did come . . . Then this gesture would show my true feelings once and for all.

I finally felt ready for that though . . .

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