My personal day off consists of lying in bed and watching romantic comedies. I have no motivation or desire to get up; the energy I need to do so is left somewhere on the floor along with the piles of tissue, cough drop wrappers, and quite possibly, my dignity.
A box of tissues sits on the nightstand next to the bed, and I reach over to grab one. Somehow, I've ended up with a slight cold; my throat is sore and scratchy, and I can't breathe through my stuffed up nose, which is a great addition to my current predicament.
"Hey, psycho - we're not gonna discuss this, okay, it's over. Please get out of my Van Halen t-shirt before you jinx the band and they break up."
I smile at the TV screen as I sniffle into the tissue. Adam Sandler is always a great choice when I'm feeling down.
Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door, and then the sound of a keycard swiping. Halle bursts through the door to my hotel room, a large, brown paper bag in her arms. I can't tell what's in it, but I'm not exactly excited to find out.
She sets the paper bag down on the nightstand beside the bed. "I still can't believe you're staying here. I told you you could stay with me for however long you needed," Halle says, as she takes in the sight before her, which I'm sure is quite horrifying.
She pinches a dirty pair of socks I've left on the floor in between her fingers, and contorts her face into a disgusted expression.
"Are you saving these?" She asks sarcastically.
"Please don't move those, I need them for a gift I'm planning on sending to Jeremiah," I say, not entirely kidding.
A long, exaggerated groan. "V, you really need to get out of this hotel room. You've been cooped up in here all day. It can't be good for your mental health."
She reaches into the paper bag, pulling out tea, Musinex and a bag of Sour Patch Kids.
"Sour Patch Watermelon?!" I gasp, a little too excitedly for a twenty-five year old woman.
"That's incentive," Halle explains, her tone somehow light, playful and serious all at the same time. "Now, get your ass up and get ready. We're getting out of this hotel room and going to dinner," Halle demands, yanking the covers off of my body.
I whimper in response, the cold draft sending chills through my body as I instinctively curl up in the fetal position.
"Halle, please? I just wanna stay here and watch Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler get together," I whine, attempting to pull the covers back up.
Halle's grip on the blanket is strong, though, and she wags her finger at me.
"The only reason you're sick is because you've stayed in this room so long. C'mon!" And she's pulling me up to my feet and practically dragging me to the bathroom for a shower.
***
Dinner was just as un-enjoyable as I'd expected it to be. Halle wanted to go to Cafe Intermezzo, a laid back, European coffee house that also has amazing paninis.
I coughed through my entire meal, earning several agitated glances from the other patrons around us. We ordered dessert, and I took my tiramisu back to the hotel room; my plan was to stuff my face with it while crying uncontrollably during 50 First Dates. Then, Halle left shortly after helping me with the mess in my room, and I was finally left alone with my rom-coms.
As I'm finishing getting ready for bed, tossing on an oversized t-shirt that probably used to be Jeremiah's, I hear a knock at the door again.
Groaning aloud, I walk over to the door and peer through the peephole only to have my heart rate increase rapidly. What is he doing here?
I open the door anxiously, and there stands Christopher Peters, looking as handsome as ever with a large bouquet of flowers in hand.
He looks me up and down, a small smile playing around the edges of his lips. That's when I remember that I'm not exactly dressed in my usual professional attire. My shorts are cotton, comfy and just so happen to be my favorite pair to wear to bed. I'm sure my hair looks like a mess, and let's add on to this disastrous embarrassment of an appearance by the fact that I'm not wearing a shred of makeup.
Great. Now even he knows the extent of my moping.
I suddenly notice that the bouquet of flowers he's holding are not just any flowers, but an assorted variety of the perfect autumnal colors of Dahlias. Which are my favorite.
"I thought you might want something to cheer you up," he says, handing the bouquet to me.
I can't help the tears that burn their way through my eyes, and threaten to gush down my cheeks.
"Thank you so much," I sob, taking the beautiful arrangement from his hands and wiping the tears from my face as quickly as I can.
He chuckles at me, and the sound lifts a weight off of my chest. "You're welcome."
"Come in, please. I was just about to watch another movie," I say to him as I turn around and head to the living area, grateful for the fact that there're two televisions in my suite.
He follows me in, and shuts the door behind him.
"Clearly you heard what happened," I state, a little embarrassed.
"I did, and that's why I'm here." He says from the common area.
"How did you know I was staying here?" I ask him, my curiosity finally peeking.
He chuckles, and I instantly know.
Halle.
She must've told him what my favorite flowers were, as well.
"You can talk to me about this if you'd like, you know. Believe it or not, I actually care about you," he admits in his low, husky voice.
My heart flutters in my chest, and I can't help the surge of hope that takes up residence there. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and look down at the ground before he notices my growing grin.
I place the flowers in some water in the tallest glass I can find, and then take a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the TV.
"What do you know about divorces? You don't even believe in marriage."
"That's not true," Chris starts, taking the remaining seat beside me. "I've just formed my own opinion on it throughout the years." He opens his mouth to speak again, but then closes it, an internal debate seeming to go on in his mind.
I rest my hands under my chin, suddenly feeling like a child waiting to hear a bedtime story.
"I was married, once," he finally says.
The statement catches me off-guard and I look at Christopher with wide eyes.
"You were?" I say, disbelief clear in my tone.
He chuckles, and runs a hand through his brown, wavy hair.
"For five years."
"So what happened?" I ask, feeling slightly intrusive.
"She lied to me," he states simply.
—————————————————————
Points to whoever knows the movie that the quote is from at the beginning of the chapter! Hint: it's a classic, 90s rom-com 😉
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Chapter Song Recommendation:
Better Off by Ariana Grande
YOU ARE READING
For A Reason
ChickLit"I just thought..." I begin, flustered, not really sure where my words are headed. He shakes his head. "We can't," he states, removing my hand from his. "There are a million reasons why we can't." He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrate...
