“Good morning.” Herbert finally speaks. “Sir. Madam.”
“Good morning,” I reply, trying to smile at him, but Herbert dodges my gaze and hastily turns round. He heads to the door, and as he exits the room, I hear him saying, “It’s true, all right.”
“It can’t be true!” Cassidy’s muffled voice penetrates the door. “What, just like that?”
“They are couple!” Nikolai’s voice sounds impassioned, even through the door. “I tell you, they have coupled!”
For a few minutes the conversation in the corridor dies down to the level of mumbles. Then there’s a brisk knocking, and the door begins to open.
“Good morning, Mr. Birchall,” Cassidy’s self-conscious voice greets us. “I just wanted to check …” She rounds the doorframe, sees me in bed, and stops dead, her eyes huge. “I just wanted to … um …” She stops again, her gaze moving avidly from Finn’s naked chest to my bare shoulders. “To … um …”
“Check …” prompts Finn politely.
“Yes! Check the … um …” I can see her casting around. “That the heating is satisfactory.”
“The heat situation is great,” Finn says, deadpan, squeezing my thigh under the duvet. “Would you agree, Sasha? How’s the heat for you?”
“Hot,” I say, swallowing down a laugh.
“It can always be hotter.” Finn’s fingers are moving upward, and I feel a blush come to my face.
“It’s good.” I try to address Cassidy naturally. “Thanks.”
“You two!” Cassidy’s professional demeanor completely collapses into unvarnished glee. “You two!” She points a finger at me, then Finn. “I knew it! We should have had bets on it. I wanted to have bets on it,” she adds confidentially, “but Simon was all like, ‘It’s unprofessional to bet on whether the guests will shag or not.’ ” She rolls her eyes. “He’s such a spoilsport.”
“Spoilsport.” Finn nods. “I would have placed a bet. I wouldn’t have given myself good odds.”
“Aww.” Cassidy’s eyes soften, and for a moment I think she’s going to sit on the edge of the bed and ask us how it was. But then she seems to remember where she is. “Can I offer you breakfast in bed?”
“I’d love that.” Finn nods and turns to me. “Would you love that, Sasha?”
“I’d love that.”
“We’d love that,” he says, looking back at Cassidy, and she gives another delighted beam.
“You see? You’re ‘we’ already. I knew, I knew it.…” She heads out of the room, and as the door closes, Finn says, “She didn’t ask us what we want for breakfast.”
“Whatever.” I laugh. “This place.”
“We’re going to miss it when we’re gone.”
“Don’t say that! I’ve been institutionalized. This is home now.”
“You’re never going to leave?” Finn looks amused. “You’ll have to get a job here, then.”
“I’ll be the well-being consultant,” I say, remembering my conversation last night. “No! I’ll carry luggage. In fifty years I’ll be the new Herbert. They’ll call me Herbetta.”
“Herbetta.” Finn grins, then kisses my neck and I reach to pull him closer. The scent of him is intoxicating, and I rub my face against his skin. Breathe in the scent of a hot man should be in the list of twenty steps to well-being. In fact, after last night, I can think of a few other ideas. I could write my own twenty steps, and they could go in Mr. Poppit’s adult show.
“You’re delicious,” I murmur, and Finn gives a rumble of a laugh.
“Never been called that before.”
“What have you been called?”
“Oh, workaholic, self-centered, nightmare.” He speaks lightly, but I draw back to stare at him, because that’s quite a list. Who called him that?
But before I can ask, there’s a knock on the door, and Nikolai enters, bearing a tray. It holds a kale smoothie, an orange juice, a small posy in a vase, and a sprinkling of red rose petals. It looks like something for Valentine’s Day.
“Smoothie, juice for the happy couple,” he says, grinning widely. “Enjoy. May I take your order?”
After we’ve ordered breakfast and Nikolai has retreated again, we exchange looks, then I burst into giggles. I lie back against Finn’s chest, nestling into the crook of his shoulder, and gaze at the peeling ceiling.
“This hotel room is really manky,” I say, noticing a patch of damp.
“Thanks!” says Finn. “Let’s remember we agreed that my room was marginally better than the woodland creatures from hell.”
“That’s not my point,” I say, smiling. “My point is, this hotel room is really manky. I don’t have a job. I don’t know what’s in the future. But I’m happy. Right now. In this moment.”
“Here’s to that.” Finn kisses my head.
“What about you, burnout buddy?” I ask, so directly that he can’t avoid the subject. “What about your job? What about the anger and the sleep and the wanting to destroy vending machines? Where are you at?”
I also want to ask, Who called you a workaholic, self-centered, or a nightmare? Because I can believe the first one, but not the second two. But it seems tactless to mention it. I’ll leave it for now.
“Work in progress,” says Finn, after a pause.
“What about sleep? You slept last night. A bit, at least,” I add with a smile.
“I slept pretty good.” Finn kisses me. “Can’t think why.”
“When are you having your first therapy?”
“Oh, that,” says Finn. “I’m actually going up to London to see this therapist this evening. Just overnight. I’ll be back here tomorrow.”
“Wow.” I widen my eyes.
“She said we should have our first session in person. After that, we can Zoom or whatever.”
His mood seems to have plummeted. He’s deeply apprehensive, I can tell.
“She’ll only find good things, Finn,” I say, putting my hands either side of his face so he looks at me full-on. “You’re the kindest person I know. The wisest. The best.”
“You can’t know many people, then,” says Finn with a laugh. But I can see he’s relaxed a smidge, and I pull him in for a hug. I’m manifesting the best possible therapist for him. Not just any old random person, the best. You hear that, universe?
“Are you decent?” Cassidy’s voice comes through the door. “Are you at it? Carry on, don’t mind me, I won’t look, just pull the duvet over!”
“Come in!” calls Finn, and I giggle.
“You two!” Cassidy exclaims as she wheels in a trolley full of food. “Now, I’ve got your breakfasts and a little extra Buck’s fizz, compliments of the management, get you in the mood—not that you need it.…” She beams at me. “And I couldn’t resist …”
She hands me a champagne flute stuffed with some sort of shocking-pink silky fabric. Taken aback, I pull it out and unfurl a thong. It’s trimmed with black lace and has Loved Up embroidered on it in turquoise.