Heather took a slow sip of her orange juice, the cool, citrusy liquid a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the room, the tangy sweetness tingling on her tongue.
A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes as she looked at Rhys, who was still recovering from his earlier near-spraying incident, his cheeks still faintly flushed.
"Just sleep, Rhys," she said, her voice laced with amusement, a playful lilt in her tone. "You know, side by side. Like civilized people."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, her gaze lingering on his slightly flustered expression.
"Why, Mr. Connor, are you thinking of something naughty right now?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Then, leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, the scent of her vanilla lip gloss wafting towards him. "Did your mind wander into… less innocent territory?"
Heather couldn't suppress a laugh as Rhys covered his face with both hands, a groan escaping his lips, a muffled sound against his palms. "Oh my god," he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment.
"I'm kidding," she said, her laughter subsiding, a soft chuckle lingering in the air.
"It's just that these past few nights, I've slept better with you around," she admitted, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, her gaze dropping to the table. "Sounds cheesy, I know."
Rhys's hands fell to his lap, his head dropping slightly, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. "Sure," he mumbled, his voice still tinged with embarrassment, a hint of warmth spreading through his chest.
"Come on, finish your meal, then let's go to bed and watch a movie or something," Heather said, her voice brightening, her eyes sparkling with renewed energy.
After dinner, they retreated to the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room.
Heather turned on the TV, scrolling through the channels until she found a movie channel playing a lighthearted romantic comedy, the cheesy dialogue and predictable plot a welcome distraction. They settled onto the bed, pulling the blankets around them, the soft fabric a comforting weight.
Halfway through the movie, Heather's eyelids grew heavy, her body sinking into the plush mattress, and she drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Rhys's shoulder, her soft breaths a gentle rhythm against his skin.
He gently covered her with a blanket, tucking it around her shoulders, a tender smile playing on his lips, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face. He continued to watch her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest a soothing sight, until he, too, succumbed to slumber, the warmth of her presence a comforting weight beside him.
When Heather woke up the next morning, the space beside her was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. A folded note lay on the bedside table, its crisp edges a stark contrast to the soft fabric.
She picked it up, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting, the neat, precise strokes a testament to his meticulous nature. Gone to work early. Breakfast is in the dining room.
True to his word, when she went to the dining room, a plate of warm pancakes, golden brown and fluffy, and a glass of orange juice, its vibrant color a burst of sunshine, were waiting for her.
She sat down, savoring the delicious breakfast, the sweet syrup and tangy juice a delightful combination, a warm feeling spreading through her chest, a sense of gratitude for his thoughtfulness.
In the afternoon, her aunt, uncle, and baby Dave came by for a visit, their presence filling the suite with warmth and laughter. Heather was delighted to see them, her eyes lighting up as she held her giggling nephew, his soft baby scent filling her senses.
"Auntie, when can I come home? I'm starting to get bored here," she asked, her voice laced with a hint of impatience, her fingers playing with Dave's tiny hand.
"The renovation's almost done," Marjorie replied, exchanging a quick glance with Tony, a silent conversation passing between them. "Just two to three more weeks, love." She patted Heather's head lovingly, her touch gentle and reassuring.
"Hmmm. Okay," Heather said, her gaze returning to baby Dave, her attention captured by his playful babbling.
She spent the rest of the afternoon playing with her nephew, his infectious laughter filling the room, a joyful sound that chased away the lingering shadows of her unease.
When it was already 10:00 PM, Marjorie decided it was time to go home, their goodbyes echoing in the quiet hallway.
Heather tried to stay awake, waiting for Rhys to return, but as the clock ticked past midnight, and there was still no sign of him, she decided to go to bed, a sense of disappointment settling over her.
She tossed and turned for another 30-40 minutes, the silence of the room amplifying her restlessness, before finally drifting off to sleep. Her dreams were restless, filled with shadowy figures and a sense of unease, a lingering echo of the trauma she had experienced.
Rhys came home the next morning, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the hotel window, casting long shadows across the room. He carried a bag of take-away food from a fast-food chain he had passed on his way back to the hotel, the aroma of fried chicken and warm biscuits filling the air.
He was surprised to find Heather sitting at the dining table, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, her posture rigid, her expression blank. She didn't even notice his arrival, her mind lost in a world of her own.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, as he gently touched her shoulder, his fingers brushing against her skin.
Heather flinched, her eyes widening, almost losing her balance, her heart pounding against her ribs. Rhys instantly steadied her, his hand lingering on her arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.
"Hmm?" she mumbled, her gaze shifting to him for a fleeting moment before returning to its distant focus, her eyes dark and shadowed. "Yeah..." she replied, her voice barely a whisper, her words trailing off.
Rhys's brow furrowed, his gaze searching her face for any sign of distress. She looked exhausted, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her movements listless, her energy depleted. "Haven't you slept yet?" he asked, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with worry.
Heather weakly shook her head, her hair swaying softly. "Oh, actually I was able to sleep for a few minutes... But I kept having nightmares, you see..." her voice trailed off, a hint of fear lingering in her eyes.
"Let's go to the bedroom so you can sleep. I'll even-" Before Rhys could finish his sentence, Heather's eyes fluttered closed, her head falling against his shoulder, her body limp with exhaustion.
He chuckled softly, a tender smile playing on his lips, a sense of protectiveness washing over him. He gently lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed like a precious treasure, his footsteps soft on the carpet.
He laid her gently on the mattress, pulling the covers over her, tucking them around her shoulders, his movements tender and careful. He then removed his shirt and pants, intending to join her, but paused, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
He suddenly thought about Heather's reaction if she woke up and saw him in his boxers, the image of her surprised expression flashing through his mind.
He sighed, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and pulled a plain white shirt from his bag, slipping it on before lying down beside her, the soft fabric a comforting weight against his skin.
Feeling the warmth behind her, Heather unconsciously turned towards it, hugging Rhys tightly, her body seeking his warmth, even placing her left leg in between his just so she could feel more of his warm body, her movements instinctive and comforting.
Rhys felt her leg almost touch his "lil buddy" and a groan escaped his lips, a muffled sound against the pillow.
Dear Lord. Why must she torture me like this. I know she's asleep right now, but still...
He sighed again, his mind racing, trying to think of anything to distract himself, focusing on the soft rhythm of her breathing, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
When he felt that it was safe, he hugged Heather back, his touch gentle, his arms a protective embrace, and finally drifted off to sleep, the warmth of her body a comforting presence beside him.
They both woke up around 3 in the afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. Heather was the 'first' to wake up, her eyes fluttering open, her gaze landing on Rhys's chest.
When she opened her eyes, she realized she was sprawled across Rhys, her cheek pressed against his chest, her body molded against his, the warmth of his skin radiating through her pajamas.
Oh my god. How did I end up sleeping on top of him? What am I, a baby?
She tried to get up slowly, careful not to wake him, but the arm holding her in place tightened, his grip firm but gentle. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that they were at the edge of the bed, a precarious position. One wrong move, and they'd both tumble to the floor, a comical scene playing out in her mind.
Heather understood then why his arm tightened around her when she moved. He thought she was going to fall. Does that mean he's already awake? she wondered, her breath catching in her throat, a flutter of nervousness in her stomach.