‘In the tub!’ I shout, shooting an alluring smile at the empty doorway.
‘That you, Pip?’
Pip?
A second later it hits me – that wasn’t Nicholas’ voice. My mouth pops open, but no sound comes out.
‘Wait!’ I cry as the doorway fills with the blondish man-mountain from the ferry – the guy who saved me (and my luggage) from a watery disaster.
‘Oh, fuck!’ he says, clapping an enormous hand over his eyes. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t—Fuck!’
Make that a man-mountain with a potty mouth.
He turns away as if his retinas have been seared. Okay, I may not be Pip, but it’s not like he could see anything – right? I look down, confirming that all important body parts are hidden by foam.
‘Okay… Hold on.’
‘Holding!’ he shouts, drowning out his heavy footfalls. ‘I’ll wait out in the lounge,’ he adds.
‘No kidding, dude – it’s not like I’m selling tickets,’ I say to myself.
I climb out of the tub, quickly dry off, then wrap myself in a fluffy robe. Time to find why he’s in my suite.
‘Hi again,’ I say, standing in the archway between the bedroom and the living room. He glances over through slitted eyes as if he’s expecting a still-naked woman. He seems relieved that I’m not.
‘I’m so sorry – truly,’ he says, his eyes darting to the floor. ‘There must have been some sort of mix-up with the room.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Just…’ I go to the record player and lift the needle, plunging us into silence, then turn to him.
‘I didn’t see anything, I promise,’ he assures me, which is sweet.
‘I know.’
He nods a few times, staring at the floor.
‘But this is weird, right?’ I ask, and he looks up, his expression questioning. ‘I mean, first the ferry, now here.’
‘Right – coincidence, I s’pose.’
We lock eyes for a beat.
He’s handsome in a rough and rugged way – broad face with a square, stubbled jaw, strong brow ridge, a jagged white scar above his left brow, shoulders of a WWE wrestler, arms like knotted rope, and tree-trunk legs… Not my type at all, but I could understand the appeal if I were into huge, muscly guys. I’ve never been one to yuk someone else’s yum.
‘Anyway…’ he says, holding up the key. I can read from here that the tag saysLa Dolce Vita– so, the right key given to the wrong person. ‘I’ll pop back to reception and get this sorted.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Oh, no – no need. Won’t take long. I’m probably in the room next door or something. Wouldn’t that be funny?’
‘Yeah, hilarious,’ I agree – though it feels more ironic than funny.
‘Right, well… if today’s anything to go by, I’ll likely see you ’round.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I say with a laugh.
He gives me a quick smile, then picks up his bag and leaves.
For a moment, I stare at the closed door. Damn, that was weird.