Olivia
The hotel room, which had felt like a sterile waiting room just twenty-four hours ago, now feels transformed. James kicks off his shoes and sits on the edge of the bed. The blue light of the laptop is gone; instead, there is only the warm glow of the bedside lamp.
He feels a profound, physical exhaustion—not the weary kind that comes from boredom, but the heavy, satisfied ache of a day lived to its absolute brim. He lies back, still in his shirt, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years, the “wondering” has stopped. The silence of the room isn’t empty anymore; it’s full of the echo of Olivia’s laughHis eyes drift shut. He is right on the precipice of a deep, dreamless sleep when a sound pulls him back.
Tap. Tap-tap.
It’s soft—barely more than the brush of a knuckle against the heavy fire door.
James sits up, his heart doing a sudden, youthful somersault. He stands, smooths his hair with one hand, and walks to the door. He swings it open.
Olivia is standing there. She’s taken off her trench coat, holding it over her arm. She looks slightly nervous, her eyes darting once down the empty corridor before settling on his.
Olivia spoke in a low voice, her eyes meeting his. “I got all the way to my room at the end of the hall. I even put the chain on the door.”
“And?” James asked, his voice gravelly with sleep and surprise. He gripped the edge of the door, steadying himself.
A small, defiant smile played across her lips. “And I realized I didn’t want the best part of the story to have to wait until breakfast.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I think I’d rather talk for another hour. If you’re not too tired?”
James didn’t say a word. He simply stepped back, his fingers releasing their hold on the door as he swung it wide. His face settled into an expression of immense, quiet clarity, as if some long-standing question had finally found its answer.
Olivia leaned forward in the armchair, her knuckles white against the worn upholstery. “Tell me something real, James. Something you’ve never told anyone.” The lamplight caught the fierce glint in her eyes.
James gripped the edge of the mattress, his pulse quickening. “That’s dangerous territory,” he said, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “What exactly are you after?”
She held his gaze without blinking, the air between them electric with possibility. “Your first kiss,” she said, her smile slow and deliberate. “I want every detail you remember.”
And James thought of Kate, and 1967 and the school Christmas party in Scotland.
