We had stumbled upon a delicate, beautiful rose and we were afraid even a single breath would make it disintegrate to dust to be carried away on the wind.
The woman huffed, groaned irritably, and then her angry calls faded away down the hall to nothing.
Slowly Michael pulled his hand away from my mouth. Maybe the dark was just playing games with my mind, but I thought I felt the pad of this finger brush against my jaw. We breathed against one another in silence, heart pounding against heart.
"I think she's gone," I finally whispered, my lips ghosting along his sharp jaw as I tried to look up at him.
He shifted against me, making small noises as he searched around us. There was the click of a light switch and the sudden glare of yellow light from the single bulb above. We blinked at one another, our eyes adjusting. I retreated back till my shoulders hit the door after seeing just how close we'd been to one another. I ducked my eyes, scratched awkwardly at the back of my neck. One peek at him showed me that he was just as embarrassed, his cheeks red as he straightened his suit jacket.
"Um, you're welcome," I said.
I had meant to sound confident and self-assured and nonchalant. I had meant to show him that I hadn't felt anything with my body pressed up against him. I had meant to convince myself that I was still in control.
But my voice came out thin and raspy and shaky, like lightning had just struck too close for comfort.
"Yeah, um, thanks," Michael said, adjusting his tie now. "I, um, I appreciate it."
I nodded. "Well, I guess we can go now." I glanced up at the man hesitantly.
He was biting his lip. "Yep," he said slowly.
Neither of us moved to go.
"I really should be getting back to that party," he said, staring at the tips of his perfectly shined black dress shoes. "I'm supposed to make a speech."
"Yeah, and I have…stuff to do."
Neither of us moved to go.
"Okay then," I said, glancing at the door over my shoulder. "Well, you have that speech…"
The man followed my eyes. But neither of us moved to go.
"And you have…"
"Stuff."
"Right, you have stuff. So…"
"Right."
I nodded and then he nodded.
"Okay then."
I reached my hand back toward the door handle. The brass was cold and harsh against my fingertips, a cruel contrast to the warmth and comfort of his chest.
"Okay then," I said again. "Well, see you around."
I started to push down the door handle when the man spoke in a rush. "She could come back."
I stopped. "What?"
The man adjusted his cufflinks without looking at me, save a quick dart of his sharp green eyes. "Caroline, that woman, I mean. She could come back, you know," he repeated.
My fingers drummed contemplatively on the door handle. I spent most of my nights alone. I could be in a hostel room with ten bunks, but I was still alone. On international bus trips packed with people at three in the morning, I was still alone. In train stations in Berlin and Paris and Madrid where every bench was occupied with duffel bags and travellers just like me, I was still alone, all alone.
Maybe for one night it would be nice not to be alone.
I looked up at the man and said, "She seems to be pretty persistent, that woman."
I held back a grin when I noticed his eyes widen in happy surprise before quickly shifting back toward passive, neutral, disinterested, even.
"I doubt she'll give up after just one lap of the hallways," he said, nodding.
I nodded, too. "Maybe it would be smart to just wait a little bit."
The man feigned like he was considering this. "You think?" he asked and then glanced down at the tray of bacon-wrapped dates and half bottle of wine. "Plus, we wouldn't want that to go to waste."
I shook my head. "Yeah, I can't eat it all."
That was a lie, but a lie I was willing to tell in order to share a little more time with the man.
"So we just stay until we finish up the food?"
"And the wine," the man added. "Just till then."
"Then you go give your speech," I said, hand still hesitating on the door handle.
"And you go do your…"
"Stuff."
"Stuff, right."
We each nodded.
"Okay then," I said.
"Alright," he said.
We eyed each other suspiciously like we were in a standoff on some dusty Main Street in 1842 as we slowly lowered ourselves to the floor in the linen closet. I wasn't sure which was worse: the idea that one of us might suddenly pull a pistol or the idea that one of us might suddenly laugh and say, “Really? You really thought I’d rather do this with you?” before leaving.
With my back against the door and his back against the shelves of white towels and bed sheets, we sat across from one another, me cross-legged and him with his knees pulled up tightly to his chest so our feet didn't touch. We sat there across from one another as the silence grew heavier.
"Maybe we should drink?" I said.
This caused us both to lean forward at the same time, sending our heads crashing together. Well, this was off to a good start, whatever the hell this was. I did random hookups with guys in clubs or bars or beach shacks, not strange, silent, electrically charged uncertainty in linen closets. I was out of my depth.
Michael rubbed his forehead and groaned, "You first."
I took
