the blood coursing round my veins. I leap out of bed, jumping up and down on the spot squealing out my exhilaration.
Sitting on the chair next to the vanity table, then immediately standing again, I need to go somewhere, do something, shout from the roof tops, anything to dispel this raging energy.
First and foremost though, I’m starving; I’m just picking up the phone to call for room service when there’s a knock at the door. My heart leaps into my mouth, he’s come back?? I literally skip to the door, flinging it open…..but it’s just a waiter with a food trolley. Wait, now they’re psychic as well!? Seriously the service here is out of this world!
As the waiter wheels it in I catch a glimpse of a bright yellow flower laying on top of an envelope, it must be Carlos, I’m desperate to get to it, so much so I pretty much man-handle the waiter out the door, thanking him enthusiastically as I do, to soften the blow of having the door slammed in his face.
Snatching up the envelope and tearing it open eagerly, he’s back to using the gold embossed card, it really is beautiful, I think as I run my fingers over its border.
‘Thought you might be hungry after last night, I hope you find the trolley to your liking?
Speak soon,
Carlos x x x’
I love his notes, I’ve already started stashing them in the back of the book I bought with me, which I’m now sure I will never read, instead it has become a treasure trove of love letters; well OK not quite love letters to be fair, how about lovely notes? Yes, my treasure trove of lovely notes!
Putting this one alongside the other two I turn my attention back to the trolley, now emitting mouth-watering smells into the room.
This is weird; it’s an exact copy of what I had for breakfast that first morning, even down to the pieces of fruit, flavour of the yogurt and how many rashers of bacon I had!
I hadn’t really thought about it before, but there is a bit of a creepy side to Carlos; he clearly knew or found out which room I was in and my name, he thought I was a ‘Mrs’ but he went ahead and pursued me anyway and then there’s the date. Amazing as it was, the effort he went to was massively over the top, the roof top, the candles, the meal prepared specially by a top chef? All of that is excusable, he works here so finding out who I am would have been relatively easy and Mrs or not, I am notably here on my own, so I guess I’m fair game in that sense. The roof top was a bit overkill, but maybe he is just a romantic and how do I know that it’s not set up like that all the time? It could be just as simple as flicking on a light switch and lighting a few candles and you’re good to go?
But the breakfast is definitely a bit much, I didn’t even see him there that day, clearly he saw me though. A deep blush spreads up my neck to my cheeks, oh god, he saw me pig out, I was so sure I’d gotten away with it. So far he has really seen me at my worst, how can he still be interested?
I can’t help but feel I might be over thinking this.
Yes he’s hot (way too hot), and yes he’s interested in me (for reasons unknown), and yes, I may be blinded by his hotness (against his tendencies to be a little bit of a stalker), but all in all is it worth it? Worst case scenario, I can go back home and never hear from him again.
One flickering image of last night crosses my mind and yes, I decide it’s more than worth it!
I wait as long as I can before grabbing the phone and dialling Caz, I’ve got to tell someone, it starts to ring; it’s midday back home and I know Caz likes to take a quick nap around then so she’s not too tired for the evening shift she does at the local pub most nights, ooops! I’m just about to hang-up thinking I am being a bit rude calling when I know she will be trying to sleep, when Phil answers, “Hi, Kate?” he questions, presumably by the look of the number on his display.