Peter’s heart skipped about a hundred beats when she casually suggested that the receptionist might’ve been helping him “make an impression.” Right. He could barely keep his voice from cracking with this whole situation in general. This banter… it wasn’t doing him well okay but he was trying. "Yeah, well… if that was her plan, I think… I think she might need to, uh, reconsider her career choices,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. But there was a hint of a smile there, despite himself. Maybe she was just teasing, but still… small wins, Peter. Small wins.
After a whirlwind of frantic dressing, he managed to get clothes on—questionable, but at least functional. Annnnnnnd now she was looking at him with that look—like he was an interesting, maybeeeee slightly amusing exhibit at a museum—had him instantly self-conscious. Just when he thought he’d salvaged an ounce of dignity, she leaned in, reaching up to fix the label sticking out from his collar. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck, light but enough to make every nerve in his body hyper-aware. By the time she took a step back, Peter’s mouth was dry, his brain short-circuiting. “Uh… yeah…uh… tha… thank you? Sophie…that’s… a pre… cu…good name,” he mumbled, face now fully resembling the shade of his red sweater.
And, because it wouldn’t be a conversation with him without some monumental awkwardness, his brain malfunctioned and he blurted the most cliche question in the history of clique questions.Her raised eyebrows and casual retort had him inwardly facepalming so hard he swore he might just pass out from the embarrassment.
Peter let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as her words sank in. [ “Right… yeah, uh… that was… a stupid question.” He shook his head, face turning redder by the second. “I’m… I’m just not used to talking to girls like…” He paused, eyes widening slightly. “No, I don’t mean, like, all girls. I mean… well, no, I mean I don’t… I’m just gonna… shut up now, because I think if I keep talking, I’m gonna end up in a hole I can’t climb out of.”
He shot her an apologetic smile, his gaze darting to the floor as he internally screamed.
As they reached the reception area, Peter did his best to muster a semblance of confidence, resting one hand on the counter and taking a deep breath. “Hi, so, um… there seems to be a… uh… small mix-up, I guess? With, um, our room booking.” He gestured vaguely between him and Sophia, trying not to sound like he’d swallowed half his words, but already feeling the flush creeping up his neck. “We both, uh, got key cards to the same penthouse suite… so maybe…?” he muttered, pushing his card and ID towards her.
The receptionist furrowed his brow and glanced at the computer screen, tapping a few keys. “Hmm… this is… odd. Hold on a second.” He kept typing, his frown deepening, and Peter felt his stomach twist. He gave Sophia a nervous half-smile, trying to play it cool as if this wasn’t rapidly devolving into the sort of comedy routine his life seemed determined to be.
After a few seconds, the receptionist glanced up, looking even more concerned. “It appears… there was a computer error. You two were both accidentally booked as… the same party.”
Peter blinked, his voice fumbling in confusion. “Oh. Uh, so… we’re… what does that mean?”
The receptionist nodded, looking apologetic. “I’m very sorry. I have no idea how it happened… but… since it’s high season, we’re actually fully booked. The soonest we could get a second room available is… three days from now.”
Peter’s face dropped as he tried to process that. “Three… days?” he repeated, looking over at Sophia, hoping she didn’t look as alarmed as he felt. News flash - she didn’t.
“Is there… anything… we can, um, do?” Peter asked, his voice pitching slightly with the last word. He could feel Sophia’s eyes on him, and he glanced over, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile but probably looked more like a nervous grimace.
The receptionist gestured toward the back, muttering something into a walkie-talkie, and a few moments later, the manager appeared. She took one look at the scene—the two of them standing awkwardly side by side, Peter’s flushed face, his… less than ideal outfit—and sighed. “Apologies for the inconvenience. There was indeed a system glitch. I can confirm that we are… unfortunately… fully booked, but I’d be happy to offer you both complimentary dining during your stay as an apology and 6 drink vouchers each”
Peter looked at Sophia, trying to gauge her reaction. Okay, Peter. This is fine. Not ideal, but fine. Just… play it cool. “Um, well… our suite has, what… five bedrooms?” He looked to the manager for confirmation, who nodded in agreement.“I mean… we could just… I don’t know, stay together? Like, not together together,” he clarified quickly, “but… you know, the, uh, logistics of it… Me and my friends could take two rooms and, like, the couch, and… you girls could, um, have the other rooms. Just… till the, you know, other room’s available.”
He looked at Sophia, waiting for her reaction, hoping he hadn’t completely overstepped. He forced a casual smile, one he hoped made him look at least slightly less like he was seconds away from an existential crisis. “I mean… only if that works for you,” he added, feeling the awkwardness creeping back in, but trying his best to sound like he had it together.
He let out a shaky laugh, realizing he’d been holding his breath. Just play it cool, Peter.
@novella - we’re backkkkkkk