Page 569 of One More Kiss

“Uh, I have a room for the night,” I say.

“You an American?” the kid asks.

“Yep,” I reply.

“Cool. Do you know any celebrities?” the kid puts his phone down and stares up at me.

“Nope.”

His face falls. “Bummer. Me mum popped out for a minute. I guess I can let you the last room we have.”

“Oh, I, uh, have a receipt. I paid for it at the train station,” I explain, waving my piece of paper.

“Right. Well, here’s the key. Top of the stairs, first door on the right. Checkout is at eleven. Breakfast is from eight to nine in the dining room,” he says as he points to a room with four small tables.

I nod and take the key he’s holding. I trudge up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep on whatever bug-infested bed awaits me.

I find room number 3, put the key in the doorknob, and open it.

“Hey!” a voice yells as a body emerges from what appears to be a bathroom.

I look up and sigh. This day just keeps on getting worse. It’s the man. The same one from the plane and my ash spreading and the train station. It’s like I can’t get away from this person.

“What the heck?” I nearly yell. “This is my room.”

“No, I just walked up to this place and the lady said they had one room left. I paid for it downstairs. It’s my room,” he grunts. It’s at this moment that I realize he’s wearing only a towel. And holy cow! I’ve never seen actual muscles in the flesh, like a full-on six-pack of muscles. My eyes trail up his body and I find him staring at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer,” he says with a smirk.

God damn it! “Listen, I booked this room. There must be some sort of mistake,” I state, ignoring his comment and smirk.

“I’m sorry, but I paid for it not even five minutes ago,” he explains.

He has got to be kidding me. I’m not sure who I have to talk to in order to get this guy out of my room, but I will gladly talk to the queen herself if it makes his ass leave faster.

I want to scream in frustration. Nothing about this trip is going as I planned. It’s a complete catastrophe. I want to make a snarky comment about how he owes me this room because of kicking my seat on the airplane and then pouring ashes all over me when I was supposed to be having a moment with my father’s ashes.

I turn and walk right back downstairs as the front door opens. A woman stands there holding a package and giving me a curious look. The kid looks up from his phone.

“Oh, this lady let room three,” he says without looking at his mother.

“Oh, dear,” his mother replies as she glances at me. “I…just let that to a young man.”

“Uh, yeah, I figured that much out,” I state dryly.

“I’m so sorry, there are no other rooms. I could try calling a few other places for you,” she says, clearly flustered as she sets the package down and motions for her son to get up. He groans but complies and scampers off to the back of the building. I stand there and watch her make four phone calls. All of which end with her being told there are no rooms.

“I’m very sorry, but with the festival and tourist season,” she explains. “You can try catching the train to Edinburgh.”

“The trains aren’t running in that direction. An issue with the track,” I state.

“Oh, dear. That’s rotten luck. How about going up to Aberdeen?” she suggests with a hopeful look on her face.

“That’s actually putting me in the opposite direction from where I need to go,” I reply. “Never mind, I’ll figure something out.”

“Let me at least refund you the money,” she says. “That twat down at the train station never enters this stuff in the system correctly. I’m so sorry.” She punches in some things on the computer and asks for my credit card. I give it to her, and two minutes later, she has my card back to me.

“Best of luck,” she says.

With a sigh, I walk outside. I look up and down the street. I don’t know where to go. I have my stupid rolling suitcase and a backpack. I guess I could go back to the train station and rent a locker. Suddenly, I feel like a fool. Why didn’t I book a room before I left? I should have planned better. I should have thought about the what-ifs. Shit, I still need to call the hotel in Edinburgh and cancel my reservation for tonight, since I’m clearly not going to be there. Maybe I could rent a car and drive there? I look up the directions. It’s only about two and a half hours. I walk back to the train station to inquire about a car rental. The same lady who messed up the hotel informs me there aren’t any cars. And apparently, this small town has one driver for hire and he’s booked for the day. Great.

I trudge back down to a pub I saw. I see a park across the way. I decide to take a seat and collect myself before I eat. My nerves are frayed, and I feel like a mess. I sit down and put my head in my hands. That’s when I feel the first tear roll down my cheek, followed by another, and another. God, I’m so stupid. Coming here was a mistake. Everything’s gone wrong. I feel zero closure about my dad, and now I’m probably going to have to sleep on this park bench tonight. Yep, this is officially the worst trip ever.

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