No Reservations (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 19

I sigh. I may as well get it over with.  "I promise, we've never been a thing. There was a time, years ago, where I thought we might be. But . . . It never happened."

"Why not?" Alice persists. "There's more to it than that, right?" I shrug in response.

She puts her glass down. "If you think it's because he didn't or doesn't like you, you're wrong. He might have never mentioned you to me before, but I've noticed the way he acts around you. It's obvious to me he has feelings for you."

Apparently those words turn on some sort of tap in my brain . . . because suddenly it all comes flooding out. The pen meet-cute, him moving in across the road, the party, the prom . . .

Alice frowns when I get to that part. "That really doesn't sound like something Ryan would do," she says. "I mean, I know it was years ago but . . . I just don't think he's ever been that type of guy."

I nod. "I know what you mean, and I thought so too. But I don't know what else I was meant to think. Basically I felt like it was all confirmed for me when I went to find him and he was actually kissing . . . Her. So if that was true then the rest must have been too."

I push the dessert menu away; the idea of sticky toffee pudding is no longer exciting me. In fact, my appetite has completely vanished. I inhale deeply, contracting my stomach muscles as hard as I can, then realise what I'm doing and immediately relax them again.

"Wouldn't it have been better to just talk to him about it that night? Was choosing to just no longer be part of his life really the wisest decision?" Alice pushes me.

"Hindsight's 20/20, right? I was 18 and silly, I thought he'd broken my heart. I needed to go away and lick my wounds and get over him. " I shrug again.

"But you didn't get over him. Did you?"

Alice is way too perceptive. It's really fucking annoying.

But she's absolutely right, too. I didn't get over Ryan. Deep down, I don't think I've ever really even wanted to.

I've held onto my teenage crush and my resentment all these years, practically wearing it like a badge of honour. I've wallowed in the misery of that unrequited love. And I've genuinely, in all that time, never met a guy I've liked anywhere near as much as I liked Ryan Thorne. Which is probably why all my relationships have went tits-up, usually in the space of a few months. 

"Better batten down the hatches," Alice warns as we step outside, staring up at the ominously dark sky. I look questioningly at her. "There's a storm due tonight."

I shudder. "I hate storms."

"Best get yourself mentally prepared then," she says with a laugh, patting me on the arm. "It's probably going to get pretty bad."

That doesn't help.

I walk as quickly as possible back to the Thorne Inn, but the rain has already started and the wind whipping my hair around before I even make it to my accommodation. I close the main door behind me with relief and head to the kitchen for junk food supplies. If I'm going to potentially be huddling under the covers all night, I need to be ready and armed.

When I said I hate storms, I don't mean it lightly. I am petrified of thunder and lightning, particularly at night time. I am also convinced that I will be struck by lightning at least once in my lifetime. It's been a genuine, possibly irrational, concern for me since I've been a kid.

My mum has told me that when I was a very young child, barely old enough to walk, I'd got scared when I heard my first clap of thunder, and went running to find her, but I'd slipped and fell down the stairs. Luckily, I'd been unhurt, the way you tend to be when a kid, but I guess that's the origins of my fear. I'm not a fan of thunder and lightning anyway, but it also must trigger the memory of me feeling helpless as I tumbled down the stairs . . . and that makes it all the more traumatic for me.

To make me feel better anytime there was a thunderstorm after that, my mum and dad would make a pillow fort and we'd all huddle underneath it with a torch and play board games to take my mind off my fear.

I miss those days.

As I walk back to my room with my handfuls of crisps and sweets, I can't help but glance up the corridor towards Ryan's door. I wonder if he's in.  If he wants company. If he'd like to partake in some dirty times . . . No, Iona, don't go there. I shake my head at my own pervy thoughts and put my pyjamas on in my own room.

Now, if you thought cats with cocktails made for cool pjs, then prepare yourself for . . . Dogs playing percussion instruments. Honestly I have the sexiest nightwear. I smile wryly at a dalmation waving a tambourine around before I pull my fluffy dressing gown tightly around me. It's only 4pm but I want to be as cosy as possible.

I'm snuggled up in bed, a glass of wine in one hand, and a Kinder Bueno bar in the other, watching a terrible film on the telly, when the lightning first flashes. I don't really see it, it's more of a sense as I have the curtains closed. But the rumble of thunder that follows five seconds or so later confirms the lightning's existence, and chills my blood. Clutching my wineglass tighter, I retreat completely under the covers.

And about half a minute later, the power cuts out.

Everything goes black and silent. Apart from the lashing of the rain and the eerie howling of the wind, of course.

Fuck.

This is my worst nightmare coming true. Alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere in an electrical storm... I'm like a character in a horror film. And I'm not even the Neve Campbell of the film . . . I'm Drew Barrymore just waiting to be picked off by the killer. I whimper into my glass, picturing a fork of lightning directly above me, poised to strike . . .

But then, out of nowhere, there's a knock at my door. And, let's face it, there's only one person that can really be on the other side of it.

Well, unless it's a killer in a "Scream" mask, of course . . .

Alone in a storm with Ryan? Hmmm . . .

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