Only One Room

Two coworkers. One stormy night. No way back to pretending. Chapter One — Delayed Flights and Dangerous Smiles Ava Bennett hated conferences with the kind of deep spiritual irritation usually reserved for tax audits and delayed flights, which unfortunately meant the universe had decided to combine all three forms of suffering into one miserable Thursday evening as she dragged herself through O’Hare International Airport while thunderstorms rattled the enormous windows overlooking the runway. Beside her, somehow still composed despite twelve straight hours of travel chaos, Saleema Brooks adjusted the strap of her laptop bag and glanced sideways with unmistakable amusement. “You’re glaring at strangers again.” “I’m conserving emotional energy.” “You looked directly at that man like you were considering homicide.” “He took his shoes off in public,” Ava muttered. “Some crimes deserve consequences.” Saleema laughed softly. That laugh was dangerous. Everything about Saleema was dangerous, honestly, which was precisely why Ava had spent the last eight months maintaining careful professional distance despite working beside her nearly every single day at Hartwell & Pierce Marketing, where they handled luxury hospitality campaigns for clients wealthy enough to believe branded bottled water counted as innovation. The problem was that distance became increasingly difficult around someone like Saleema. Someone who smiled with her whole face. Someone who listened carefully when people spoke. Someone who remembered tiny details about everyone around her while pretending not to notice the effect she had on nearly every room she entered. “You’re staring again,” Saleema said casually. Ava nearly walked into a trash can. “I absolutely was not.” “Mhm.” “You’re imagining things.” “You only get defensive when I’m right.” Ava refused to answer that. Mostly because Saleema was right. Again. By the time they finally arrived at the hotel in downtown Chicago, rain hammered against the glass entrance while exhausted travelers crowded the marble lobby beneath warm chandelier lighting, and Ava already knew she wanted nothing except sleep, silence, and maybe death. Instead, she got catastrophe. The hotel clerk looked approximately nineteen years old and moments away from emotional collapse. “I’m so sorry,” he said nervously, fingers trembling over the keyboard. “There was a reservation issue during the storm rerouting tonight.” Ava closed her eyes slowly. “No.” Saleema leaned one elbow against the counter. “How bad?” The clerk swallowed hard. “We only have one room remaining.” Silence. Then Ava asked carefully, “One room with two beds?” The clerk looked genuinely apologetic. “One king suite.” Saleema bit her lip immediately to stop herself laughing. Ava pointed at her without even looking over. “Don’t.” “I haven’t said anything.” “You’re thinking loudly.” That finished her completely. Saleema laughed outright while the poor clerk looked increasingly convinced he might die during this interaction. “We’re coworkers,” Ava clarified flatly. Saleema smiled beside her. “Coworkers who are apparently about to become very close emotionally.” “I’m requesting a transfer tomorrow.” “Oh, now you’re dramatic.” “You think this is dramatic? Wait until I’m forced to fight you for blanket territory.” The clerk handed over two keycards with visible relief, like surviving them counted as a personal achievement. As they headed toward the elevators, Saleema leaned closer. “You know,” she murmured, “most people would consider sharing a luxury suite with me a reward.” Ava pressed the elevator button harder than necessary. “That level of confidence should honestly require legal supervision.” Chapter Two — One Bed, No Escape The suite itself was beautiful in the worst possible way. Soft amber lighting glowed against dark wood furniture while rain shimmered beyond floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Chicago, and directly in the center of the room sat one enormous king bed like a personal attack from fate itself. Ava stopped walking the moment she saw it. “No.” Saleema dropped her suitcase near the dresser. “Yes.” “There is one bed.” “That is how numbers work.” Ava pointed immediately toward the tiny couch near the window. “I’ll sleep there.” Saleema stared at the couch. Then back at Ava. “Ava. That thing is decorative.” “I’ve slept in worse.” “You absolutely have not.” “You don’t know my life.” Saleema kicked off her heels and folded her arms. “You know what I think?” “I already dislike this sentence.” “I think you don’t trust yourself around me.” Ava’s stomach dropped instantly. “That is not true.” “You’re blushing.” “I’m exhausted.” “You’re blushing exhaustedly.” Ava turned away before her face betrayed anything further and yanked open her suitcase aggressively enough to nearly break the zipper. Behind her, Saleema’s voice softened slightly. “You really don’t know how obvious you are sometimes.” That landed far too accurately. Because the truth was Ava had been trying not to look at Saleema for months now. Ever since the Christmas office party when Saleema arrived in a black dress and smiled across the crowded rooftop bar while snow drifted through city lights behind her, leaving Ava completely incapable of remembering a single conversation afterward. “You make me nervous,” Ava admitted suddenly before common sense could stop her. Silence. Then quieter: “Oh.” Ava turned reluctantly. Saleema’s teasing expression had disappeared completely now, replaced by something softer and startlingly vulnerable beneath the warm hotel lighting. “You really mean that,” Saleema said gently. “Yes.” “Why?” Ava laughed once under her breath. “Because you walk into rooms and everyone notices.” Saleema held her gaze for several long seconds. “That’s not always fun,” she admitted softly. And somehow hearing that — hearing uncertainty beneath all her confidence — made Ava want to move closer instead of farther away. Which felt incredibly dangerous. Chapter Three — Wine, Confessions, and Accidental Honesty By midnight room service trays covered half the bed. Fries. Cheesecake. Wine neither woman technically needed but both fully intended to drink anyway. “You know,” Saleema said while stealing one of Ava’s fries, “everyone at work thinks you’re terrifying.” Ava nearly inhaled wine. “That is deeply unfair.” “You glare during meetings.” “I concentrate.” “You look like you’re planning assassinations.” Ava laughed despite herself. Real laughter this time. Uncontrolled. Saleema froze immediately. “What?” Ava asked. “That’s the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from you.” Ava shrugged awkwardly. “Maybe nobody else earned one.” Something softened visibly in Saleema’s expression after that. “So,” she said, settling comfortably against the pillows, “tell me something real about you.” Ava narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are we in therapy now?” “Yes. I’m charging hourly.” Ava rolled her eyes but eventually sighed. “Fine. Four brothers. Minnesota. Hockey childhood. Emotionally constipated family.” “That explains literally everything.” “You profile people for fun.” “I work in marketing. Profiling pays my rent.” “And you?” Ava asked. “Secret tragic backstory?” Saleema groaned dramatically. “Middle child. Atlanta. Catholic school. One deeply questionable summer involving motorcycles and a bartender named Veronica.” Ava stared at her. “You’re making that up.” “I absolutely am not.” “That might be the hottest sentence anyone has ever said to me.” The words escaped before Ava could stop them. Silence crashed into the room. Then Saleema smiled very slowly. “Oh,” she murmured. Ava covered her face immediately. “I’m throwing myself into traffic tomorrow.” Saleema laughed so hard she nearly spilled wine. “No,” she managed between breaths, “stay exactly where you are.” And God help her, Ava wanted to. Very much. Chapter Four — Rainfall and the First Kiss Around two in the morning they wandered onto the balcony together because neither of them seemed remotely capable of sleeping anymore, and the storm outside had softened into silver rain drifting across the glowing skyline while distant thunder rolled softly between skyscrapers. Saleema stood beneath the umbrella beside Ava, close enough that their shoulders brushed every few seconds. “This is insane,” Ava murmured eventually. “What part?” “All of it.” Saleema smiled faintly. “You regret it?” Ava answered immediately. “No.” Too fast. Too honest. Saleema stepped closer beneath the umbrella. “You know what I think?” she asked quietly. “What?” “I think you’ve wanted to kiss me for months.” Ava laughed softly under her breath. “That obvious?” “To me? Yes.” Rain shimmered against Saleema’s curls while city lights reflected warmly across her skin, and Ava suddenly realized with terrifying clarity that she was completely doomed. Not temporary doomed. Real doomed. The kind involving feelings. “You keep looking at me like you’re trying very hard not to want something,” Saleema whispered. Ava swallowed. “You make restraint difficult.” Saleema touched her face gently then. “Ava.” “Mhm?” “Kiss me.” And that was it. That was the end of caution. Ava kissed her immediately, one hand sliding against Saleema’s waist while the other tangled carefully into dark curls dampened by rain, and the moment their mouths met every ounce of tension built over months finally unraveled all at once beneath the storm-lit skyline. Saleema kissed like honesty felt. Warm. Patient. Devastatingly attentive. When they finally pulled apart both women stayed close, foreheads touching while rain drifted softly around them. “Well,” Saleema whispered. Ava laughed shakily. “Yeah,” she admitted. “That definitely crossed an HR boundary.” Chapter Five — Publicly Professional, Privately Ruined The next morning was torture. Professional torture. Because apparently the universe expected Ava to sit through eight straight hours of hospitality branding presentations while pretending she had not spent most of the night kissing the woman currently seated beside her in a fitted emerald green dress capable of ending civilizations. “You’re staring again,” Saleema whispered without looking away from the stage. “You wore that on purpose.” “Correct.” “You’re evil.” “Also correct.” Ava attempted to focus on the presentation screen. Unfortunately Saleema crossed her legs beside her at exactly the wrong moment and Ava forgot three consecutive minutes of corporate strategy discussion. “This is workplace harassment,” Ava muttered. Saleema’s smile widened slowly. “You’re blushing in public now. That’s progress.” “You enjoy destroying me psychologically.” “Oh, absolutely.” Then an executive from another firm approached during the lunch break. Tall. Expensive watch. Overconfident smile. And unfortunately very interested in Saleema. “Amazing presentation earlier,” he said smoothly. “Maybe we could continue the conversation over drinks tonight?” Ava felt something sharp twist immediately beneath her ribs. Jealousy. Actual jealousy. Which was ridiculous considering she and Saleema had technically only kissed approximately twelve hours ago. Saleema glanced sideways toward Ava once. Then smiled politely at the executive. “That’s sweet,” she said warmly, “but I already have plans tonight.” The man looked disappointed but retreated gracefully. Ava waited until he disappeared. “You enjoyed that.” Saleema looked innocent. “Enjoyed what?” “Watching me mentally prepare homicide.” “You were glaring at him.” “He had an aggressively symmetrical face.” Saleema laughed softly before leaning closer. “For the record,” she whispered near Ava’s ear, “I like your face better.” Ava forgot how breathing worked for several seconds afterward. Chapter Six — What Happens After Chicago That night felt quieter. Softer. The teasing remained, but underneath it something deeper had begun unfolding between them now, something neither woman seemed capable of dismissing as temporary anymore. Ava sat beside the window while Chicago glowed beneath them in silver and gold reflections across rain-dark streets far below. Saleema sat close enough that their knees touched naturally. “What happens after this?” Saleema asked quietly. Ava knew exactly what she meant. After Chicago. After the conference. After the hotel room. Reality waited outside this bubble eventually. “We go back to work,” Ava said carefully. “Mhm.” “And pretend we weren’t emotionally compromised by poor hotel management.” Saleema smiled faintly. Then her expression softened again. “Ava.” The seriousness in her voice made Ava look up immediately. “I don’t want this to become one beautiful night we never talk about again.” That landed directly in Ava’s chest. Because the terrifying truth was she didn’t want that either. Not even remotely. “I’m scared,” Ava admitted quietly. Saleema nodded once. “I know.” “My last relationship ended badly.” “I know.” “I don’t do this well.” Saleema reached for her hand slowly. “You don’t have to do it perfectly.” Ava looked down at their intertwined fingers. Then back at her. “What if this ruins everything?” Saleema smiled sadly. “And what if it changes everything instead?” Silence stretched softly between them. Then Ava leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, filled with all the tenderness she usually kept buried beneath sharp edges and professional distance. When they separated, Saleema rested her forehead gently against Ava’s. “You know what your problem is?” she whispered softly. “What?” “You spent so long convincing yourself you were difficult to love that you forgot to notice how deeply you love back.” Ava nearly broke apart right there. Chapter Seven — The Romantic Ending Two days later the conference ended beneath soft snowfall drifting through downtown Chicago. Ava stood outside the hotel beside waiting taxis while freezing wind swept between skyscrapers, and for once in her life she felt completely terrified in a way that had nothing to do with failure. Because Saleema was leaving first. Atlanta office. Different branch. Different city. And suddenly the possibility of losing this before it had properly begun felt unbearable. Saleema adjusted her scarf while watching her carefully. “You’re thinking too loudly again.” Ava laughed softly. “I hate that you can tell.” “I can tell everything with you now.” That should have frightened her. Instead it felt strangely wonderful. “I don’t want this to end,” Ava admitted finally. Saleema stepped closer through the falling snow. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I don’t think it’s supposed to.” Ava looked at her for several long seconds before speaking again. “I could come to Atlanta next weekend.” Saleema blinked once. “Like… voluntarily?” “Don’t ruin the moment.” Saleema laughed warmly, the sound immediately easing something tight inside Ava’s chest. Then Saleema touched her face gently, exactly the way she had on the balcony during the storm. “You know,” she said softly, “for someone allegedly emotionally unavailable, you turned out pretty romantic.” Ava smiled slowly. “Only for very specific people.” Saleema kissed her there on the snowy sidewalk while traffic lights glowed gold behind them and strangers hurried past without noticing the beginning of something life-changing happening directly beside them. And when they finally pulled apart, both smiling now, Ava realized something simple and terrifying and beautiful all at once. She no longer wanted distance. Not from this woman. Not anymore.