Room 407
A hotel mix-up turns into one very unexpected invitation.
The hotel elevator stopped on the fourth floor. She stepped out. So did he.
She glanced sideways. “You’re following me?”
He held up his room key. “407.”
She stopped walking. “That’s my room.”
He looked at his key again. 407. They stared at each other. Then she burst out laughing.
Apparently, the front desk had made a mistake.
“Guess one of us is sleeping in the hallway,” he said. “Not me.”
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. He headed back toward the elevator.
“Wait.”
He turned. She stood in the doorway, holding his forgotten suitcase.
“You might need this.”
He laughed and walked back. Their fingers brushed when he took the handle. Neither moved away quite as quickly as they should have.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re welcome.”
A quiet moment passed. Then she tilted her head.
“Are you always this polite?” “Usually.”
“That’s a shame.” He smiled. “What would you prefer?”
She held his gaze. “For starters? You could ask for my number.”
He took out his phone. She stepped closer and typed it in herself. Under her name, she added three words: Don’t be boring.
His phone buzzed five minutes later. A message from the woman in Room 407.
Dinner. Tomorrow. Seven.
He replied: I’ll try not to be boring.
Her answer came immediately: You already are. You forgot to ask my name.
Sometimes getting the wrong room puts you in the right story.