Forced To Share A Bed With My Rival

Kara’s knuckles were white, her grip on the steering wheel so tight her fingers ached. Rain hammered the windshield in blinding sheets, the wipers fighting a losing battle against the deluge. Each swipe only smeared the water, offering a brief, distorted view of the winding mountain road before the world dissolved back into a gray, roaring chaos. Another fork, identical to the last three, appeared out of the gloom. She cursed under her breath, the sound swallowed by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to shake the very frame of the rental car.

Beside her, Anders was a statue of infuriating calm. He just sat there, staring out his own window into the churning darkness of the pines, his hands resting loosely on his knees. His silence was a weight in the small space, more grating than any comment he could have made. In the office, his quiet, methodical confidence was a constant irritant, a silent judgment on her own more chaotic, passionate approach to their work. Out here, with the storm trying to peel the car off the asphalt, it felt like an accusation.

“Any brilliant ideas, Anders?” she finally snapped, her voice tight. “Or are you just going to enjoy the scenery until we slide off a cliff?”

He turned his head slowly, his gaze unreadable in the intermittent flashes of the dashboard lights. “Arguing with the GPS an hour ago was the last brilliant idea, Kara. I believe we are now officially in uncharted territory.”

His tone was level, devoid of the ‘I-told-you-so’ inflection she expected, which was somehow worse. It made them a ‘we’. A ‘we’ that was hopelessly lost, low on gas, and caught in the worst storm this region had seen in a decade. The road ahead was turning into a muddy river. She could feel the tires beginning to slip.

“Fuck,” she breathed, easing her foot off the accelerator. “We have to stop.”

As if summoned by her words, a light flickered through the trees to their right. It was weak, sputtering, but undeniably there. A neon sign, with several letters burned out, buzzed faintly against the roar of the wind.

Th Sle py Hol ow nn

“An inn,” Anders said, his voice holding the first note of actual interest she’d heard from him all day. He pointed. “There. Pull in.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command born of pure necessity. Kara didn’t argue. She wrenched the wheel, guiding the car off the treacherous road and onto a gravel driveway that was already half-submerged in water. The tires crunched, slid, and then held. In front of them, a large, dark Tudor-style building loomed, a single warm light glowing in a downstairs window. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie. But it was also their only option.

They made a frantic dash from the car to the heavy oak door, the rain soaking them instantly, cold and sharp against their skin. Anders reached the door first, pulling it open against the wind and holding it for her. For a moment, she was just a shivering shape in the doorway, water dripping from the ends of her hair onto the polished floorboards, before he followed her in, shutting the storm out with a solid thud.

The inside of the inn was hushed and warm, smelling of woodsmoke and beeswax. The only light came from a roaring fire in a massive stone hearth and a collection of candles scattered on tables and the mantelpiece. An elderly woman with a cloud of white hair and kind eyes looked up from a book she was reading in an armchair by the fire.

“Oh, you poor things,” she said, her voice a gentle, comforting sound. She set her book aside and rose to her feet, her movements slow but steady. “Come in, come in. The storm’s a nasty one. I’m Elspeth.”

“Kara. This is Anders,” Kara managed, her teeth beginning to chatter. “We saw your sign. The road is… it’s gone.”

Elspeth nodded, her expression full of sympathy. “Washed out about an hour ago. The bridge at Miller’s Creek is gone. No one is getting in or out of this valley tonight, I’m afraid. The power lines are down, too, as you can see.” She gestured around the candlelit room. “You’re lucky you found this place.”

Anders stepped forward, his wet jacket dripping a puddle onto the rug. “Do you have a room? Two rooms?”

Elspeth’s kind face fell. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. With the storm coming, I’ve been full up since this afternoon. I have just one vacancy left.” She hesitated, her gaze flicking between the two of them, a flicker of assessment in her eyes. “It’s my best room, the Lover’s Leap suite. It has its own fireplace, a lovely view of the mountains… when you can see them.” She gave a small, apologetic smile. “But it only has the one bed. A king, mind you, very comfortable. But just the one.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of the wind. A single bed. The words hung in the air between Kara and Anders, a stark and unavoidable fact. Kara felt a hot flush creep up her neck, a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, unwelcome flutter in her stomach. She risked a glance at Anders. His expression was completely neutral, his jaw set. He was looking at Elspeth, but she knew he was intensely aware of her standing beside him, of the implication of the innkeeper’s words.

“We’ll take it,” Anders said, his voice firm, leaving no room for discussion.

Elspeth handed Anders a heavy iron key and a box of matches. “The fire is laid, you’ll just need to light it. I’ll bring up some extra blankets. Try to get some rest, you two.” Her smile was knowing, a little too warm, and Kara felt the heat in her cheeks intensify.

The room was exactly as described: charming, rustic, and dominated by the bed. It was a monstrous thing, a four-poster frame of dark, carved wood, piled high with quilts and pillows. It took up nearly half the floor space, a silent, looming centerpiece. A small stone fireplace was set into one wall, with two plush armchairs angled toward it. Elspeth had already lit several thick pillar candles, and their light danced across the wood-paneled walls, casting long, wavering shadows that made the room feel both intimate and unsettlingly small.

The click of the latch as Anders closed the door behind them was deafeningly final. They were alone. The roar of the storm outside seemed to rush in to fill the silence, a constant, violent reminder of their isolation.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They just stood in the small entryway, dripping onto a braided rug, their wet jackets suddenly feeling heavy and confining. Kara’s eyes darted around the room, landing on everything but Anders, on anything but the bed. The armchairs. The window, a black pane streaming with water. The small writing desk in the corner.

“I’ll… I’ll take this side,” she said finally, her voice sounding thin. She walked over to the left side of the room, placing her small overnight bag on a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. It felt like claiming territory in a war no one had declared.

“Fine,” Anders replied, his voice equally strained. He moved to the opposite side, setting his own briefcase and garment bag down by the fireplace. The space between them was a chasm, with the king-sized bed as its defining feature.

The routine of unpacking became a shield. Kara pulled out her toiletries, arranging them with meticulous care on the small bedside table. Toothbrush, face wash, a small bottle of lotion. Mundane items that felt absurdly out of place in the charged atmosphere. She was acutely aware of Anders’s movements behind her—the rustle of his clothing, the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor. She could feel his presence as a physical heat at her back, even from across the room.

He knelt to light the fire, his broad back to her. The match scraped, and a small flame bloomed, catching on the kindling. As the fire began to crackle and grow, it illuminated the lines of his shoulders and the strong column of his neck. Kara found herself staring, watching the firelight play over the damp fabric of his shirt, clinging to his skin. She quickly looked away, her heart giving a hard, betraying thump against her ribs. She unzipped her bag again, pretending to search for something, anything to occupy her hands and her gaze. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the spit and hiss of the growing fire and the relentless assault of the storm. The bed sat between them, an unspoken, unavoidable challenge for the night ahead.