The Hotel Server and a Night I Never Told

This happened a few years ago, on a getaway to the hills I took with someone else, and yet it ended up being much more mine than anyone else’s. We had chosen a small town, with cobblestone streets and the smell of rosemary, where time seemed to move at a different pace. The lodging was what had caught my attention most when I booked it: an old inn that had once been a convent. Thick walls, courtyards with stone arcades, a silence that got into your bones. I never thought that in a place like that I’d go through what I went through.

The first day was all picture-postcard perfection. The view from the window, the hills outlined against a sky that was too blue, the staff’s perfectly measured attention. I felt light, far from routine, with that strange sense of not having to answer to anyone. At lunch we were served by a waiter who immediately stood out. His name was Lucas. He must have been just over thirty, with brown skin, a smile he used like a work tool, and a way with words that made all the tables laugh.

That afternoon there was some kind of show in the dining room, live music and an emcee, and Lucas moved among the tables encouraging people, cracking jokes, winning over the crowd effortlessly. I liked that about him. The ease, the way he looked you in the eye when he spoke. We exchanged two or three casual lines while he served, nothing earth-shattering, but enough to break the ice. I went back to the room thinking about his smile more than I was willing to admit.

The second night I went down to dinner alone. My companion preferred to stay upstairs, tired from the day, and I didn’t insist. The truth is, I didn’t mind at all. I sat at a table near the window, ordered something light, and let the mountain night drift in slowly through the glass. It was Lucas, again, who came over to wait on me.

—Did they leave you alone today? —he said as he straightened the cutlery—. How odd. And without a beer, too.

—Alone today —I answered, playing along—. And without the beer, look at that.

He laughed, wrote something in his notepad, and kept doing his thing. Don’t make such a big deal out of it, Sofía, I told myself. But my body was already on to something else.

A while later he came back past my table, supposedly to take away a plate. In one smooth motion, with the naturalness of a magician, he slid a little folded note into my palm. He said nothing. He just held my gaze a second too long and walked away. I closed my fist as if I’d been handed a state secret.

I finished dinner with my heart pounding in places it had no business pounding. I went up to the room, locked myself in the bathroom, and only then opened the note. It was a phone number, written in quick handwriting, and below it just one word: “whenever you want.”

***

I saved it with clumsy fingers. I kept staring at the screen for a long while, torn between the sensible girl I’m supposed to be and the other one, the one I hadn’t let out in a long time. The other one won. I texted him “hi, I’m the girl from the window table” and regretted it the moment I sent it.

The reply came right away. “Hi, brunette. Shall we have those beers I owe you? I’ll wait for you in the lobby, by the wooden bench.” I read the message three times. Then I looked at the bed, where my companion was already sleeping deeply, oblivious to everything. And I made the decision that had already been made from the moment I closed my fist around that note.

I slipped into the shower without making a sound. I got dressed comfortably, in dark leggings that hugged me just the way I like them to, and a loose T-shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror longer than I needed to. Just a couple of beers, I lied to myself, while I let down my still-damp hair.

I went down the stone stairs trying not to let the steps creak. The lobby was dim, lit only by a floor lamp, and there he was, sitting on the bench with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He saw me come in, smiled, and I smiled back more out of nerves than anything else.

—Shall we go? —he said, nodding outward, toward the dark outline of the rocks that enclosed the property.

—Let’s go —I answered, not really knowing what I was saying yes to.

***

We stepped out into the cool night air. The smell was of earth and dry grass, and the silence was so deep we could hear our footsteps on the gravel. We walked until we reached a trail that climbed between huge rocks. Lucas went first, and when the ground got steep he’d hold out his hand to help me up. His hand was firm, warm, and every time he let go I felt like I was missing something.

We reached a natural clearing, a kind of lookout surrounded by rocks, completely away from the hotel and everything else. We leaned against a broad boulder, still warm from the day’s sun.

—The night is beautiful —he said, looking out toward the valley.

—Beautiful as hell —I replied, and it was true.

He took two beer cans from the backpack, still cold, and handed me one. We toasted to my stay, clinking the aluminum with a sharp sound that rang out loudly in all that silence. I took a long sip and breathed deeply. Down below, in the darkness, the lights of the houses scattered along the slope could be seen, twinkling like the little bulbs on a Christmas tree. The moon was round, huge, and bathed everything in a silvery gray.

—Look at that —I said—. The peace up here.

—That’s why I like coming up here —he answered—. I come after my shift and stay a while. But I’d never come up here with company before.

He looked at me when he said it. And I understood we were no longer talking about the view.

***

We kept drinking, trading loose comments, low laughter, silences that lasted a little longer than they should have. At some point Lucas slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. I didn’t resist. I let myself press into him, feeling the heat coming through his T-shirt, my heart leaping in my chest like a teenager’s.

He set his can down on a rock. He moved my hair off my neck with two fingers, slowly, and kissed me right there, in the exact place where the skin is most sensitive. I shivered all over. I felt his breath rising toward my ear, his lips barely brushing me, and a sigh escaped me that gave away everything I had been holding back since lunch the day before.

I turned my head slowly and found him. We kissed for the first time there, against the rock, with the moon as witness. At first it was a slow kiss, tentative, and then it quickly turned hungry. He took the can out of my hand and set it on the ground beside his, leaving my hands free. I turned my whole body toward him and we kissed until we ran out of breath, until the first moan slipped from me against his mouth.

I was on fire. It had been a long time since I’d felt that vertigo, that urgency to touch and be touched without thinking about the consequences. I ran my hand down his torso, to the edge of his pants, and unbuttoned them. I lowered the zipper slowly, looking him in the eyes, and he kept breathing harder and harder.

I knelt on the warm rock. I freed him and took him into my mouth without rushing, looking up from below so I wouldn’t miss a single expression on his face. I worked him with my tongue, teased him, gave him those slow attentions that drive anyone crazy, and little by little I sped up until he was breathing through clenched teeth. He buried his fingers in my hair, not pushing, just following the rhythm I set. Watching him lose control like that, in silence so we wouldn’t get caught, made me even hotter.

When he was on the edge, he lifted me by the shoulders. He took a condom from the backpack and put it on with slightly clumsy hands while I laughed softly from nerves. He turned me around carefully, pressed me against the broad rock, and slowly pulled down my leggings. He touched me, checked how wet I was, and let out an “uff” that made me smile in the dark.

He entered me from behind, slowly at first, breathing against the back of my neck. One of his hands held my hip and the other wrapped around my chest. He found a deep, delicious rhythm that pulled moans from me, ones I tried to swallow and couldn’t always hold back. The cold air made my skin prickle while he kept me warm from the inside. The moon, the lights of the valley below, the rough stone against my hands: everything mixed into one huge sensation. We held out like that for a good while, until his body gave in and he finished pressed against my back, holding back the cry against my shoulder.

***

We stayed still for a moment, catching our breath, laughing quietly at what we had just done. Then we got our clothes back in order with little touches and short kisses, like two accomplices returning from a mischief.

—That was so good —I told him, still breathless.

—Very —he answered, with a smile that was clearly not going to fade for a good while.

—Well —I said, fixing my hair—. I have to go back.

—Come on, I’ll walk you.

He put the empty cans in the backpack, took my hand, and we started down from the rocks carefully, helping each other on the steeper stretches just like we had on the way up. We hardly spoke on the way down. It wasn’t necessary. When we reached the lobby he let go of my hand, looked at me one last time, and disappeared toward the staff area.

I went up to the room on tiptoe. My companion was still sleeping exactly as when I’d left, without noticing a thing. I got under the sheets with my body still vibrating and my head full of images I knew I’d keep forever.

The next day we left town. At lunch Lucas waited on me as if nothing had happened, with his professional waiter smile, and only when he took away the last plate did he give me a quick wink that nobody else saw. I never went back to that inn, and I never heard from him again. But every so often, when I see a huge moon outlined over some hills, I go back to that night on the rocks, to that improvised, reckless adventure on a getaway that was supposed to be for two and ended up being, in secret, completely mine.