This is the final chapter of Room Service. I hope you've enjoyed the story. Thanks for all the reviews - I'm very grateful :-)))

Chapter 7 - Verklempt

The early morning sunshine flowed in through the tall windows of the room in The Harding Hotel, Camden, lying like a blanket of gold across the lower half of the bed and warming his legs beneath the chintzy coverlet. The heavy draperies had remained drawn back throughout the night to allow some fresh air into the room via the open top lights although there had been no breeze and with all three windows being on the same wall, no through-draft either. It hadn't been uncomfortably hot in the room during the night but a slight stuffiness had prevailed making Dempsey glad to see bright blue skies and fluttering leaves in front of him now. The Silver Birch trees which fronted the property grew up beyond the height of the windows and when he shrugged himself up higher on his pillows, he was able to view the tops of the much lower Crepe Myrtle trees, the sheer vibrancy of their deep pink flowers making his heart swell.

Worlds apart

With a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, he took a minute to check out the pictures hanging on the walls; pretty little still-lifes of bowls of fruit and baskets of flowers ornately framed and grouped together above the high chest of drawers. A series of botanical illustrations, each a print of a delicately hand drawn member of the Pterodophytes or 'fern' family, was placed over the console table where a real Boston fern in a bone china planter sat. Not that Dempsey had any particular interest in any of this but he could at least appreciate the overall ambiance the artwork lent to the room.

There was too much of what he would term, bric-a-brac about the place; fancy clutter and fake antiquities. All the dark mahogany, the panelling around the lower half of the walls, the wardrobe, two chests of drawers, the ottoman, all nice pieces but just too much in this one room with the deep red carpet. A couple of high-backed federal style armchairs sat either side of the large central window, both upholstered in a cream striped satiny fabric, their serpentine arms and sturdy square legs all but lost against the mahogany panelling they stood against. If it wasn't for the creamy yellow of the light floral pattern wallpaper, it would've felt like a mausoleum in here, he decided.

Maybe he was making the mistake of comparing it to Winfield Hall.

He'd spent time there and had felt history seep into his bones. He'd learnt to recognise and appreciate the real deal and this carefully constructed imitation, whilst its heart was in the right place, just wasn't doing it for him.

But he was being unfair. This wasn't an ancestral pile and never had been. It was just another hotel, quaint, yes – expensive, certainly and he'd known worse without a doubt.

He glanced over to the botanical illustrations again and smiled, remembering the New York skyline prints of The Hotel Eichler Mono and the impersonal feel of the place.

No pleasing some people.

But the truth was, he really didn't give a damn what hotel he was in.

With a sigh of contentment, he rose from the cosy confines of the tester bed and knocked smartly on the door to the en-suite.

"Honey? You done in there? I gotta pee."

The door opened abruptly and Harry stood before him wrapped in a white fluffy towel, toothbrush in hand.

"Well don't stand on ceremony, James, it isn't like I haven't seen it all before is it?"

He grinned as she moved aside to admit him and made for the toilet. "Just my roundabout way of getting you to move your ass. I don't wanna miss my breakfast 'cause I worked up a real appetite," he grinned. "You smell those pancakes?"

Harry spat toothpaste into the sink and quickly rinsed before sniffing the air appreciatively. "Mmmmmm. But I want mine with blueberries, not bacon," she stipulated, brandishing her toothbrush at him. "I don't do that sweet and savoury thing."

"I need to educate you on that score." He finished and moved beside her to rinse his hands.

"I think you'll find it's me who will be doing the educating," Harry said, her free hand reaching out to jab a finger into his chest. Her haughty expression was momentary, collapsing rapidly under the weight of Dempsey's lovingly indulgent smile.

His hand closed around the accusing finger and brought it to his lips. "You can teach me aaaall about the sweet stuff, baby," he said suggestively.

Harry leaned up against him to wrap one arm around his waist and propping her hand still bearing the toothbrush on his shoulder, looked up into his eyes as she murmured, "I think we should've ordered breakfast in bed."

"With extra maple syrup," he added.

She laughed and placed a playful, minty kiss on his mouth. "Sounds a bit messy to me."

"Yeeeeeah," he beamed, "don't it just."

Harry was happy – so ridiculously happy.

Initially, being in love with this man had been such a painful and seemingly hopeless situation. She didn't understand how it had happened even. He wasn't her type; too big a personality, too rough around the edges, too… everything! It was a joke really. But what was it they said about opposites attracting? That he 'fancied' her, there had never been any doubt but that did not a sincere, romantic relationship make she informed herself repeatedly as her feelings for him started to evolve into the unimaginable. It was scary, knowing that she was falling for somebody who could never reciprocate her love for them. How could she ever be loved back in the way she needed when she knew he wasn't the kind to take the relationship seriously. It wasn't that she had some overpowering urge to marry again and have children but she had to know that there was at least the potential for that to happen with whoever she fell in love with and Dempsey had never revealed to her any inclination to settle down with anybody.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I do believe we've missed a trick here."

"How's that?" he asked, taking the toothbrush from her and dropping it into one of the glass toothmugs at the sink before turning back to give her his full attention.

"Well, just imagine if we had ordered room service…"

He had his arms about her, regarding her make-up free complexion with fascination.

"Uh huh."

Nobody else got to see her like this. Women felt exposed without the war paint, didn't they? A girl he'd been seeing once told him she'd rather walk down the street naked than leave the house without the slap. Did Harry feel the same? Did she feel vulnerable without that protective veil? Then he was one helluva lucky guy 'cause he got to see this beautiful, unguarded face on a regular.

Her blue eyes sparkled as she told him, "As I said, it would probably have got quite messy with all that maple syrup buuuuuut... I was just thinking, we could've made use of this rather large shower afterwards… together."

Dempsey dropped her like a hot brick and exited the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "I just gotta make a call. Maybe it ain't too late to order up."

Bolting after him, Harry launched herself at him with a giggling shriek of protest as he landed on the bed, making a grab for the 'phone. "Noooooo, you can't, they'll know what we're getting up to!"

"Like they don't know already?!" he yelled, playfully.

She wriggled up the length of his body, stretching to wrestle the handset from him as he held it just out of reach. The action dislodged the wedge of towel between her breasts so that it partly slid away and they were lying together, torso to torso.

She had committed an act of madness – repeatedly. It just wasn't her. She still couldn't believe it even now, what she had done to get her man. She had never realised it was possible to need someone like she'd needed Dempsey. It hadn't been just about the sex – it was more the feeling of completeness the act instilled, the oneness, the merging of their bodies that was the embodiment of her love for him. But he didn't love her back – or so she'd thought – and the only way she could handle what she was doing was to be in total control and not let him see the power he had over her. She had to be the one wielding the power; cool, detached and dispassionate enough to have him begging for more because she had decided in her own mind that if he knew the truth, he would have won, and in her mind, leaving him hungry for a new conquest.

"Hello? Room service?" Dempsey said into the dead air of the unconnected receiver. "I need you to send breakfast up to room seven. I'm gonna need a pancake stack about yay high…" he held his other hand out flat, mid-air to indicate a great height, "an' a quart - no, wait, better make that a gallon jug of maple syrup." He pretended to be listening for a moment before he responded, "What's that? Do I want bacon? No, hold the bacon, in fact, hold the pancakes too, I just want the syrup so's I can drizzle it all over the hot bod of this gorgeous, incredibly beautiful woman I got here in bed with me."

"You're such an idiot," Harry laughed.

"But you love me anyway, right?" he asked, grinning as he brought one arm around her in a tender, loving gesture.

"I do."

He strained to one side to replace the receiver on its base before turning back to her and gently rolling Harry over so that they were facing each other.

"I like when you say that. Gets me all verklempt."

"What did I say and what is 'verklempt, exactly?"

There was a softness in his gaze that caused her to hold her breath for a moment.

"You said 'I do'.

"I did, didn't I." She traced a finger along his bottom lip and smiled as she gazed back at him through lowered lashes. "And verklimpt… verklamped…?" she queried. "Is it something terribly naughty?"

The warm New England sunshine streamed down on their entwined limbs and the faint scent of Camden, Maine's salty coastal air acted like an aphrodisiac.

"Verklempt," he reiterated. "An' it's something nice."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Jewish guy I served with in 'nam," Dempsey began. "I got an invitation to his wedding a few months after we finished the tour. His mother, her mother, all the aunts and basically anyone over the age of sixty went around declaring themselves 'verklempt' the whole time."

"So it's a marriage-related term? What does it actually mean?"

"It's being overcome with emotion… too emotional to speak. Gettin' high on love an' joy!" his dark voice rang out melodiously.

"Verklempt," she repeated with clarity. "I quite like that," and then said teasingly, "you were quite verklempt on Saturday as I recall."

Dempsey chuckled and dipped his head down to nuzzle into her neck. "Yeah, well, ain't a guy allowed to get a little verklempt on his wedding day, Mrs D?"

The End