Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
It couldn’t be, could it?
I snap my head around and break out into a smile. If Ben’s here, I’m no longer going to say I don’t believe in signs and fate, because what else could it be?
And then I realize I’m not looking at Ben, just someone who looks an awful lot like him.
“Hi,” Daniel De Luca says, lifting his glass.
He might not be Ben, but this is definitely a sign. Or maybe a message from my mom. A message that says I should still be chasing my dreams.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to explain why I’m grinning like a fool. “I thought you were someone else.”
He grins a one hundred percent movie-star smile. “I get that a lot.” He thinks I don’t know who he is, but of course I do.
This is the guy I was going to marry when I was fourteen years old.
This is the guy I tucked away in the back of my brain, along with my childhood and teenage hopes and dreams. Along with the grief for my mother. Along with my feelings.
But now I’ve allowed myself to breathe, look back, and feel. And this guy isn’t the man who will make me happy. Not the fantasy of him. Not the reality of him.
And it’s not a man like Jed either.
All I can think about is Ben.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
If my mom were still alive and Daniel De Luca slid onto a barstool next to me and offered to buy me a drink, I would have said yes before he’d gotten the words out of his mouth.
But not today.
Not now.
“Good to see you, Daniel. I’m a big fan.” I drain my glass and slide off my stool. “But I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Even if our love story is only going to last a few more days, I want to make sure I don’t miss a frame.
Chapter Thirty
Apparently, there’s been some kind of power outage at Coffee Confide in Me, and there is no coffee. It’s the reason I’m in line at the place down the street, trying to not judge the way the barista seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m going to miss Coffee Confide in Me as much as I’m going to miss seeing red buses everywhere. I can’t believe it’s my last weekend in London. I fly back to New York tomorrow.
I sigh at the sloth-like movement of the line and jump when someone behind me taps me on the shoulder. I’m full New Yorker furious when I spin around . . . and come face-to-face with Ben.
“Hey, Wednesday.”
His dimple undoes me. I go from furious to grinning like a puppy on ecstasy. Humming The Addams Family theme tune, I click my fingers twice. The corner of Ben’s mouth turns up and he shakes his head.
“Did you finish your packing?”
I’d left Ben’s place last night to come back to the hotel and pack. And maybe because the more time I spend with him, the more I worry about how difficult I’ll find it to leave.
Even though I saw him less than twelve hours ago, it’s so good to see him, I ache inside. “Apparently it’s not just me stalking people this morning.”
“Last night, I found myself watching the end of the Daniel De Luca movie we started together,” he says. “The one where he agrees to marry his boss for a green card. I thought finding you here was more . . . in keeping with our theme.”
“Our theme?”
“Yeah, I figure our theme is Daniel De Luca romantic comedy tropes. There are so many tropes between us, I can’t keep count. You’re new in town—like De Luca in This Old Town. I’m a grumpy billionaire, like the one he plays in Love Me Like a Boss. Apparently that’s a thing.”
“Yeah. That’s definitely a thing.” I grin. This guy. “That’s two.”
“Mistaken identity—like in What a Feeling. You thought I was Daniel De Luca. You stepped on my toe in the queue at the coffee shop—that’s number four.”
“Standing in line at a coffee shop definitely isn’t a trope.”
He narrows his eyes with a look that says, Don’t argue with me. I know I’m right. “I’m sure there was one. Then of course, fake engagement.”
“My favorite.”
“The primary trope in our movie.”
“We’re in a movie now?”
“Isn’t everyone the star of their own movie?”
“I don’t know.” I’m not sure I have been up until now.
“But!” He holds up a finger. “We’ve missed an important one. I think we need to put it right.”
“Okay. What did we miss?”
“Holiday romance.”
“But it’s not Christmas.”
He rolls his eyes. “Americans. ‘Vacation romance,’ then, if you insist.”
He’s put a lot of effort into his argument, which I have to admit is compelling. “So how do you suggest we put it right?”