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)
Even if a happily-ever-after with Ben is definitely on my vision board.
Chapter Thirty-One
London doesn’t feel like home; it just feels like it could be home. I’ve loved it so much. This city—the whole trip—was exactly what I needed. I can’t believe I’m thirty minutes away from taking a cab to the airport to go back to New York. I spent my final night with Ben last night, and we left it how we always leave it—like we’ll see each other in a couple of hours. Except this time, it was the last time.
Just enough time to get one final coffee from Coffee Confide in Me. There’s only one person in line, and they’ve moved to a table by the time I reach Ginny with the bright-red hair.
“Hey,” Ginny says. “Venti cap with an extra shot, half almond milk, half oat milk, a shot of caramel, extra foam, and cinnamon sprinkles?”
“Yes, please. My last one before I leave to go back to New York.”
“Oh, bummer. I’m going to miss torturing the baristas with your order.”
The British aren’t cold and stuck-up. They’re just not interested in strangers. They’re private more than rude, and I’ve grown rather fond of their idiosyncrasies.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I know before I spin around who it is. Who else could it be?
“Hey,” I say, coming face-to-face with Ben. His hair has grown since he last had it cut, just before we went to Fairfield for the weekend. The extra length suits him. It hits me that I won’t get to see how it curls over at the front when it gets long like this anymore.
“Ending as you began: Ginny sneering at your New York coffee order.” Ginny? He knows her name? He bends to kiss me on the cheek, and it sends shivers across my body. “You look beautiful.”
“Gets me every time,” Ginny says. “Got your filter coffee coming right up, handsome.”
Ben drops a twenty-pound note on the counter, and we move to the pickup station.
“Just like old times, right?” I ask.
“I thought meeting you here was a proper ending—one you’d get in a Daniel De Luca movie. Finishing at the beginning, but forever changed.”
“Except we don’t know if you’re going to buy the hotels. And I haven’t really figured out what I want out of my life other than an apartment that looks like your house.”
He grins. “It will all become clear when they roll credits over still images of me standing in front of Fairfield and you killing it at whatever you end up doing.”
“You really have been doing your research,” I say. The way Ben has embraced Daniel De Luca’s back catalog is impressive. “You have me to thank for broadening your horizons.”
I expect to see the dimple, but instead Ben looks at me intensely, as if I’ve just told him the location of the Holy Grail and he needs to commit the coordinates to memory. “You have no idea,” he whispers, then snakes his arms around my waist. “Actually, I have news on at least part of our . . . What would you call it . . . epilogue?”
“Go on,” I say, gripped by how his story might play out.
“The duke’s assistant called me last night. He wants to see me to talk about Castles and Palaces.”
“Wait, what? Are you serious?!”
“I’m not getting my hopes up. But it’s progress. Progress I have you to thank for.”
“I’m feeling a little smug right now. I’m earning that money you insisted I take.”
“You did that already,” he says.
I’ll miss him, his dimple, and the way it always feels like the Fourth of July when he touches me. I’ll miss the way he listens to me without making up his mind before I’ve finished what I have to say. I like the way he clearly took time off work to spend a day with me earlier in the week, even though we probably won’t see each other again. And I like the fact he finally let me in.
“I have a good feeling about you and the duke. I think he sees the man you are under your gruff exterior.”
He closes his eyes in a long blink, like he’s enduring the pain of a memory or something, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You’ll have to keep me posted on whether you get to hide under that desk again,” I say, trying to lift the mood.
“Who would I be hiding from? Some American woman who thinks I’m a movie star?”
Jealousy blooms in my chest and I frown. “Yes! I definitely want to be the only one of those in your life.”
Our coffees are delivered to the counter. Ben releases me, we collect our cups, and head out.
“Thanks, Ginny,” I call over my shoulder. “See you around.”
Outside on the street, Ben’s car waits. “I’ve had your luggage put in the back. My driver will take you to the airport.”