Page 25 of Say It Isn't So

Who was I kidding, I had no sense. The truth was, she’d started to ask the question, but was interrupted by the flight attendant as she came around, asking if we wanted anything to drink. So it was definitely going to come up again, that much I knew. What I’d say, though. . . that was still up in the air. I mean, what could I say?Your dad forbade me from ever speaking to you again, let alone seeing you, and I let him because I thought I was doing the right thing.Yeah, I didn’t think that would go over well.

So I’d decided not to let her ask me that question. Yes,thatquestion. Instead, I sat back, crossed my arms, and asked, “So did you ever decide between chocolate chip and banana nut?”

That had to be a million times better than thinking about her dad, right?

Wrong!

Her eyes became narrow slits as she turned to look at me closely. “A muffin. You want to talk about a muffin? How aboutwhat happened when you ghosted me two years ago?”

Oh, brother, was that a mistake. I had inadvertently led us right where I didn’t want to go. “Uhh,” I hemmed and hawed. “Are you mad about that?” I asked, not only buying myself some time, but also genuinely curious.

She shook her head. “No, of course not, it’s your life, but I’d like to know.” Her hands gripped the armrest, her knuckles turning white as she did so.

I couldn’t stand the way she was anxiously clutching her seat, so I laid a hand over hers and rubbed the back of one of them. Man, her hand was so soft and small, just the way I remembered them being. I wanted to turn her hand over and lace my fingers through hers. I wanted to hold her hand and never let go. And now I sounded like a creeper, didn’t I? Yeah, so clearly time apart didn’t do anything for the way I wanted her. Which was bad, by the way. I mean, what man wouldn’t? A man that didn’t have blood pumping through their veins, that was who.

I shrugged. “I was stupid.”There, I said it.“Why’d you let me?” I countered, decidedly giving her a hard time.

She shrugged as though she hadn’t the slightest clue. “I don’t know.”

Good enough answer for me.

So why did I feel so bad about not telling her the truth about why I’d left.

“So, London Fashion Week, eh?” she asked, changing the subject.

* * *

Bianca

Nine hours later, after a few naps, lots of talking and clearing customs and immigration, we were finally sitting in the car I had waiting for me at the airport.

Did you notice my distinct use of the word “we”? Yep, I’d convinced Knox that it only made sense to travel into the city together. So here we were.

But I also wasn’t ready for him to disappear again. I still wasn’t exactly sure I understood what happened two years ago, but it was his business. For now, I was enjoying his company and figured if we’d only ever have London, then so be it.

“Where are you staying?” he asked me as the driver exited the airport.

I named my hotel and Knox raised an eyebrow. “What?” It wasn’t like we were staying at the same one.That couldn’t be the case, right?

“Me, too,” he answered.Never mind.“Weird, that’s all I’m saying.”

Weird. . . . Ormaybe Allie was right and things like this could be destiny. I reached down into my bag at my feet and pulled out my laptop. “All right, but the real test is comparing which shows we’re attending. I don’t have my itinerary memorized, do you?”

He nodded. Of course he did. That was Knox for you—prepared.

Shrugging, I conceded, “Fine, but I still have to consult my notes, so let’s see.”

I knew I was going to several shows and presentations, had meetings with several buyers and designers—some at flagship stores, others their studios or workshops. As my eyes scanned the list, I recognized every single one of them by name. Except one. She was new, and this was her first presentation. Either way, I read them aloud and Knox pointed out when we’d be at the same ones.

“So you’re basically going to every single one?” he asked, laughing. “Figures.”

Laughing with him, I shrugged and smirked. “What can I say, you don’t show andnotinviteBellissima.”

As our driver navigated the streets of London, we continued talking about fashion week and our schedules. We both had teams that would be joining us, but not quite yet. My own would be popping in next week, but mostly, it was just going to be me. Knox had two girls who were supposed to join him, but they were at a conference in the states for the next couple of days.

I pointed to the list still up on my screen. “What do you know about this one?” I placed the tip of my finger in between my teeth and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I was trying to be discreet, okay? But it seemed cruel to the rest of the male population for Knox to look like carnal sin.

He leaned in closer and I forced my gaze back to the screen. I’d sincerely wished he would be distracted by the amount of cleavage my blouse was showing off, but nope. His eyes were glued to the screen. Wandering eyes, was that too much to ask for? Men had them all the time. I forgot, Knox didn’t. He never had—much to my dismay.

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