Page 10 of The Suitcase Swap

He rubbed a hand over his face.Get a grip, old man. She wasn’t even that pretty.

But even he was calling himself a liar when his phone buzzed again.

My dreams of a shower and a fresh change of clothes go up in smoke. Alas, I shall soldier on.

Mike smiled. Even over text, Sophie Swann was funny. His mind helpfully reminded him of the silky green between his fingers from earlier and before he thought better of it, he typed a response.A pain I understand deeply.Would be happy to come to you and apologize for the inconvenience with dinner?

As soon as he’d sent it, he regretted it. What if she was awful? What if she thought his offer was awful? Was it strange, asking her to dinner? It was just a meal. It wasn’t like he was asking her on a date . . .

He tapped his phone against his head. This was why he didn’t date. He hardly knew what to do any more. To be fair, he hadn’t known what to do in the first place, really. His wife had been a patient woman who had somehow, miraculously, seen past his shortcomings. What were the odds that anyone else would?

His phone buzzed again.How do you feel about paella?

Mike only had a vague memory of what paella was – his love of food had seemed to die with his wife. He knew there had been a time in his life when he’d enjoyed going out to eat. Food these days was mostly fuel, eaten as he read or worked, only hazily aware of what he was putting in his mouth. But he wasn’t going to say that to a stranger, no matter what delightful things he’d found in her luggage.

He thought for a moment before typing out his response.There are few things I love more than paella. It’s right up there with children’s laughter and puppy videos.

Once again, he regretted it after he sent it. Professional, polite: that’s what the rest of the world got. Usually he kept this kind of messaging for his children. Jet lag. That was his only excuse. At this rate, she was probably going to throw his luggage at him and leg it.

That is high praise indeed. I’m now concerned that the meal won’t live up to your standards. Shall we say eight o’clock?

Mike let out his breath in a whoosh.Eight is perfect.

She sent him a link to the restaurant where they would meet. Mike clicked on it as he freshened up quickly to getready for his meeting. He sent Sophie another text as he walked to the nearest subway station.How will I know which one is you?

He didn’t see her response until he was smashed up against a cross section of the New York populace, various colognes and sweat clashing in his nose.

That’s easy. I’ll be the one with the suitcase.

Mike found himself smiling as he responded.I suppose I should have thought of that. I’m blaming jet lag.

It does cover a lot of sins.

He barked a laugh at her response, earning him a couple of quick glances before he was ignored. New York’s subway was much like the tube back home – he would have to behave a lot more weirdly if he expected anyone to really notice.

The meeting ran over. Mike wasn’t entirely sure how, since he was certain the meeting itself could have been an email. Ashortemail. By the time he’d collected his luggage and made it to the restaurant in Brooklyn, he was twenty minutes late, tired and not a little sweaty. The air in New York had a weight to it that it didn’t have in London. His temper, usually a long, slow boil, had burned so hot during the meeting that all liquid had evaporated, leaving him feeling hollowed out and waspish.

And he was starving.

As such, he was not in the best of moods as he dragged the luggage into the narrow restaurant. The place teemed with people – he didn’t see any empty seats as he peered around for Sophie. The restaurant itself was charming – exposed brick walls, sconces that looked like old-fashioned gas lamps surrounded by copper fixtures that reflected the light. Lots of greenery and colourful splashes here and there in the tiled walls and artwork. It was a warm, happy kind of place,smelling of spices and sizzling meats. His stomach didn’t so much growl as roar.

He awkwardly wheeled the suitcase as he sought his quarry. Finally, a man waved at him from a table tucked into the back corner. His expression wasn’t unfriendly, but it was assessing, and it suddenly occurred to Mike that he might have accidentally asked someone else’s partner to dinner. Maybe the man was with Sophie and didn’t appreciate some stranger taking his girlfriend out. Shit. Was he going to need to apologize? Surely Sophie would have said something. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Maybe he could offer to cover the man’s meal as well.

There was a woman seated next to him who was also waving, an amused expression on her face. There was no one else at the table, so this would have to be Sophie. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d been hoping for something – someonewho he connected with as much as he had with the woman in the airport. Disappointment weighed him down, making it hard to smile in greeting, but he managed.

The waving woman was beautiful, but too young and obviously taken. That was okay. It had been a silly idea anyway, and it wasn’t like he had time or really the inclination to date while he was in New York. Work ate up the hours. He’d just been trying to fulfil his son’s request, really, which he could still do by having a nice dinner with these two strangers.

It was a relief, actually. So why did he feel let down?

He pulled the case to the end of the restaurant, coming to a stop at the table. Then he stuck out his hand to the woman. ‘Sophie, I assume. Thank you for being so patient about my schedule.’

A slow smile bloomed on the woman’s face as she took his hand. ‘Oh, I’m not—’

There was a clatter to their left, all of them turning to look at once.

A woman –thewoman – had frozen in the middle of the narrow aisle, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. Behind her, a busboy was bending down to pick up the silverware he’d dropped. He was apologizing but kept sending her dirty looks that implied it had been her fault, probably for stopping in the middle of the aisle.

Mike noticed this absently, the details filtering into his brain as he stared into familiar hazel eyes.

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