Page 14 of The Suitcase Swap

Mike shook his head slowly. ‘No, she would have sat across. Tara said you needed space to build tension. The backand forth of it.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m not explaining it well. It’s the body language of it: when you sit across, there’s the table between you and all this empty space. It takes effort to cross it. Will the other person put themselves out there? How vulnerable are they willing to make themselves? Do they think you’re worth it?’

Sophie absorbed this, breaking the idea down in her head while absent-mindedly noting that Mike sat fully on his side of the table, arms tucked in close, the body language of a closed-up shop.

He was staring hard at his beer now. ‘It was all about anticipation. Hard to build that when you’re plastered to their side.’ He sliced the date in half, taking a quick bite of it. ‘Of course, not everyone wants that. Some people want the same side of the booth.’

‘I’m with her on this, I think,’ Sophie said.

Mike nodded, his gaze flicking up from his beer, his fingers idly tracing through the condensation. ‘Not that it’s any of my business, but is Marisa going to be okay?’

Sophie hesitated for only a moment, deciding what Marisa would want shared with an absolute stranger and then adjusting that to what Marisa would want shared withthisstranger. Mike, who had sat down and shared his own grief so matter-of-factly. ‘They were pregnant. Now they’re not.’

‘Oh,’ Mike said softly. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He grimaced. ‘That doesn’t seem like enough, sorry.’

‘I think there are times when something is so crushing that there aren’t really enough words to truly convey it, so it’s best to keep things short.’ Sophie sipped her drink, deciding to move the conversation onto safer ground. She wanted to keep Mike talking, because he was not only interesting, but she liked the sound of his voice. ‘What brings you to New York?’

‘Work,’ he said. ‘I’m an architect.’

‘I’ll admit, I have no real idea what an architect actually does.’

That earned her a genuine smile. ‘Most people don’t, which is why I say “architect” and not “design architect”, which just confuses them further.’

Sophie refilled her plate. ‘What does a design architect do?’

‘I work with the client to help them realize their design and reconcile their wants with the budget and other things like that. Then I hand those designs over to the architect of record. They’re the main architect on the job.’

He finished his pint and Sophie was temporarily distracted by the tip of his tongue as it slid out to collect a bit of the foam left behind on his lip. He had amazing lips, curved and lush, inviting your gaze to linger on them. Except this wasn’t a date, and she needed to stop staring at this man. ‘I didn’t realize architects did more than the design part.’

Mike nodded. ‘The Architect of Record will also manage things like zoning and codes. Sometimes projects have a single architect who wears both hats, but that wouldn’t make sense in this case because these things are very different in New York than they are in London.

The waiter returned, taking their orders for fresh drinks and whisking away the plates they no longer needed.

‘So why are they bringing you over here, then?’ She grimaced. ‘Is that a rude question to ask?’

‘Not at all,’ Mike said. ‘The owner’s concept is an event space that’s sort of a fusion of classic British teahouse meets cocktail bar aesthetic. My work fits what they’re looking for. How about you?’

‘I’m a travel blogger.’ Sophie smiled up at the waiter, accepting her fresh sparkling water. After the flight, a cocktail hadn’t sounded good at all.

Mike blinked at her. ‘But you’re terrified of planes.’

‘Yes,’ Sophie said dryly. ‘I’m aware.’ She braced herself for the sudden mockery, the derisive stare. Andrew’s barbsabout her hobby-turned-profession had been so consistent that she half expected all men to respond in the same way. Or to think it was ‘cute’.

Mike’s brow furrowed, his expression one of open curiosity. ‘Surely that makes your job difficult?’

She smiled. ‘I usually keep it local.’

Before she knew it, she was telling him all about her blog – the early triumphs as well as the initial missteps – as they ate their meal. ‘So there’s my friend Edie, holding my phone so we could get a short video and not wanting to interrupt, but trying desperately to signal to me that Fergus had started chewing on the hem of my blouse.’

‘Fergus being the 800-kilogram Highland steer?’ Mike scraped up the last of his paella with his fork.

‘The very one,’ Sophie said, shaking her head. ‘He ate the entire back of my blouse. Edie had to throw her jacket over me.’

Mike was laughing now, the sound contained as he hunched over his plate, the fork in his hand shaking. ‘I would dearly love to see that video.’ He wheezed and Sophie wondered at how contained he was, even now, in a moment of joy. ‘Do you have plans for when you’re here, then? The Empire State Building? The Statue of Liberty?’

Sophie scrunched up her nose. ‘The blog is more neighbourhood gems. I feel like everyone knows about the tourist highlights.’

Mike watched her carefully as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Surely every day won’t be work? You’ve never been to New York, right? Don’tyouwant to go and see those things?’

‘If I have time,’ she said, shrugging it off, even though yes, she would love to see those things. Especially the Empire State Building – there was just so much romance attached to it. ‘I’m mostly here to spend time with Tom and Marisa. I’m sure Tom is over the tourist thing and I’ll need to spend my free time going to places for the blog.’

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