Page 4 of An American in London

And it’s terrifying.

There’s also something comforting about it. My mom’s death threw me into adulthood with such force, I never looked back. But being here is making me do just that. Every time I turn around, I come face-to-printed-face with my teenage crush. And even though I don’t believe the universe is sending me a sign by having a Daniel De Luca convention in the hotel I’m staying at, I’m going to take Melanie’s advice and lean into it. Not because it’s a sign, but because ... maybe it’s a sign?

I have so many happy memories of my mom and his films that I may have snuck my Daniel De Luca map into my bag along with my phone, water, and sunglasses. The hotel is walking distance from the office, and I want to check the route in advance of Monday morning so I know what to expect—and what shoes to wear. I imagine London is a lot like New York when it comes to shoe-swapping to and from the office.

I have the entire afternoon, and I need to shrug off my jet lag so I can show my boss how perfect I am for the management fast track. At least that’s my excuse for heading for a short detour through Green Park. I feel a little guilty, because I’m here on a work trip, but I justifythe detour by reminding myself it’s the weekend. A particular scene in Daniel De Luca’s first ever big movie was shot in the park; as a teen, I’d longed to go to the place where Daniel’s career took off. He didn’t have top billing inLove Me Like a Boss, but he played opposite the queen of rom-coms, Julia Alice, and it launched him into superstardom.

If I thought the roads in New York City were busy, London is on a different, very chaotic scale. They don’t follow a pattern, so blocks aren’t easy to make out, and there aren’t places to cross at regular intervals. What are you supposed to do? Fly across the street? Even the sidewalks are confused—sometimes cobbled, sometimes asphalt, and sometimes slab. Pick a lane, Londoners!

I fall in behind an American family—mom, dad, and two teenage children—and try to be subtle about following them as they’re clearly trying to cross the mammoth road in front of us called Piccadilly. Not Piccadilly Street or Piccadilly Road—just Piccadilly, like we have Broadway back home. The family look as if they’ve been here a couple of days already and have a map without Daniel De Luca’s face on it, which probably means they have a higher probability of crossing this road without being run down by a red bus. Good enough for me.

We finally reach a crossing and get to the other side. They head left, but according to Google Maps, I need to go right. “Thank you,” I call out in their direction before realizing they didn’t even know I was following them.

When I reach the park, my guilt fades and my insides start to fizz with excitement. I can’t remember the last time I felt this ... light. Inside, the park is magical. Pathways meander in all directions, all covered in a canopy of bright-green leaves. Sunshine finds its way through the tunnels, reflecting a web of tattooed leaves on the ground. It looks like a setting for a fantasy story, because real life couldn’t possibly be this beautiful. Somehow, even though the road is only a few paces away, I can’t hear the traffic. All I hear is birdsong and the whoosh of a passing cyclist.

I stand on my tiptoes to try to make out the sign up ahead. I’m trying to find the Canada Memorial. It was in the background of the scene where Daniel’s character, Tom, ran into Julia Alice’s character. As I glance through the trees, I spot the metal structure lifting from the ground, almost like a half-open trapdoor. I’m on the exact road where Daniel De Luca must have walked.

I try to picture the scene in my head so I can find the exact right spot when something—or someone—catches my eye.

As the stranger nears, my heart lifts in my chest, the ground tilts, and I have to stop to make sure I don’t fall over. It can’t be ... Can it? Coming toward me is the one and only Daniel De Luca.

Holy shit.

His almost-black hair is swept up and back from his face, revealing high cheekbones and the square jaw that sends my stomach up, up, up, like I’m inching toward the summit of a roller coaster. He’s dressed in a navy suit and looks ready to boss someone around. I mentally raise a hand to volunteer. His stern frown suggests he’s far from the easygoing, charming, smiley Daniel De Luca I see on TV in interviews and on the red carpet.

Maybe his cat died.

He’ll reach me in just a couple of seconds. I have to gather myself and say something, but what?

“Daniel,” I call out when he’s a couple of yards away. “I’m a huge fan of your work and loved you inLove Me Like a Boss. You were simply—”

He doesn’t slow down, but he turns his head toward me and deepens his scowl like I’m a rodent he’s trying to will away. That’s when I realize: I’m not talking to Daniel De Luca at all.

The man in front of me isn’t a movie star. Granted, he’s hot and looks like Daniel De Luca’s twin brother. But he’s just a guy. A guy who has just been accosted by an American woman. “I’m sorry,” I say, flashing my best smile, hoping he’ll skip past my humiliation and chalk up my faux pas to American friendliness. “I thought you were someone else.”

He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t even smile or nod an acknowledgment.

He just stalks on by, as if I’m a lunatic and he’s got somewhere to be.

Embarrassment creeps over me. What is the matter with me? I’m actually hallucinating and starting to see Daniel De Luca in random men on the street. At this rate, I’ll be hiding in the bushes of Daniel De Luca’s front yard in an attempt to orchestrate a casual, totally coincidental meet-cute between us before the week is out. I might fully revert to my preteen self and start covering my notebooks in Daniel De Luca scribbles again.

I try to muster up some grace for myself. Between the breakup, job stress, and my hotel being plastered in memories of Mom, it’s no wonder I’m flirting with the edge of reasonable behavior. The time in my life that involved Daniel De Luca was so carefree. There were no student loans. No cheating fiancés. No possibility of losing my job. And my mom was still the person I relied on for everything—from makeup tips to pocket money.

After she died, I never wished the clock would turn back or had conversations with her in my head. I was worried I’d never recover if I did. Instead, I marched onward, leaving everything connected to Mom—sunsets and fairy tales and happily-ever-afters—just where it was. In my history. And it’s like London is prodding me to look over my shoulder.

I take a breath and force myself to gain perspective about the reality of fangirling over a perfect stranger in the street. Mom never got embarrassed about anything. If she were here, she would have made the unwitting impersonator stop and pose for pictures. At least there’s no one here to recognize me. New York’s a big place, but I bump into people I know far too often. If I’d been at home, I wouldn’t have felt capable of brushing off my mortification and moving on with my day.

For the first time in a long time, I wish my mom were here. I could be buoyed by her ability to laugh at herself, to dust herself off and make the most out of any situation. I’m pretty sure she’d tell me I don’t have to be grown-up, fiancé-less, inching-toward-destitute me. She’d assure me I can laugh out loud to myself in public, accost complete strangers, and love Daniel De Luca.

But she’s not here, and the only thing that can make me feel even slightly better is the thought that I’ll never have to see that familiar stranger again. I need to find the nearest exit and go find a coffee shop. A caffeine fix is the therapy I need right now.

I sigh, glance around ... and realize I’m standing in the exact spot Julia and Daniel ran into each other for the first time inLove Me Like a Boss.

Chapter Three

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