Page 76 of An American in London

“When do you go back to the US?” he asks.

I blink, trying to hit “Reset” inside me so I can figure out what day I’m on. “A week. Your health check is on Monday. That’s the last thing I have to finish before Mr. Jenkins makes his decision.”

“His decision about whether or not you have a job at the bank.”

I frown. “Yes. That’s what this whole trip to London has been about. You know that.” Is he talking in code? I’m clearly missing something. I sigh. “I feel like you want to say something but you’re not saying it.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “I have lots of conflicting thoughts in my head right now, and I’m trying to work through them.”

“Why don’t you, you know, say them? Then I can help you sort through them.”

He holds my gaze for a second, then two. “I don’t want to ... influence you.”

“Influence me how? I feel like you’re building up to tell me something and it’s making you nervous.”

“It’s actually very hard tonottell you everything. Generally, I’m a straight shooter, but with you ... if I make the wrong move, you’ll ...”

“Break?” I suggest. “I just came out of a ten-year relationship, and I’m feeling anything but broken.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you’re breakable. More that if I say the wrong thing, you might ... flee.”

“Does going back to New York on my prebooked ticket count as fleeing?” I ask.

“Okay, I’m going to lay it out straight for you.”

“Please.”

“I like you. Really like you. And I like what we’ve had, physically and emotionally.”

Somebody call the fire department, because my cheeks are aflame. “You thought that would make me flee?”

“No, I thought it would influence you. That you’d feel some kind of pressure ... to please me.”

“Oh, you think I’d want to please you because you said you liked me. Because I’m so used to kinda going along with things other people want?”

“Right,” he says. “But I’m also conflicted because ... Say you like me back, not because you want to please me, but because you really want me ...”

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

The thought fills with helium and lifts me up, up, up.

“I’m not sure where that leaves us,” he continues. “We live on different continents. You have a family and a job in New York. My business is here in London.”

My bubble bursts. I land on my ass with a thud.

He’s right. We like each other, but so what? I’m a week away from leaving for the other side of the ocean.

“I think we can remove the hypotheticals in this situation,” I say, feeling bolder. He goes to speak and I silence him with a look. “I like you,” I say. “It has nothing to do with pleasing you and nearly everything to do with your gorgeous ass.”

He chuckles and I mentally give myself a high five for making him laugh.

“You’re not bulldozing me by confessing your feelings,” I reassure him. “I like hearing it. Because I feel the same way. But as you say, it’s not like these feelings are going to lead anywhere. We live three thousand miles apart.”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

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