Page 88 of An American in London

“I’m not getting my hopes up. But it’s progress. Progress I have you to thank for.”

“I’m feeling a little smug right now. I’m earning that money you insisted I take.”

“You did that already,” he says.

I’ll miss him, his dimple, and the way it always feels like the Fourth of July when he touches me. I’ll miss the way he listens to me without making up his mind before I’ve finished what I have to say. I like the way he clearly took time off work to spend a day with me earlier in the week, even though we probably won’t see each other again. And I like the fact he finally let me in.

“I have a good feeling about you and the duke. I think he sees the man you are under your gruff exterior.”

He closes his eyes in a long blink, like he’s enduring the pain of a memory or something, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll have to keep me posted on whether you get to hide under that desk again,” I say, trying to lift the mood.

“Who would I be hiding from? Some American woman who thinks I’m a movie star?”

Jealousy blooms in my chest and I frown. “Yes! I definitely want to be the only one of those in your life.”

Our coffees are delivered to the counter. Ben releases me, we collect our cups, and head out.

“Thanks, Ginny,” I call over my shoulder. “See you around.”

Outside on the street, Ben’s car waits. “I’ve had your luggage put in the back. My driver will take you to the airport.”

It’s the little things,the voice in my head whispers.

“That’s very sweet of you, Ben. Are you sure? How will you get back to the office?”

“I’ll take the bus.”

I burst out laughing. He smiles, and I don’t know if it’s at his own joke or because he likes my laugh.

“Let me know you’re home safe.”

I nod. “Absolutely. I’m going to take some time to figure out next steps.”

He smiles, steps forward, and kisses me on the forehead.

“If you’re ever in New York,” I say.

“Is that where you’ll be?” he asks. “We never got to do your vision board.”

I shrug.

He reaches out, swipes his thumb over my cheekbone. “Time ran out ...”

For what? The vision board? Me in London? Us? “It’s a work in progress.”

Our gazes lock, and it feels like he wants to say something. But what can he possibly say? That he’s going to come to New York to compile my vision board with me? That he wants me to stay?

“Still planning to go back to your job with the bank?” he asks.

“It’s not where my heart is, but I need time to figure stuff out. Bills to pay and all that.”

“Does that mean you might not end up in New York?”

I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what, exactly, he’s asking me. “I haven’t ... Everything’s in New York ...” My voice trails toward the end of the sentence. I don’t have an apartment in New York. Or a job that I actually want. And my friendship circle is ... I thought it was tight, but the only person I’ve heard from more than once since I got on a plane is Melanie, and we’re ride or die no matter where I am in the world. It wouldn’t matter if I lived in Iceland—Mel and I would still be close.

“Maybe there’s a guy in New York who needs a pretend fiancée?” I take a half step back from him. “I’m pretty good at that. Would you write me a reference?”

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