Page 91 of An American in London

I need another cab to take me to his office. I should call him to ask where he is. He could be in a meeting. Maybe I should be practical and rebook a room at the hotel.

I pull out my phone. I start to type.

Where are you?

I delete it.

Do you want a coffee?

I delete it.

Can we meet?

I delete it.

Damn it. Grand gestures weren’t meant to be made via text.

The rain is coming harder now, and I glance up and around to see if Coffee Confide in Me or the hotel is my best chance of shelter.

As it turns out, the answer is neither. Because Ben is coming toward me. He doesn’t see me at first. He’s looking down at his phone, completely ignoring the rain.

Then suddenly he stops and looks up, right at me, as if he knew I was here all along.

He continues toward me until we’re just a foot apart, neither of us speaking. He doesn’t look confused, like he bundled me into his car a few hours ago and sent me back to New York, only to have me reappear on the sidewalk. It’s like he expected me to be here all along.

“Hey,” he says finally.

“I choose you,” I reply.

He closes his eyes in a long blink, and I exhale. We’re right where we’re meant to be.

“For so long, I’ve been the heroine’s best friend. Best supporting actress. Or the lead of the subplot. You saw it before I did. I’ve been going along with everyone else’s story. It’s time to be the lead in my own.”

He still doesn’t speak, but I understand at my core why. It’s for the most selfless reason: He doesn’t want to influence me. I need to pick. I need to know what I want and ask for it. He wants me to have the life I choose.

“I pick you. I want you. I know this was just supposed to be a vacation romance, but I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. And for the first time, I’m not scared of losing someone. I’m scared of not living my life with them.

“I’m in love with you, Ben. Be with me. Be mine.”

I step toward him and feel him exhale, his body nearing mine with every second.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited, how much I’ve held back, how hard I’ve had to work to try not to love you,” he says, circling his arms around my waist.

My heart lifts in my chest. I slide my fingers up to his jaw, drawing his lips down to mine.

“Nothing worked. I fell in love with you anyway,” he says.

His words carve into my soul. I feel a sense of belonging I’ve never felt with anyone. But I’ve seen it before, between my parents. They were soulmates—each other’s happily-ever-after.

And now, with a little guidance from my mom and a couple of nudges from Daniel De Luca, I’ve found mine.

“We’re in a rainstorm,” I say. “I’m not barefoot, but I’ll happily toss my shoes if it will show you how much I want you.”

“I’m not going anywhere for you to come after me,” Ben says. “And honestly, I can’t think of anything less romantic than being barefoot in this city. Keep the shoes on, Monday Morning.”

He releases me and pulls out a ring box from his suit pocket.

“Is that . . . ?”

---