Page 8 of Where There's A Will
And there it was.
I could feel it.
My in.
“Why does everyone assume the British guy is from London?” I pretended to groan, but in reality knew it was probably the most interesting thing about me being in New York. As soon as people heard I was from London, they immediately wanted to know if I knew the Queen or Tom Jones—even though he was from Wales.
She bit her cheek and I couldn’t torture her any longer.
“Okay. I am.”
Her face brightened again. “I’m dying to go to London; it’s one of my most favourite places in the world. Outside of New York, that is.”
I couldn’t disagree with her.
We started walking down the hall together, a companionable silence falling.
“I’m Will, by the way,” I said as we walked, holding out my hand.
She took it, her thumb grazing my forefinger a little longer than necessary. “Montana.”
Montana.I loved the sound of it. It was so…American.
She stopped a few doors before mine. “Well, this is me.”
I pointed to my apartment. “And I’m there.”
“This close? The whole time?” She shook her head and smiled.
“For at least the last six months,” I admitted.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you after all this time. Perhaps we’ll ride the elevator together again sometime.”
It didn’t feel like a brush off; it sounded like she genuinely did want to see me again. Another small win. I watched Montana disappear inside her apartment, the door closing with a gentle click. I didn’t want this moment to end.
I had to do something.
But what?
I opened my door and entered my place, my mind racing, hoping for some wonderful idea of how to keep her talking.
Then I saw it.
I had a wine rack full of possibility.
Racking my brain, I tried to remember what she’d ordered the night of the epic breakup.
Malbec. No, that wasn’t it. Merlot. Not that either.
My gaze scanned the wine rack before finally falling on a Pinot Noir.
Bingo!
Picking it off my rack, I turned and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard.
Then I took a deep breath and strode out the door.
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