Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
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?”
Ben catches my hand and presses it to his lips. “I’m not sure I like that idea. Fake fiancée is our trope.”
“Don’t forget holiday romance.”
He pulls me close and presses his lips to mine. His tongue is searching and urgent, and I’m this close to pulling the buttons from his shirt and feeling his hot, tight skin against mine. I can feel his heat as he holds me against him, the rise and fall of his chest, the boom, boom, boom of his heartbeat echoing mine. It feels so warm and right, like this is exactly where I should be.
Without warning, he steps back and opens the passenger door.
I want to slam it shut and jump into his arms. But life isn’t a fairy tale. And this isn’t where my story ends.
I get into the car and wind down the window.
“What are we doing?” he asks as our eyes meet.
“Saying goodbye?” I suggest.
He looks away. I know I’ve said the wrong thing, but I don’t know how to put it right. What could I say that would make this moment okay?
London has been a balm to my broken heart. The perfect escape, the most exciting, vibrant, uplifting place to lick my wounds. Now I have to go back to real life. I have to figure out where my career goes from here, where I’m going to live and who I am when I’m not engaged to Jed. Ben has made me realize my life, and maybe my past, are just the previews; I’m about to start living the main feature.
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. I want to reach for him, but I know I can’t. If I do, I might never leave.
I swallow, trying to stop my throat constricting. It’s impossible I’m this upset. I can’t let myself cry over the end of a vacation romance when I barely shed tears over my fiancé dumping me after ten years. I want to suggest maybe I call Ben or he comes to visit and we can do this again, only in New York—not continuing things, just repeating them. But it’s just prolonging the agony. We’re not going to end up together, so we should skip to the end right now instead of drawing things out.
Then I can focus on my future.
“It’s been a blast,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Bye, Thursday.”
“Now promise me you won’t swap that billionaire status for stand-up comedy.”
We grin like we’re going to see each other next week, rather than walk away from each other for good. But that’s Ben: He makes me smile, no matter what.
Ben nods. “I still think you’re lovely.”
“I still think you’re wonderful.”
He turns and walks away. It’s like clouds have filled the sky, blocking out the warmth of the sun. I feel the chill right down to my bones.