by T. K. Leigh
“I went out there to meditate. And…”
“Yes?”
I chew on my bottom lip, then blurt out, “I met someone.”
At first, she doesn’t respond, her expression unmoving, making me wonder if perhaps our connection froze. Then the background shifts, and I recognize the kitchen in her apartment transition into her home office. I make out the familiar sound of a door clicking closed before she lowers herself behind the desk.
“Who is he?” she asks, as if interviewing me for a piece she’s writing for the women’s magazine where she now works as the current affairs editor.
“His name is Anderson.”
“How did you meet him?”
I almost feel like I should have been read my rights prior to this interrogation. “We first met at a diner yesterday morning. Then at Abraham Lincoln’s tomb. When I was rubbing Lincoln’s nose, I heard this accented voice.”
“I’m going to table my question about rubbing Lincoln’s nose for now and focus on the more pressing issue.” She leans toward the screen. “He has an accent? What kind? Like Midwestern?”
“It’s not overpowering, and it’s certainly been Americanized, but…British.”
Her mouth drops open. “You met a guy with a British accent?”
“Yes.”
She remains in a state of disbelief for several protracted seconds before she exhales, fanning herself. “Damn. You hit the jackpot, Nora.”
Chloe has a fascination for all things British, mainly from her coverage of the Royal Family during her time on the gossip column. But you’d have to be deaf not to grow weak in the knees in response to Anderson’s smooth voice.
“What does he look like? Is he Prince Harry incarnate?”
“Not everyone who’s British looks like Prince Harry.”
“Too bad,” she jests. “So tell me. What’s he look like?”
“He does have some red coloring through his hair, but also some brown and blond. It’s hard to describe, but it’s sexy as hell.” I giggle, relaxing against the headboard as I gush with my closest friend. “Everything about him is sexy as hell.”
“What’s his body like?”
“From what I’ve been able to see, he has a nice physique. Tall. Broad shoulders. Hard as a fucking rock.”
“So you haven’t seen everything?”
I narrow my gaze on her. “No, Chloe. I haven’t seen everything. I haven’t really seen anything.”
“Why not? By that blush on your cheeks, you obviously find this guy attractive.”
“I’m not here to hook up. I’m traveling with my dead fiancé’s ashes, for crying out loud. A fact Anderson’s aware of.”
“All the more reason to make the first move. He knows you have Hunter’s ashes—”
“Well, not exactly,” I interrupt. “I didn’t tell him whose ashes I was spreading along the road. And as I said, the last thing I need on this trip is—”
“What? An amazing orgasm that’s not because of your hand or a vibrator? If you ask me, that’s the first thing you need.”
“Chloe…”
“What? You do. This is supposed to be your ‘me’ trip. The trip where you make peace with your past and embrace the future. There aren’t any rules about how you go about that. Whether it’s spreading Hunter’s ashes. Or spreading your legs.”
“Chloe!” I gasp, but she ignores me.
“The only rules you have to play by are your rules. No one else’s. I get that this is your version of an Eat, Pray, Love trip where you’ll come back home with a new outlook and clarity of mind and soul, or some such bullshit. But if I were you, instead of eat, pray, love, I’d kiss, spank, fuck.”
“Chloe!” I say again, this time louder. I shoot my gaze to the connecting door, frantically attempting to lower the volume on my phone.
“As your best friend, it is my duty and obligation to point out the obvious.”
“Is it? And what obvious thing do you need to point out?”
“That you need to get laid. Like I already said.”
“Sex only complicates things.”
“Only if you let it. I don’t think Hunter would want you to stay in this place you’ve been.”
“Are you seriously trying to talk sense into me by using my deceased fiancé to guilt-trip me?”
She gives me a smug look. “Damn straight. And if it helps you to move on, I’ll keep doing it.” Her expression softens, her gray eyes shining with sincerity. “I just want you to be happy again.” She pauses, then adds, “And I really think a good dicking will help.” Her laughter is infectious, and I can’t help but join in, grateful for the levity.
That’s the thing about Chloe. She always knows when I need to laugh, cry, or smack a piñata likeness of my ex with a bat. She calls it a special gift. I call it being a good person and paying attention.
“Any dicking would make me happy again,” I admit through my laughter.
“Damn straight.” She flashes a devious smile. “So, tell me about the pool.”
“The pool?”
“You said you met someone at the pool last night. I’m assuming it’s this same guy. Right?”
I nod.
“Then tell me what happened.”
My lips curve up in the corners, warmth filling me as I flash back to last night. “We drank a couple bottles of wine and talked. Really talked. It was refreshing. Before I knew it, it was three in the morning and the hotel manager kicked us out.”
“At three in the morning?” She waggles her brows, grinning deviously. “Why do I sense you’re not telling me the whole story?”
“That is the whole story,” I insist, although I’m certainly keeping her in the dark regarding the way my stomach erupts in butterflies every time our skin touches. The way my core tightens with want every time his eyes rake over me, desire swirling in his deep pools of blue. The way the air between us crackles with electricity every time we’re in each other’s presence.
“You really didn’t do anything? Even after drinking wine? You didn’t let your inhibitions loose?”
“We really didn’t do anything, Chloe.”
“Damn… I was hoping to hear what kind of British things he moaned when in the throes of passion. Like, instead of ‘Oh god, I’m coming’, was he all like ‘This is indeed splendid’,” she imitates in a British accent. “‘Oh heavens. You really know how to butter my crumpets. Tally ho, old sport. My word. That was a good show.’”
Laughter consumes me once more, tears dotting my eyelids, my stomach aching. This is what I needed. A few moments to joke with my oldest friend and be reminded I shouldn’t take life so seriously. That I do deserve to be happy. That meeting someone and allowing my heart to open won’t dishonor Hunter’s memory like I’ve worried it would.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You love me. You’d be lost without me.”
“Maybe.”
“So that’s it?” she states once our laughter dies down.
“What do you mean?”
“You and your British prince. No sex, and now you’ve gone your separate ways, never to see each other again?”
I cringe, unsure how to explain this so she doesn’t think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But maybe that’s a good thing.
“What is it, Nora?”
“Well, I had car trouble this morning when I was about to leave the hotel. Anderson happened to see me and offered to drive me to St. Louis so I wouldn’t have to wait for the rental car company to come pick me up. But once we got close to the city, he convinced me to drive together all the way to California,” I blurt out, like ripping off a bandage.
She stares at me, unblinking, mouth agape. “Wow.”
“Is that a good wow, or a ‘Nora, you’ve lost your dang mind’ wow?”
“It’s more of a…processing wow.”
I flop back onto the mattress, throwing my arm over my head. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it? I should just ask him to drive me back to St. Louis t
o pick up that rental car.”
“Do you think it was a mistake?”
“I don’t know, Chloe,” I sigh. “When we’re not together, like now, my brain seems to list all the reasons it was stupid.”
“And when you are together?”
A rush of adrenaline fills me at the mere idea of being in Anderson’s presence. “I can’t imagine doing this trip without him.” I level my gaze on her. “It’s crazy, right?”
“A few years ago, I probably would have said yes and encouraged you to run as far away as possible. But that was before Lincoln. The beginning of our relationship was kind of crazy, too.”
I laugh under my breath. “It most certainly was.”
“Sometimes we need a little crazy in our life to open our eyes to things we’ve been blind to for too long. It may not go anywhere. Then again, it may go exactly where you need it to. Stop thinking about what the final destination will be and enjoy the ride. And if that ride happens to be on a hot, British guy, go for it.” She winks as a knock echoes in my room.
I snap my head up, staring in the direction of the sound. It didn’t come from the main door, but from the connecting one, meaning it could only be one person.
“I’m guessing that knock is Prince Hotty.”
“Just because he has a British accent doesn’t mean he’s a prince, Chloe.”
She shrugs. “I know, but I like the fantasy of that. So go. Don’t allow your misplaced guilt to make you do something you’ll come to regret. After everything, you deserve to be happy. So don’t deprive yourself of that.”
“Thanks, Chloe. I’ll text you later.”
“Hopefully you won’t be able to.” She winks, then the screen goes black.
I push out a breath, staring into the distance, contemplating our conversation. Then the knocking breaks through once more.
Jumping to my feet, I dash toward the scuffed desk in the corner, surveying my reflection in the mirror above it. My hair is still drying from my shower and is much more unruly than I tend to wear it, but I don’t have time to straighten it. Instead, I tousle my locks, allowing it to keep its natural wave. Inhaling a steadying breath that does nothing to calm the pounding in my chest, I place my hand on the doorknob and turn, opening the door.
A breathtaking smile greets me, the scent of ocean breeze surrounding me. Anderson’s hair is damp, and he’s changed into a plain white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.
“Hey,” I exhale huskily.
“Hey.” He holds up a bottle of what I recognize to be a pinot noir from one of my favorite California vineyards. “Want some company?”
“Trying to drug me with more truth serum so I tell you even more of my secrets than I already have?”
He slowly shakes his head, his pupils dilating. When he closes the distance, I struggle to breathe, every synapse in my body firing. “Like what? Perhaps how you’d like to kiss, spank, and fuck?” he asks, his voice deep, wanton, guttural.
I freeze, gaping at him, trying to come up with some explanation for what he overheard. “I… She… That wasn’t me. That was my friend, Chloe. She… Well, she doesn’t have much of a brain-to-mouth filter.”
He chuckles, the sound a direct line to my starved libido. “Then I already like her.”
He arches a single brow, lifting the wine bottle once more. “So what’ll it be, gorgeous? Care to join me for a drink? Perhaps the truth serum will work on me and you can find out what I sound like in… How did your friend refer to it? The throes of passion?”
I close my eyes, heat covering my cheeks. “I’m going to kill her the next time I see her.”
He steps toward me, no longer waiting for me to invite him into my room. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t use the phrase ‘butter my crumpets’ during sex.” He leers at me, licking his lips, desire radiating from every inch of him. “But something tells me with you, Nora, it will most certainly be a damn good show.”
As he brushes past me, a shiver runs through me. I remain locked in place, taking a moment to calm my hormones. It was one thing to hang out by the pool with him last night. We were in public. But in my hotel room? There’s too much appeal. Too much temptation.
“Hope this is acceptable.”
When I hear his voice, I dart my gaze to him, a plastic cup extended toward me.
Pushing down my unease, I smile, taking the cup from him. “It’s better than not having any wine.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He raises his cup, and I do the same, his eyes fixated on mine.
I marvel at how blue they are. More picturesque than even the most beautiful ocean. I can get lost in them for hours. But I fear I’ll soon reach the point where I won’t want to be found.
I clear my throat, looking anywhere but at Anderson. “So, what shall we do?”
“Strip poker?”
I shoot him a playful look of irritation.
“Okay. Okay.” He holds up his hands in defense. “Maybe we should save that until we’re a little farther down the road. At least until we hit Kansas.” He winks before nodding at the laptop on the corner of my bed. “Have any movies on that?”
“I do.” Setting my wine on the nightstand, I lower myself to the mattress, opening my laptop and bringing up all my movies.
Anderson walks around the other side of the bed, pausing before sitting down. With a raised brow, he asks, “May I?”
His request is another reminder that, behind all the confidence, he’s still a gentleman who won’t put me in an uncomfortable position. He reminds me of Hunter that way.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” He lowers himself, and I shift the laptop toward him.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask.
“What’s your favorite movie?” He throws the question back at me.
“I don’t think I could pick just one.”
“Okay. How about this? What’s your rainy-day movie?”
“Rainy-day movie?”
“What movie do you put on whenever you’re having a shite day? A movie you’ve seen hundreds of times, but always go back to.”
I don’t even have to think about it. There’s only one movie that fits that description. One movie I watch whenever I’m feeling down and need to believe that two people who are meant to be together will eventually find their way back to each other, regardless of the passing of time and circumstance.
“An Affair to Remember.”
For months after Hunter died, I imagined he hadn’t. Imagined our last night together was just us saying goodbye on that ocean liner with plans to see each other again. As unhealthy as it was, it got me through my darkest of days.
“That’s one of my favorites, too.”
“I doubt that.”
“It is,” he insists. “Especially now.”
“Why now?”
“It just so happens to remind me of another pair of travelers forced together by chance.” He waggles his brows.
I roll my eyes as I hit play on the movie, ignoring his insinuation. “Once our journey comes to an end, I can assure you, I have no intention of making any plans with you to meet at the top of the Empire State Building in six months.”
“Good.” He pauses, then locks his gaze with mine. “Because I fear six months would be far too long for me to wait for you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Anderson
“Drop me off at the side of the hotel,” I order Creed when he pulls the SUV into the parking lot the following morning.
I’d gotten up early to go in search of coffee. After asking the front desk clerk where the closest Starbuck’s was, to which she responded with uncontrollable laughter, she pointed me in the direction of a local spot. Just as I threw my luggage into the Wrangler and was about to duck behind the wheel, Creed pulled up and offered to drive me, like I should have anticipated he would.
The entire ride there and back, I sensed something was on his mind, an unusual edginess about him. I almost asked what was goin
g on, if he’d found something when he ran Nora’s background, but decided against it. Like I told him yesterday, I wanted to learn about her myself.
“Got it.” Creed follows my directions, slowing to a stop around the corner of the brick building.
He reaches for the handle, about to jump out to get my door for me, as he’s trained to do, but I stop him. “No. Not here.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The tray of coffee in one hand, I open the door with the other and step into the chilly air, the smell of wet asphalt heavy. I hadn’t noticed it had rained last night. Why would I when I spent the night with Nora? Or most of the night, anyway.
She’d fallen asleep before Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr made their pact to settle their affairs and meet on the top of the Empire State Building. I should have taken it as my cue to go back to my room, but I couldn’t find the strength to leave. There was something so peaceful about her as she slept. Gone were the hard edges she’d constructed around herself. In that moment, her body nestled against mine, she looked infinitely more calm and in tune with herself than she ever had the few times I’d seen her meditate.
“Any idea of your final destination tonight?” Creed asks.
“Not sure. We’ll probably make it into Oklahoma before stopping.”
He nods. “Let me know once you have a better idea.”
“Will do.” I start to close the door.
“Anders.”
I stop, the sound of the name I’ve gone by in private catching me off guard. He normally refuses to call me anything other than Your Highness or sir. Rarely Anderson. Never Anders. At least not in years.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” He shakes his head, the turmoil heavy. “I found out something about Nora. She—”
I shoot up my hand. “I told you, Creed. Unless she has a criminal record as a violent offender, I’m not interested. Does she have a record as a violent offender?”
He gives me a pleading look. Then he pushes out a long sigh, his shoulders falling. “No.”
“Then I don’t want to know.”
“I understand your reasoning, but—”
“No. This is important to me, Creed. I want a few more days of being normal. When this journey ends, you can tell me everything you found out about her. Until then, keep it to yourself. I don’t want to ruin this.”