Page 8 of One Wrong Move

Inescapable. I’ve tried, but I can’t make it stop.

She looks at the café and then up at me. There’s a clear conflict in her eyes. “You’re Dean’s best friend,” she says. But she’s smiling, just a bit.

I run a hand along my jaw and make my voice surprised. “Aw, so that’s why you’ve been acting strange around me?”

She gives a tiny chuckle. “Nate.”

My name from her lips shouldn’t sound that good. It really shouldn’t. “Well, how about this,” I say. “Let’s take that fact and put it in a box, and we’ll put that box away. For now, I’m just your friend… and the only person you know in London. Let me buy you a coffee or a glass of wine and hear how you’re settling in.”

A small smile curves her lips, and her dimples make a quick appearance. “In a box, huh?”

“A very tightly shut box.”

“As long as it’s stuffed deep in a closet, and the closet door is locked… okay. And you won’t tell Dean about this?”

“I won’t say a word.” And I mean it, too. He’s my friend, and he had asked me to keep an eye on her. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be reporting to him.

Harper walks ahead of me to the café. I follow, leisurely. It’s hard to wrap my head around seeing her here, in the city I’ve lived in for the past two years.

Pausing by the entrance, she glances at me. “You coming?”

I step past her to pull the door open. “Of course. Ladies first.”

“I’ll never get over your chivalry,” Harper says. Her voice has warmed from when she first saw me, but there’s a guardedness to her that hadn’t been there before. Not when I’d been Dean’s friend, not during the dinners or parties we’d occasionally attended together.

But I understand.

I’d been a friend, too… and now I’m a potential foe. I’ll have to prove her wrong on that count.

We grab a table by the windows, overlooking the square, with its flowers and the fountain. In the distance, the gallery is visible. Harper orders a large limonata, and I ask for a black coffee.

She takes a deep breath. Her green eyes are curious on mine, and a bit cautious.

“Will you tell me now?” I ask. “Where do you live? How have you been settling in?”

She looks down at her hands that are resting on the table. “It’s okay. I found temporary housing, about twenty-five minutes away.”

“By Tube? Or walking?”

“Tube,” she says.

I frown. “Okay. Looking for something more permanent?”

“Yes,” she says. “I haven’t been here for long. And I hadn’t exactly planned out my trip here, either.”

“Right.”

“I mean, I did, because I applied for the internship and the visa… but I never thought I’d actually end up going.” She smiles crookedly and shrugs. “Sorry. I know that belongs in the box.”

“You’re in control of the box,” I tell her.

“Okay. Thanks. And thanks for saving my life back there. That was way too close for comfort, and, to be honest, it’s not even the first time it happened.”

Fuck. “It isn’t?”

“No. I really have to brand it into my head to switch directions when I check to cross the road.” She shakes her head, smiling ruefully. “A lot of adjustments. But I like the city. There’s nice energy here. It’s almost like New York, but… calmer, somehow. I don’t know how to define it. Not yet.”

I nod, still hung up on the admission about her nearly dying several times since she’s arrived. “Yeah. Different areas have unique feels, too, more so than in Manhattan. You’ll explore it all, I’m sure.”

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