Page 91 of The Unfinished Line

“Tosh.” Dillon poked her in the ribs. “What about the Petersen Automotive Museum?”

“The what?”

“See! You’ve proven my point. Just because you live near a tourism landmark doesn’t mean you have to partake.”

“Whatever that is isnota landmark.”

“Absolutely is! It’s on Miracle Mile!”

“And when did you become an expert on LA’s tourist hot spots?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Dillon ribbed, toying with the hem of another shirt Kam had borrowed from her—her luggage still sitting in a hotel in Reading they kept swearing they’d go pick up.

“I want to go on it.”

Dillon slid her hands beneath the shirt. “On what?”

“Dillon,” Kam scolded, though she didn’t pull away. “The London Eye.”

“There’s a pretty good view of the skyline from here.” She slipped her hands higher, forcing Kam’s breath to shorten in response to her roaming fingers.

“I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.”

“Care to bet?” Dillon kissed the exposed skin above her collar, feeling Kam lean her weight into her as the morning dew dried atop the glass banister.

It did work.

For about an hour.

And then, showered and dressed, Dillon let Kam drag her out the door, always knowing it had been a losing battle.

“C’mon,” Kam chided at Dillon’s reluctant steps. “It’s going to be fun.” She tugged her through the foyer, sneaking a kiss onto her neck as Dillon held open the door. “We could always have a continuation of our morning from the top of London.”

“Maybe if you’re into voyeurism.” Dillon linked her arm through hers. “You realize they pack like two dozen people into every capsule.”

Hitting the pavement, they started the short walk through Jubilee Gardens. The day had grown warm and the park attracted a plethora of foot traffic, with couples and children sprawled on the grass beneath the shadow of the glorified Ferris wheel.

“Don’t be such a killjoy. Their website says they offer a private pod. And if they won’t take a same day reservation, I’ll buy however many tickets it takes to turn it into an exclusive ride.”

“Is that how it works, Miss Hollywood Big Shot?” Dillon tucked her hand into Kam’s back pocket. She’d found her a pair of Seren’s jeans left behind from one of her sister’s weekend visits, and a hoodie withBritish Triathlonscreenprinted across it—one Kameryn already warned her she was taking home to Los Angeles.

With a beanie and sunglasses, she looked like every other wandering tourist.

“I had a big payday. It’s only fair I get to blow a little of it somewhere—what better way than to buy the right to kiss my girlfriend looking down over Buckingham Palace?”

Girlfriend.

She could feel Kam’s side eye, feel her waiting for a response. With all the confines that surrounded them, it wasn’t something they’d put a label on. But she loved the easy way she said it, the offer to continue to build on the groundwork they had laid.

“Well, I mean, if you’re going to blow it somewhere…” Dillon drew her a little closer as they walked, their hips pressed together. “I just hope you know, you’ll never need to buy a kiss from me.”

“I do know.” Kam laced their fingers together, and they strolled down The Queen’s Walk hand in hand.

As they reached the ticket window, however, Dillon considered stepping aside—distancing the dynamic between them.

But changed her mind.

Soon, they wouldn’t have this. This freedom to be out together, with no heads turned their way. The ability to blend into crowds and do as they pleased. Kam’s face would be everywhere, and their worlds would never be the same. So for now, she kept her hand in Kam’s as they wound through the queue. No one noticed. No one cared. Not even the disinterested ticket seller, who hardly raised an eyebrow as Kam forked over nearly a thousand pounds to reserve thirty minutes of privacy.

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