Page 74 of That Reunited Feeling

“There would be a reason. To shut her up.”

“Or you could get your lawyer to tell her lawyer to fuck off. And that, I believe, would be that.” His phone pings again. “And maybe change your number.”

“It’s not like your phone hasn’t been blowing up too.” He gestures to the device in my hand.

“I have a thirteen-year-old son who couldn’t find the only one of his nine hundred T-shirts that he wanted to wear today.”

It did give my heartstrings a good old twang, though. This is the first time I’ve ever left him overnight. Ever. In thirteen years. And it’s not like I’m just around the corner. I’m a whole ocean away.

Tom’s told me a thousand times Dylan’s in good hands. And I know that. I mean, it’s not like Maggie’s not experienced with strong-willed teenage boys.

But what kind of mother am I, drinking champagne with my pinky out on a first-class flight to London when there’sHybrids v Aliensattire to locate?

Not all my texts have been from Dylan, though. A good two-thirds of them are from Rachel, and I’m sure as hell not telling him about those.

Since I filled her in on the whole back seat oral business and the spontaneous trip to England, she’s peppered me with messages bursting with excitement and advice. From “If you don’t christen every surface of his apartment, I’ll be very disappointed” to “I knew it. Didn’t I? I knew it!” to a string of kissy-face, tongue, eggplant, peach, and party popper emojis.

If the parents of the children whose lives this woman saves daily knew how much she’s encouraging someone to have short-term adventurous sex all over the London home of an international music mogul, it might affect their trust in her surgical skills.

Tom lets out a long, loud yawn. I slept way better than I expected on the plane. But I guess the flat bed-seats andcomplimentary cozy bamboo pajamas make all the difference. Well, them, and the fact that Tom held my hand while I slept. Just the thought of how lovely that was makes me a bit wobbly.

But despite the flight naps, the fog from overnight travel is real. Wednesday has disappeared into a black hole, and my brain feels like it’s slightly outside my head.

The elevator doors make their uber classybing-bongagain as they glide open.

For a second, it looks like we must be in a communal part of the building—a large area everyone passes through to get to their own apartments.

But as Tom takes the handle of my small wheelie case and tells me to come in, it dawns on me that the elevator’s opened directly into his apartment. I’ve seen that in movies but was never sure if it was an actual thing or just fantasy.

My attention’s immediately drawn to the windows along the opposite wall and their view. This really is something out of a movie. As I walk across the huge living room, it doesn’t seem real. The sky is bright blue, and there, right there out of Tom’s window, is the river Thames and Tower Bridge. “Oh my God.”

“Like it?” Tom asks, stepping up behind me, circling my waist, and easing me back against him.

“It’s like I’ve stepped into one of those real estate shows.” That sounds silly. “I mean, I never expected to see it in real life. And you never said this was right outside your window. This is…unreal.”

But then so is this whole situation. I’ve entered a temporary dream world.

My eyes trail from the amazing sight of the world’s most iconic bridge on the right, to the Tower of London directly across the water, to the modern skyscrapers of the city to the left. And in between, boats chug along the river.

“It is pretty cool.” He rests his chin on my head. “Even though I’ve had it a few years, this view never gets old. And the terrace is great in summer.”

Floor-to-ceiling doors integrated almost seamlessly with the windows lead to a deep brick terrace that spreads the full width of the place. The furniture out there is wrapped up for the winter.

I turn in his arms and plant a soft kiss against his lips. “Can I see the rest?”

He responds by pressing his mouth back against me, teasing my lips with his tongue until I open up to him. My first London kiss is deep and soft.

As he eases back, Tom dots kisses along my lower lip. “Of course. Wander around, settle in.” He pushes my hair off my face. “I have to go into work for a bit. But make yourself at home.”

“Okay, and I have the calls that start at two o’clock.” Yesterday, I set up a bunch of video calls with some of the candidates for Tom’s EA position. Even though they’re just casual chats to see which ones I think he’d get along with and should get a real interview, it’s still terrifying—my first real job responsibility.

“There should be a laptop in the home office for you for that. I had someone from IT drop one off.” Tom heads toward the enormous kitchen area at the back of the room. It’s all sleek black counters, shiny pale gray cabinets, and seamlessly built-in appliances. “And there’s an entry fob for you here.” He dangles a keychain with a gray plastic disc, identical to his own, hanging from it. “So you can go out for a stroll and check out the neighborhood if you like.”

“To be honest,” I say and turn back to face the window, “I might just stare at this all day.”

“Well, enjoy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He jogs back across the room toward me, then tips my chin up to his. “I can’t bear to be away from this face longer than absolutely necessary.”

His words send a shiver from my heart to my belly. If only this were real life. But I can’t allow myself to think that. This is just temporary, and I need to enjoy it for what it is—a short burst of a romantic fantasy that will turn into nothing more than an amazing memory.

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