Page 51 of Meet Me at the Metro

“Nora?!”A voice calls out, full of worry and concern.

I slice my eyes farther down the platform to where it came from, finding Theo quickly approaching. Seeing him fills me with immense relief, and I finally find myself capable of breathing again. John’s already fled the scene when I look back, racing around a nearby corner and disappearing out of sight.

The weight of reality comes crashing down and shatters my composure completely.

“Hey.” Theo’s deep voice is like a comforting caress while I cry. “Nora, hey. Look at me.”

I try to lift my eyes to him, but my vision is so blurry with tears that I can barely make out the hard, masculine features of his face.

“What the hell was that? Who the fuck was that?”

When I don’t respond immediately, he begins to bolt toward the direction John fled. I seize him with a trembling hand before he can get too far and cling to him like he’s the last shred of humanity left in the entire universe.

“Theo, please. Please, don’t leave me.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Nora,”he sighs, brushing his thumbs beneath my eyes.

“Take me somewhere again,” I offer, my voice wavering.“Please.”

I need a distraction.

His eyes carefully inspect me, tracing the features of my face before trailing to my hand clenched around his wrist. I loosen my grip and draw away quickly, feeling embarrassed—feeling ashamed?

He smothers those emotions when his palm gently settles against my arm. “Where?”

“Anywhere—take me anywhere.”

Theo’s gaze tells me he wants more of an explanation, but I stay silent and hope that he won’t keep pushing me to give him an answer. Not right now.

My hopes are fulfilled when he finally says, “Alright.”

Theo and I make our way down a stone pavement, turning onto a relatively empty street. We stop in front of a tarnished-looking two-story building neighbored by terraced houses on each side. The wood stain appears to be chipping away from its solid brown doors, which seem to silently beckon you inside with their rustic charm. Small shrubs garnish each side of the two-paneled doorway as small floral, fruit, and tassel designs carve themselves into the surrounding stone wall. My eyes slowly scan the bold red letters that fall on each side of the doorway, reading the place’s name.

Wiltons.

Intrigued by its outward appearance and full of curiosity, I cut my gaze over to Theo and ask, “What is this place?”

“You don’t know? You’ve never heard ofWiltonsbefore?”

“Never. Is it a restaurant or something?”

“A restaurant?” He tosses his head back and laughs.A real, genuine laugh. “Bloody hell, Nora, no.”

“Quit laughing at me!” I prod his foot with one of the rubber ends of my crutches.

“Right. I forgot it’s not polite to pick on the crippled.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say, trying to hide the smile that threatens to pull against my lips. “Are you going to tell me what it is then, or just keep standing there wearing that cocky grin of yours?”

“This is one of the oldest music halls in the world,” he finally tells me, nodding toward the beautiful piece of history in front of us.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m gutted that you’ve never heard of it before. And you call yourself a musical theater student?” He scoffs, “Please.”

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