Page 42 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“You’re an idiot.” I laugh.

“I plead the fifth. But, seriously, this food had better be edible, or it’s going to be a long-ass year.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

We walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way to the mess hall, which is a few blocks from our living quarters. Thoughts of London fill my head with each step.

One week down, and fifty-one more to go.

London

“I want to reach into the computer and hug him—my wounded, brave, sexy warrior.”

—London Wright

The red digital numbers on my bedside table shine brightly in the dark room.Noon.Wow, I was out.

It seems like a minute has passed since my head hit my pillow at three a.m. Paige and I went out last night to celebrate a new account she was given at work. Apparently, it’s a hugely successful client and a detailed project for them to give to someone who’s only been with the company for several months.

I don’t understand all of Paige’s marketing lingo, but the bottom line was that it called for a celebration. The Friday night bar scene in Ann Arbor didn’t let us down, and I actually feel pretty good for how much I drank.

I roll out of bed and pull open my dark curtains to let in some light. Every branch of the tree outside my window is covered with snow. Actually, everything outside is covered in a blanket of white. We must have gotten a good eight inches or so overnight. I’ll agree with Loïc; winter can be so beautiful. I just wish it weren’t so cold. A momentary pang aches in my chest because Loïc missed the first big snowfall of the year. Then again, I suppose he’s going to miss them all, isn’t he?

I’m sure if he were here, we’d already be dressed in snow gear and out sledding or skiing or some other torturous event like that.

Exiting my room, I’m met with Paige in the hallway, and by the look of her bed head and puffy eyes, she just woke up as well.

“Did you see it snowed?” I ask.

“Yeah, so pretty,” she says with a yawn.

“I need coffee,” I say as I head into our kitchen. “French vanilla?”

“Sounds good.”

I grab the bag of vanilla-flavored beans and grind up enough for Paige and me, and I start the pot.

“Oh! We have Mexican leftovers!” I practically cheer as I peer into the refrigerator for something to eat for breakfast.

“Oh, yes!” Paige yells behind me. “Why is it that Mexican food tastes so good after a night of drinking?”

“I don’t know, but it really does.” I pull off the cardboard tops and place the aluminum tins of goodness into the toaster oven to warm.

After a few minutes, we take our coffees and warmed leftovers to the dining room table.

“What do you want to do today?” Paige stuffs her mouth full of some rice.

“Well, I desperately need to finish my Christmas shopping. I’m glad that I sent Loïc a care package last week because, at this rate, he’s not going to get his Christmas package until mid-January.”

“Are you kidding? At only eight days away, your family will be lucky to get their presents on time.” She chuckles.

“I know. I’m so behind, but I really don’t want to be out driving in this snow. That’s, like, a guaranteed accident right there.”

“I bet there are some online stores that still offer rush shipping,” Paige offers.

“Good call! Let’s online shop today and then start a new show on Netflix,” I say through a mouthful of chicken fajita.

“It’s a plan.”

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