Page 41 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

I shake my head, a huge smile on my face. She is one of a kind; that’s for sure. I start typing.

To: London Wright

From: Loïc Berkeley

Subject: Re: Question 1—Last Meal

London, baby,

First, I don’t know what about your email is more disturbing—that it sounded a lot like a Dear John letter (thanks for clarifying that it wasn’t) or that your question involves me dying (not cool, given my current situation). How’s that for transparency? Lol. Seriously, your level of tact, or lack thereof, is kind of a flaw, babe. You’re lucky I love you so much.

And selfish? Maybe a tad, but at the same time, you’re incredibly giving to the ones you love the most. You love fiercely, and that is one of my favorite things about you. You’re intense and real. You don’t sugarcoat anything, and for some odd reason, I find that hot as hell. I love your sass and your humor. I just love you, and I, too, miss the hell out of you already.

A year is a long time, but it’ll get easier, right?

Not much going on here. Just arrived to the base where we’ll be for a while and getting settled in.

Missing you. Loving you.

Cooper says hi, and he wants to make sure you’re keeping Maggie company while we’re gone. He also says that his favorite meal is a big, ole juicy medium-rare rib eye with a side of buttery au gratin potatoes and those cheesy biscuits from Red Lobster.

If you’re wondering whether I asked him for his answer, that would be a solid no. He’s just a nosy dick, who’s reading over my shoulder. Apparently, he can’t even stay away from me for a solid hour. He might be a stage-four clinger. Let’s hope it doesn’t escalate to stage five.

He’s now saying that he’s not a dick, but I’d have to disagree.

As far as my answer to your question goes, I’m going to have to say fish and chips—and not the American version, the UK version. One of the last places I remember my dad taking me to was an English pub in South Carolina where he had to do some business. I drove there with him from Mississippi for a weekend, and we happened upon this pub. It was owned by an older guy with an accent that sounded just like my granddad’s. My dad ordered us each fish and chips, and I remember that being the most delicious meal I’d ever had. I’ve never had fish and chips like it since. Maybe none other can compare because that meal is glorified in my head with extra doses of nostalgia and years of building it up. But if I were dying, I would want that meal again, and I would want it to taste the way it did in my memories.

So, how is this whole question thing going to work? Because, now, I have six more emails to respond to before I can ask my question. So, let’s do this. Feel free to write me as much as you want, but you can only ask one question, and you can’t ask another one until I write back with a question.

So, in a few minutes, after I get done responding to your other questions, I’m going to ask you question 8, and then you respond with 9, so I’ll be even, and you’re odd—in more ways than one, I might add. ;-)

I love you, babe.

Love,

Loïc

I quickly respond to the other emails with my answers only and then type out the question eight email before closing my laptop.

“Dude, seriously. We’ve basically just been on each other’s asses for the past week, and you don’t want an hour to yourself?” I look to Cooper, who’s sprawled out on my bed, looking at the ceiling.

“Nah.” He sits up. “I was bored,” he says as way of an explanation.

“Didn’t you want to write to Maggie?”

“I’ll write her when we get back from dinner. We’re eight and a half hours ahead, so that makes it nine thirty in the morning there. She’s working today. She’s not going to have time to check her emails until she gets off at seven tonight, her time. Right?”

I nod. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“What are the chances you suppose they’ll be serving authentic English fish and chips and excellently prepared rib eyes?” he asks as we exit my room.

“I’m going to say slim to none.” I chuckle.

“Damn, I’m hungry for a good steak now, thanks to you,” he huffs.

“Well, it was your dumbass that insisted on being nosy.”

“Eh, true. What can I say, Lieutenant Berkeley? I miss you when we’re apart,” he says with a voice rich in mock adoration.

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