Page 17 of Finding London

My mom seems lonelier than usual. She’s always been too busy to care where I might end up. It’s not that she doesn’t care; she does. She just seems a little desperate for company here. I’m sure it will get better once she makes new friends, which she will.

“Mom, why did you have to move here if Dad’s just going to travel? He can travel from anywhere.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “You know how it is.”

I suppose I do, but I don’t really understand my dad’s work. I never have.

I decide to change the subject. “I say we go pick up the ingredients for fettuccini Alfredo, get a couple of bottles of nice wine, order that new release with Scott Eastwood, and have a girls’ movie night.”

My mom’s eyes go wide at the mention of the actor’s name. “Oh, you know I love him. He’s such a great actor.”

“I’m sure your adoration for him has nothing to do with the fact that he’s insanely gorgeous.” I teasingly roll my eyes.

“Well, you know it does. He’s quite the specimen.”

“Of course he is! It’s about time you admitted it. Jeez.” I laugh.

“Oh, stop.” She chuckles and wraps her arm around my waist as we start walking out of the room. “Let’s go buy you a load of fat to put on your noodles.”

“Yum! Sounds delish.”

I’m at the airport, sitting patiently at the gate until it’s time to board.

The last few days with my mom flew by. I had the best time with her. I honestly can’t remember the last time I spent so much one-on-one quality time with her, and I know I need to do it more often.

There’s a walking contradiction pacing in the aisle in front of me. For the past eternity, it seems, this dude has been yammering away on his cell phone about trading stocks. Just a typical douche-bag businessman who thinks yelling his client’s personal business into his phone at an airport makes him look cool, right? Yeah, that would be all he is—except he’s wearing a blue short-sleeved polo shirt, a pair of bright orange running pants, and worn leather sandals with socks. It doesn’t appear that he even attempted to comb his short hair when he got up this morning. I can tell that he sleeps with the right side of his head on the pillow. Furthermore, he keeps sucking on a straw that’s in a cup of ice that, I’m assuming, used to have a drink in it, creating an obnoxious sound that echoes throughout the gate’s waiting area.

What I see of this man and what I hear him saying into his cell phone are complete contradictions. It just doesn’t add up. I’ve had a lot of time to watch him, and I’ve decided that there are two probable scenarios. One, there are hidden cameras somewhere, and I’m a witness to a hidden prank show. But I’ve looked around, and I haven’t seen anything indicating a television crew. So, that leads me to my other guess. He’s insane, like a literal crazy person, and he’s talking into a phone that doesn’t have anyone on the other end. In fact, it’s probably not even charged. Scenario number two makes me sad for him.

Maybe I’m completely wrong, and he’s just an eccentric-dressing douche-bag businessman. Yeah, let’s hope for that.

“So, is that your next victim?”

I gasp when I hearhisvoice. I would recognize it anywhere.

I tilt my head up to see Loïc standing beside me. He’s wearing his fatigues and carrying an Army green duffel. My mouth remains open wide. I’m so shocked to see him here. I can hardly process it.

“What?” I finally ask, not able to think of anything better.

“The guy you’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes…you have your sights set on him?”

I ignore his question, knowing that he’s joking. Instead, I skip to the real question. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m flying back to Detroit, same as you apparently,” he says almost distractedly. His stare is focused on my lips before it darts back to my eyes.

“Right. I see that, but what are you doing here, in Kentucky?” I continue to gawk up at him, and although I’m in shock at the sight of him, I can’t help but notice how incredibly mouthwatering he looks in his fatigues.What is it about a hot guy in a military uniform?

“I was down in Fort Knox for training this week. Why are you here?”

“My parents live here.”

“Ah, gotcha. Do you mind if I take a seat?” He gestures toward the empty chair beside me.

I shrug. “It’s a free country.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He places his bag on the ground at his feet and sits beside me.

---