Page 21 of Finding London

London is goddamn perfection. She doesn’t need to lose weight. If she’s one of those chicks who starves herself to remain thin, it will turn me off—or it should.

“What do you mean?” She sounds confused.

“You said that you and your mom ignored your diets to eat chocolate.”

Realization dawns behind her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not dieting. I meant, my general diet doesn’t usually consist of bags of candy. I’m a pretty healthy eater. I eat a lot—don’t get me wrong—but I try to eat good stuff.”

I’m happy with her response even though it’s just another thing not to hate about her.Damn it.

“We should do a version of Twenty Questions,” she says with excitement lining her voice.

“What do you mean?” I ask even though I know I’m not going to like her answer.

“Like, we’ll take turns asking each other questions, and we have to answer honestly.”

I was right. I’m not liking it.

“London,” I say on an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, you can go first. Ask me anything.” She practically bounces in her seat.

“Have you always been this annoying?” I bite out.

She shrugs. “Yeah, probably. Okay, my turn. Where were you born?”

“Berkeley, California.”

“Isn’t your last name Berkeley? So, your parents lived in the same city as their name. That’s funny.”

“Not exactly,” I offer.

“Do explain,” she says.

“Fine, but this is one of your questions. I’m only giving you twenty. I was born in Berkeley, but my parents lived in Lancaster, California.”

“So, your mom gave birth to you when she was out of town or something?”

Before I can doubt myself, I just start talking, which is so unlike me. But there is something about London that makes me want her to know things about me, things that only Cooper and Maggie know. “I was adopted by my parents. I’m assuming my birth mom was from Berkeley. I was found on the steps of the Berkeley Fire Department.”

“That’s so crazy. It’s like it’s meant to be,” she says with reverence in her voice. “My sister and I both have geographically themed names, too.” When I don’t question her, she continues, “We were both named after the places where we were conceived.”

I huff out a laugh. “Really?”

She shrugs as her lips tilt up into a grin. “Yeah, my dad has always traveled a lot for work. My mom thought it would be sentimental to name us after our place of conception. My sister should technically be named Atlanta—so we’re told—but they chose Georgia instead.”

“My dad was from London,” I let out before I can stop myself.

“Really? Have you ever been there?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I bet your dad has the best accent. I love English accents.”

“Yeah, he did.” I can still hear his voice after all these years. At the time, I didn’t realize he spoke with an accent. He just spoke like my dad.

“Where do your parents live?” she asks.

“Heaven, I suppose—if such a place exists. They’re dead.”

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