Page 97 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

Maybe he’s filming? It’s got to be filming, right? What else would it be?

But what if, in the very unlikely chance Blake missed me, he’s come back to London to find me? Not just to find me—forme. And I’m not there? What if we actually have a chance and I miss it, because I’m in the wrong damn city? What a disaster.

I need to get back home. Right now.

My credit card is smoking, between the taxi direct to the airport and the last-minute flight to London, but luckily I find some last-minute deal that makes the fare only moderately terrible instead of catastrophic.

Another flight alone. I buy a pack of gum and try to channel my inner jet-setter Lily. Sunglasses, check. Passport, check. Wallet, check. I tie the scarf like she showed me.

And, fuck it. I buy some soft pink lipstick and eyeliner and detour to the toilets to do myself up. If I’m going to be petrified, I may as well look as good as I can while doing so.

My phone remains dark. I shut it off for the flight.

As predicted, the flight’s excruciating. My fists are balled beside me, eyes shut for most of the way, feigning sleep. More like trying to pull a Dorothy and click my heels to arrive back home, but I’m definitely no longer in Kansas, whether that’s New York or London. When my eyes are open, I attempt to write poetry about Blake to distract myself. Nothing sounds right, but that’s okay. Somehow, I feel different for having tried being vulnerable with this trip. For putting myself out there to seek out Blake, to reveal my heart. That’s got to count for something, at least a compensatory pint and a consolation wank when I get back home to the comfort of the flat, if I still can’t find him.

But I can’t think like that. Ihaveto find him.

When I land in the late evening and get through passport control, I could—almost—kiss the ground at Heathrow in gratitude. God help me, I’m not taking a flight anytime soon if I can help it. I turn my phone on, and it comes alive with notifications. I texted everyone when I landed in New York, but I was so focused on finding Blake that I hadn’t given an update in my haste to return to London.

Gemma:You are coming back at some point right? Or Barnes Books is mine bwahaha. Also: really, come back. I’m gonna have a sale if you don’t.

Lily:Status report! All hands on deck! I’m dying of curiosity on how Day 2 is going? I won’t sleep till I hear back.

And then I stop breathing.

Blake:That’s the rare orca bean. Hard to get in America, tends to be found elsewhere. You need to go looking. B.

My hands shake as I stare at my phone. Now he’s just messing me about. He can’t possibly know what I’ve been up to. Can he?

With a breath, I exit out to the concourse. The tube rattles me back home, straight into central London, living a surrealist experience. Down here, it’s too warm, the air stuffy. People jam together in the overcrowded carriage. The Piccadilly line’s deep underground and has me out of phone reception for approximately one eternity till I reach the surface again in central London the better part of an hour later. It’s late by the time I’m outside again checking my phone.

And I send a text.

Where are you? x

Soon, there’s a one-word answer from Blake:

London

That’s it? As if this isn’t an important development? I stare at my phone before tapping back a one-word response. Touché. I can play this game too.

Why?

Lingering outside of the station before continuing the rest of my journey home, it takes about ten minutes for a response to come.

We need to talk

Shit.

The “we need to talk” line is never a good omen.

Do you want to talk now? x

A moment later—

Yes

Chapter Twenty-Six

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