Page 118 of The Reno
The tour with Olivia was incredible. We had the whole gallery to ourselves as we walked through each section, Olivia explaining the collection and some of her favourite pieces. The art gallery was beautiful—all parquet floors and glass skylights. They had a huge Lowry and Pre-Raphaelite collection. Liam’s face split into a grin as we walked into a gallery full of women with flaming red hair. He snapped a photo of me looking, my curly red hair matching the painting. I watched him smile at his screen and set it as his lock screen.
“That bloke would have loved you, Red,” Liam whispered as Olivia ushered us into the next gallery.
“Hey,” I said, pulling Liam towards me on the steps of the gallery. “Thank you. I loved it. I can’t wait to go back. There was so much I didn’t see, even in two hours.”
Olivia had mentioned a huge textile collection, and I was itchingfor some design inspiration. If I did enrol in that interior design course, I wanted to do my dissertation on those fabrics.
“It was worth it. To see you like that.” Liam smiled. “You looked so happy.”
I grinned. “What’s next, tour guide?”
Liam grabbed my hand and led me across the square, which had trams running through it.
“Well, you said you liked London for the art galleries,” Liam mimicked, ticking a list. “Next, food.”
My stomach rumbled at the mention, and Liam threw me a grin. We walked past a huge dome building.
“That’s the library, and behind it is the Town Hall. That’s where we have the lights turned on at Christmas. It’s packed, and we usually get a major A-list celebrity to turn them on.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Big Brothercontestant from 2005?”
Liam barked a laugh, then gave me a serious look. “That’s their career highlight, Red. It’s Abi’s favourite day. That and Pride in August. It takes over the whole city. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Oh my god. Do you dress up?”
Liam shrugged. “Abigail might get the glitter out, yeah.”
I laughed, imagining Liam sitting at the kitchen table, Abigail covering Liam’s face in glitter.
“I’d love to see that.”
“Maybe you will.”
Our eyes met, and I could see the hope glimmering in his—the hope that I’d be here long enough for milestones written in Sharpie onto a shared calendar.
We passed a grand hotel called The Midland, and Liamnodded. “That’s where Posh and Becks had their first date.”
My mouth fell open. “Oh my god. Royalty.”
Liam laughed. “Yep.”
We stopped in front of The Vine & Olive, a restaurant with sash windows and a stripy green canopy. It had a couple of iron tables outside, which I imagined were for when the sun shined briefly and a crisp white wine was on the cards.
“This is lovely,” I said.
“We used to come here a lot as kids. It was Mum’s favourite. Best Italian in the city,” Liam said. “I know the owner, Frank. He tends to be quieter at lunch.”
Liam nodded and opened the door, the bell ringing as we walked through.
“Liam!” a man bellowed.
The man was in his sixties, with dark hair and greys at his temples. He approached us, wearing a white shirt, black trousers, and a red apron emblazoned with the restaurant logo.
He clapped his hand on Liam’s shoulder, and I swear I saw Liam wince a little.
“Frank,” Liam said in an indulgent tone.
“Your table is free.” Frank grinned, and his eyes widened when he spotted me.
