Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I turn the heart over and over in my palm.
If Vincent asked me to go to London, I would.
I’d do anything for him.
I managed to go to Norfolk with him and ended up having the time of my life. Was it just that I wanted to be with him? Or that he believed in me?
If I imagined I was going to London to meet Vincent, would just the thought of him get me on that train?
THIRTY-NINE
Kate
I focus on Vincent and the memories we made—replaying every conversation and kiss—all the way to London.
Walking up to the house with my case to get into the minivan, I thought of the first time he came into the tea shop.
Heading out of Crompton’s gates, I remembered him catching me before I hit the ground at the pub.
The train journey down to London was our picnic by the lake.
The tube ride across the city? Him kissing me.
Checking in at the hotel, I replayed the way he looked at me on the beach in Norfolk.
I pretend I am doing this for him.
Maybe I am.
Now, alone in my hotel room, my anxiety levels start to rise again. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. “You can do this,” I say. “It’s twenty-four hours and then you’re heading back to Crompton.” Knowing my fellow department heads are here makes it a little easier to breathe, but only just.
I wipe away the smudge of mascara under my eye and head back into the bedroom to unpack. The porter put my case on the luggage rack and even offered to unzip it. Olga asked us to make notes about what particularly impresses us during our stay. I should write down the detail about unzipping my bag before I unpack, so I don’t forget. I kick off my shoes and pull my notebook from my bag. Stepping back, I sink into the comfy navy armchair facing the room.
I scribble down the thing about the porter. How polite he was but at the same time, friendly and warm. He was interested, asking me my plans for the day without appearing nosy. And the check-in experience—they already seemed to know me.
I glance around. What do I particularly like about the room? Something on my bedside table catches my eye—a triptych photo frame, just like the one Vincent gave me on the way to Norfolk.
That’s a coincidence. Maybe he got the idea to gift me the pictures from his stay at a fancy hotel?
I stand and cross the room, squinting at the frame. From a distance, it looks like pictures I took of the Crompton Estate. As I get closer, I see it’s the exact frame, the exact pictures I took to Norfolk.
My heart thunders in my chest. Who put these here? Who knew? I pick up the frame and study it closely. There’s no doubt—it’s the same one. A second frame in the same triptych style stands behind the first.
My stomach swoops then hits the floor. Three different photographs: one of Crompton House, one of my house and one of Granny’s.
I collapse onto the bed.
Vincent did this. There’s no other explanation.
But how?
I pick up the phone and dial zero.
“Good morning, Miss Saunders, how can we help you?”
“Hi. Thanks. Erm. There are photographs by my bed. Who put them there?”
“Are you a returning guest?” she asks.
“No, this is my first stay.”
My comment is met by silence on the other end. “And you’re in room four-one-two. Hmmm. We occasionally place photographs in some of our suites for returning guests…”
“You do?” I ask, a little confused, my heart sinking a little. Could this be just another luxury amenity from the hotel? But to have these exact photographs? That’s too much of a coincidence, surely?
“We like people to feel they’re in a home away from home.”
That’s one for the notebook. Maybe my team could do some social media sleuthing to accomplish the same thoughtfulness for our future guests.
“But actually,” the woman continues, “since this is your first stay— Excuse me while I check something. I have a note on your reservation. Please hold the line.”
My breathing is ragged, like I’ve been running for miles. Could it be Vincent after all? And if so, why? Since my lunch with Sutton, I’ve been trying to figure out what I can do or say to Vincent to make him feel like he can depend on me to never leave him.
Because he could.
I’ve come up empty so far. Work has been busy. Now I’m no longer working in the house, I picked up more shifts in the pub and started guest relations training. And of course, I’m still working in the tea shop. During all those hours and the times in between, I’ve thought about little else but Vincent. But I haven’t found a solution. How can I make him believe I won’t abandon him?