Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
But best to make certain he’s into the same things I am before getting too flirty. “Depends on what you’re looking for. They have surprisingly fashionable dog clothes, excellent popcorn, and also home furnishings,” I say, starting with a bit of charm.
His lips tilt into a bit of a grin as if I’ve entertained him. “Good to know, in case I get a late-night craving.”
I’ve got a craving right now, all right.
The American gestures to his shirt. “But I’m on the hunt for a new shirt.”
I wave a hand at his firm chest. “You might want to try Angie’s Vintage Duds around the corner if that’s your thing. They have cool retro tees and stuff,” I say while I cycle through tactics to get his number.
To satisfy my craving.
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll hit up Angie’s. You never know who you might meet your first day in London.”
He shoots me a smile.
Trouble is, it’s only a friendly one, not quite a come-and-get-me one.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I should get on my way because I don’t usually hit on men on the street. Maybe the thing to do is leave him a clue and put the ball in his court.
“True. You never know.” I pause for a moment, then . . . What the hell. You’re only young once. “By the way, I’m Jude. I work at a bookshop on Cecil Court.”
With that, I turn and get on my way, and I don’t look back.
Not until I reach the end of the street. Then, I can’t resist one more glance his way.
He hasn’t moved, except to turn his face toward me, watching me walk away.
A kernel of warmth spreads in my chest, and I know later, at the shop, I’ll be staring at the door, hoping he walks in.
A few minutes later, as I reach Cecil Court, I realize what a daft idiot I am.
I didn’t tell him which store I work in, and there are only twenty bookshops on this street. I check my watch. I can make it to Angie’s to correct my mistake and still be on time for my shift. Spinning around, I walk quickly to Angie’s. But as I peer in the window for a few long seconds, I only see the purple-haired woman who works there. I give her a wave, then head off.
Sigh. Another tiny heartbreak today, since I’ve a better chance of selling a Cleaneroo than seeing the American again.
2
JUST IN CASE
TJ’s Travel Journal
London, Day One
My life was not a rom-com today.
It’s been more like a manifestation of Murphy’s Law. Everything that could go wrong on my trip to London did go wrong. The flight was cramped, turbulence hit an 8.0 on the Richter scale, then the airline lost my luggage. On top of that, the hotel said it wouldn’t have my room ready for another few hours. I was tempted to crumple into a jet-lagged ball of stinky misery on the rundown lobby floor. I smelled like a ripe, day-old T-shirt, and I felt like a zombie. The front desk attendant took pity on me and sent me to a nearby store to buy some new clothes.
THANKS, FATE, FOR CHOOSING THAT EXACT MOMENT TO SEND ME THE WORLD’S MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN.
When Jude gave me his name then walked away, my life was distilled into two choices:
Go to every single bookstore on Cecil Court and find him.
Or miss out on what felt like the first chapter in my new life here in England.
Wait. There was a third choice. Get my ass over to the thrift store he recommended, buy some new clothes, and then beg, borrow or steal for a shower if I had to.
I was not going to let this chance pass me by.
Cecil Court, here I come.
3
WE MEET AGAIN
TJ
When I wander down the little lane in Covent Garden, it’s as if I’ve traveled to my personal paradise. Shops line the quaint alley full of books—my favorite things after sex and pizza.
I could get lost and never want to be found. Except I do want to find Jude. What are the chances he’ll be in one of these shops right now?
Maybe it’s best to focus on my original mission. Even before I left the States, I wanted to go to the bookshop I’d visited as a kid. No, not that one with the medical textbooks.
Definitely not the children’s bookstore with the stuffed dragon in the window.
And for sure it’s not the shop with globes in the window.
When I’ve scoured nearly the whole alley, I’m convinced the store I camped out in a decade ago has closed.
Until a sign beckons me.
An Open Book.
It feels like déjà vu.
Peering inside, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the store. Jude is probably history, and soon, he’ll be a hazy memory of my first day in London—just some cute guy I met one afternoon.