So why had I opted to travel halfway across the globe when I had people clamoring for my help around the corner in Hollywood?
The answer was simple: I needed to get away from any and all memories of him.
Harrison was everywhere I looked. The only way to cut him out of my brain was to turn my life upside down for a while. The few thousand miles of distance between us couldn’t hurt either. I’dbe so busy remembering to look the other way when I crossed the street and trying to figure out the difference between cookies and biscuits that I wouldn’t have the bandwidth to dwell on what we’d had and lost.
At least that’s what I hoped.
I followed behind the group of slow-moving travelers, strategizing my next move. Wakefield was sending someone to the airport to drive me to my hotel, and I had the night to myself before kicking off my whirlwind visit the following day. Hopefully, I’d have enough time to pull myself together and fake that the time difference wasn’t having an impact.
Even though I was still in the airport, it already felt different from my everyday. The traditional British pub alongside a Harrods outpost were the first clues that I was now across the pond. Normally, I’d be eating it all up—I was a closet Anglophile, and I loved new adventures—but I chalked up my flat attitude to being overtired. Once the work began, I’d be fine. Staying busy was the best way to deal with heartbreak.
Wakefield had floated the idea of me staying for months, if not the year, and I was seriously considering it. Sarah and my dad fully supported my adventure, though they both had hinted thatmaybeI was running away from my life.
Whatever. I’d committed to seeing this trial arrangement through, at least for this month. I had something fun to focus on, finally.
I’d been sheeping along behind the crowd, not really noticing where we were going. Luggage. Right. I needed to collect the massive suitcase that would carry me through the next thirty days.
My contact at Wakefield had told me to look for a driver holding a sign with my name once I grabbed my bag, so it was a surprise to discover a man in a black suit with a sign way before I reached the baggage area. The sign had an arrow and said,Gwen Ackland, this way, please.
Um, yeah. That’s the plan buddy, but thanks for the support.
I walked over to him anyway. “Are you my…”
He did a little bow and pointed beyond where we were standing. “Welcome, Miss Ackland, this way please.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay, thank you.”
I kept walking, but he remained in place. Maybe he was just the greeter guy, pointing people in the right direction, and someone else was the actual driver?
Then I stumbled upon another guy with my name on a sign that had the same message.
“Hi, I’m Gwen,” I said. “Are you my driver?”
“Welcome,” he also bowed.
Was I suddenly royalty or something?
He pointed to whereanotheridentically dressed man was waiting down the walkway with a sign. I went up to him, ready to demand answers.
“Hi, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Greetings.” Another bow, another point.
I looked beyond where he was signaling and discovered dozens of men in black suits with signs dotting the concourse, allattempting to lead to me a place I now realizedwasn’tthe baggage claim area.
My heart started to pound, and hope flooded my body, making me a little shaky.Don’t get ahead of yourself,I cautioned.This is probably a Wakefield stunt. PR firms like to be showy; it’s in their DNA. Maybe this is just a way to demonstrate how excited they are to work with me?
There was absolutely no way that it was anything more than the Wakefield welcoming committee. Right?
Other travelers had already started to look around to try to figure out what was going on. I hoped I blended in with them as I followed the signs to whatever awaited me. Maybe my new colleagues had gathered at the airport to meet me, and now we were all going to head out to a pub?
But…now that I was further along, the suit guys I was coming up on were holding the signs plus individual roses. The first few had yellow roses, then as I walked on, I noticed that the flower colors shifted to orange, then peach, then pink.
Um, okay. A little more romantic than I would’ve envisioned from my new coworkers, but it was a sweet gesture.
I heard a commotion behind me and realized that the setup had attracted a small crowd of people who also wanted to know what the hell was going on. I kept walking and wound up in a beautiful open area with tall glass panels standing like parts of a disconnected wall, depicting various UK historical moments. There was a dramatic water feature in the middle of it beneath massive skylights.
I saw what had to be the final boss of all the sign men, standing with his back to me. I caught my breath, because the form looked familiar.
