Something in my voice makes her tilt her head. “You do mean, of London, don’t you? Because …”
“Of London, of course. Strictly the cityscape. Nothing else,” I say, but I wink. The city isn’t the only view I will be appreciating.
She looks at me primly. “You know, you’re not allowed to flirt with me unless we’re around your ex or my George.”
“Not even a little?”
She shakes her head. “I’m afraid not.”
A cool breeze comes off the river as she smartly outmaneuvers me and gets to the ticket stand before I do. I follow her, cursing inside that she’s managed to get in front of me and do that twice now today.
The queue goes down pretty fast, and it isn’t long until it’s our turn to get on. She leans against the glass of the capsule and gazes at me speculatively.
“What kind of shampoo or hair gel do you use to get your hair to look so silky and behave so well? George can never get his hair to stay,” she blurts out suddenly over the whoosh of the wheel.
“Tell George to use coconut shampoo,” I say.
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “And no hair gel at all?”
“No, but go ahead and run your fingers through.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head in faux despair. “Completely ridiculous.”
“I prefer the term delightfully ridiculous,” I correct, leaning against the glass beside her, careful to maintain just a hint of space. The tension is delicious, and I’m certain she must feel it too because she tenses slightly.
The capsule begins its slow ascent, giving us a panoramic view of London that is breathtaking. The Thames stretches out and glints beneath us, while St. Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben, The Shard, and the Houses of Parliament stand majestically in the distance.
Pippa’s vibrant hair catches the golden late afternoon sun and glows like fire. She presses her hands against the glass, her nose almost touching it, and I have to admit that she’s adorable. The excitement on her face is real, unfiltered, and seeing it like this makes me want to hold onto the moment forever.
“Do you see that?” she whispers, pointing toward Westminster Bridge. “The people look so tiny, they are little ants scurrying around.”
“I don’t know. They are more like background characters in your personal adventure movie.”
She laughs, turning toward me, her eyes bright. “An adventure movie, huh? I like that. Am I the heroine, then?”
“Absolutely,” I say, matching her playful tone. “I’ll be the charming sidekick, of course. Or maybe the brooding hero who saves the day when things get too terrifying.”
“No, you’re too intimidating to be the charming sidekick,” she says quickly. “You can be the brooding hero who saves the heroine, and then gives her back to George.”
If only she knew how much I take exception to her words. I have no intention of returning her to Mr. Dependability. None. In fact, I am working on a plan to keep her for myself.
As the capsule rises higher, we get a full view of the city, and Pippa gazes out at the city’s sprawling skyline. She points out landmarks she recognizes, and I enjoy hearing her voice describe them. She is animated, excited, and easy to listen to. She makes history and geography sound fun, and I realize just how much energy she puts into experiencing the world around her.
“You know,” I say. “This is a perfect metaphor for you. A slow accent, breathtaking views, occasionally terrifying if you think about it too much, but worth every second.”
She glances at me, smirking. “Are you comparing me to the London Eye now?”
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging with a grin. “But only in the most flattering way. Graceful, beautiful, and full of surprises.”
She laughs again, covering her mouth with her hand. “You really are full of these corny lines, aren’t you?”
“They aren’t lines if someone means them,” I say, letting the words hang in the air. She shifts just a touch, enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her. The tension is subtle, electric, a pull neither of us can deny.
We spend several rotations slowly ascending and descending, while Pippa points out little details along the river and streets below. The sunlight changes, casting long shadows, making the city look both serene and alive at the same time. Pippa moves her hand, and for a second, it brushes against mine, our fingers touching, and I feel a jolt go through me. It’s nothing overt, just the electric recognition that we’re dangerously close to making our fake arrangement a real one.
I don’t know what kind of magic she is casting, but I’m falling for it hook, line, and sinker. I’m even starting to hate George.
“So,” Pippa says, breaking the silence that has fallen between us, her voice soft but teasing. “If you had to choose, which do you like better – the London Eye or the London Dungeon?”
