Next to him, Sasha rolled her eyes. “You and eggs,” she said again. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
After a restless night, Tom discharged himself as early as he could from the hospital, before the sun had even begun to rise. He gathered his things and took an Uber to the nearest Avis. He rented a small car for the rest of the week, figuring it was probably a good idea to have two vehicles. He knew that if Sasha’s dress design session didn’t go well, she would refuse to leave until it did. For Tom, that was an unpalatable thought. He didn’t want to linger at his mother’s house, didn’t want to have time to wallow in the past when he could bury himself in work and the grime of the city.
With a sigh, he started on the long road to his mother’s place, watching as the small town near where she lived turned into long and winding country roads. About twenty minutes from home, a car ahead stood stationary on the road, hazards flashing, and Tom slowed. A man waved him down, a cell phone clutched in his hand, but Tom carried on past him. Sasha would kill him if he was late for the wedding planners, would kill him if he missed playing the happy groom for the wedding designer, and he couldn’t afford to invoke any more of her ire. He felt a momentary flash of guilt, because under normal circumstances he would stop and assist, but right now he was tired and feelingmore than a little blue, and he didn’t want another fight with Sasha to pull him down further.
Tom glanced in the rearview mirror and abruptly swore, pulling his car to a sudden stop. Behind the stationary vehicle, sitting on the grass verge with her head resting on her knees, was a little girl. She was small and tired-looking, and Tom swore again before he opened his door, stepping out onto the grass.
A lone traveller he was happy to ignore, but not a kid. Tom knew that in this part of the world they might be by the side of that road for hours waiting for roadside services, and, at heart, he was a good guy. He didn’t like to see children suffer.
He plastered a fake smile on his face and headed to the man he’d passed earlier. “Can I help at all?” he asked.
“Oh, thank God,” the man replied, grinning at him. “I thought you were gonna drive right past us, to be honest.”
“No, not me,” Tom lied, feeling more than a little ashamed. “What’s up?”
“The car stopped, and my phone doesn’t work here,” the man explained. “Any chance I can use yours to call the rental office?”
“It’s a rental?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, we just got into town,” the man said, scratching his head tiredly. “It’s been a long journey, and we’re exhausted. Do you mind if I use your phone? I can pay you for the call and...”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Here.” He handed over his cell.
The man grinned again, and something about his smile, something about his face and the handsome curves to his cheek, made Tom stop.
“Have we met before?” Tom asked slowly, but the man shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh,” Tom said, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just... you look familiar to me. I don’t know where to place you though.”
The man gave him another smile. “Well, I am kind of, well, famous, in my field.”
“Oh. That must be it.”
He must be an actor, Tom decided. A man that handsome, that ruggedly well-built, with a megawatt smile like he had, was made for the screen. He’d probably seen him on one of those terrible Netflix shows Sasha liked to watch.
Tom watched as the man punched in a number and held the phone to his ear. When he started to speak, giving details about his journey and the problem with the car, Tom remembered the little girl behind the vehicle and turned to her.
Surprisingly, she was looking up at him, and something about her eyes, about the curve of her face, made him pause again.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hello,” she replied, in a soft voice, a voice that was childlike and silky and British, of all things.
“You’re English,” Tom remarked, thoroughly confused. Because the man she was with, a man who Tom could now hear speaking rapidly in Spanish, had all the markings of an American accent.
“Yes,” she replied, still staring up at him with those eyes. They were unnervingly familiar to him, so big and wide, the brown of her irises flecked with gold. Her hair hung in honey-coloured waves around her face, and faint freckles dotted her nose. Tom’s stomach felt tight, his skin inexplicably hot, and he stared at her.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked him suddenly. “You look pale.”
“I was, uh, in an accident yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“I crashed a plane,” Tom added, even though there was no need to say anything further.
