"This must be true love." Phe bounces on her heels. "I’m so happy. I can’t believe it."
“Can’t believe what?” Her husband Connor stands in the doorway.
Phe turns to him happily. “James and Harper are getting married.”
23
James
“Whoa, that’s some set of wheels.” She takes in my Jaguar and whistles. “Very different to the Wrangler you dropped me off in last time.”
Her words take me right back to the evening we met five years ago. So much has changed since. A part of me feels wistful for the people we were. Of how innocent we both were then.
I hold the passenger door open.
She steps up.
Instead of stepping back to give her space, I can’t resist moving slightly closer. She brushes past me, then stops and gives me a frown. “Excuse me.”
“You’re excused.”
She looks cute with the furrow between her eyebrows that I can’t stop myself from bending down and brushing my lips over hers.
Instantly, she melts into me. I allow the kiss to deepen. Allow that familiar heat to melt the coldness in my chest.
She moans, sways closer. Instantly, I’m hard. Fuck. I need to control myself better around her.
I step back. She looks up at me in confusion.
“There might be people watching. Didn’t want to embarrass you.” I shrug.
Considering it’s almost one a.m. and the roads are empty, the chances of someone watching us are very low. But hey, I’m not lying, am I? It was an excuse to both kiss her and to step back.
She gives me a smile which is, clearly, fake. “Duh, of course, I know that.”
She slips inside the car. I shut the door, round the car and slide into the driver’s seat. I turn on the ignition and classical music plays softly in the background.
“Oh, this hasn’t changed.” She turns to me with a big smile on her face. “You still play classical music in your car.”
“Still think it doesn’t suit my personality?”
That’s what she told me then.
She looks out the windshield, taking her time replying.
“I think…classical music is exactly like you. Precise, mathematical, complex and yet, so very creative.”
I turn on the heater, make sure her seat belt is locked in, then key her address into the navigation. It’s different from where I dropped her off five years ago.
I ease the car onto the road.
“Is that a compliment?” I shoot her a sideways glance.
“It’s a—” She shakes her head. “Yes, it’s a compliment,” she says with a small laugh.
The sound is like poetry. When my lips curve, I realize I’m smiling.
We drive in silence, past shuttered hipster cafés and swank boutiques, glowing corner shops, and kebab joints still open. The usual London mix.
