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“You landed on your feet. Hackney’s cool.”

“It’s only temporary. I’m staying with a friend.”

“Well, that’s the best way to feel at home in a new city, living with friends. When I moved here, an actor mate set me up with his spare room. I think he wanted me there as a buffer from his other flatmate. He’s a dentist, so he drones on about bicuspids and root canals. Wanna trade?”

Alex tugged on the hem of her Batman tee, pulling it towards the pockets of her skinny jeans. “Ooh, that’s tempting, but he’ll probably confiscate my licorice. Can’t have that.”

“That’s true.” He leaned forward. “What are you doing now?”

“Just off to do some writing. Why?”

“Fancy a little London adventure? Ever ridden a Vespa?”

Alex bounced up on her toes. “Really? I’d love to!”

“It’s your lucky day then.” Mark handed the helmet to her. “Put this on. I’ve only the one, but I’d feel better if you wore it. Hop on and hold tight.”

Alex eased a leg over the seat, her chest brushing against Mark’s back. Her open knees grazed the outside of his upper thighs. She inhaled, seduced by the light Burberry scent lingering on his neck. She held her breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. The muggy weather meant he wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a black button-down shirt paired with dark jeans. Her hands felt the outline of toned abs underneath the fabric—not too bulky or six-pack perfect—Mark was just right. She felt self-conscious, hugging him so closely…so intimately.

“Don’t be shy,” said Mark, reading her mind. “Hold tighter. I can’t risk losing you, can I?”

• • •

Mark took advantage of the chance to give his new Anglophile friend a proper taste of London. He zoomed through Hackney and Cambridge Heath towards Whitechapel. He pointed out the pubs where Jack the Ripper was rumoured to have stalked his victims and then sped off towards central London.

Pressed against Mark’s back, Alex was deliriously giddy. She couldn’t blame the sights whizzing past her. Mark’s intoxicating scent, and the heat of his body underneath her arms, her chest, her cheek…such a heady cocktail. She worried about hyperventilating—so unattractive!—but Mark’s gentle words, wafting over his shoulder at every red light, checking to see if she was okay, calmed her runaway imagination. He was so much more than just a pretty face.

They stopped for an ice cream outside the Tower of London, stumbled across St. Bart’s Hospital—scene of Cumberbatch’s famous ‘Reichenbach fall’ in Sherlock—and got sore necks gazing up at the heavens inside St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“You’ve got to see the old narrow streets across from St. Paul’s.” Mark hopped back on the Vespa. “Bow Lane, just off Watling Street…you’ll feel like you’re in a Dickens novel…well, apart from the hairdressers and take-aways.”

“How do you know all these cool hidden streets?”

“Perks of being an actor, I guess. My cast mates dragged me to the Ye Olde Watling pub after our one-off performance at the Bridewell Theatre.”

“A closing night party…for a one-off? That’s hardcore.” Alex stretched a leg over the Vespa’s seat and lifted the helmet above her head.

“Welcome to London, kid. Any excuse to end up in a pub,” said Mark with a laugh.

• • •

The Vespa dodged double-decker buses, honking taxis, and tourists stepping blindly into traffic. Trafalgar Square, guarded by its pride of four bronze lions, begged for a photo op. Who was Mark to decline? He snapped several selfies with Alex, the two of them huddled between a lion’s mammoth paws.

They zipped through the majestic Admiralty Arch, down The Mall with its Union Jack flags waving in the breeze, and around the sweeping roundabout in front of Buckingham Palace. At Alex’s insistence, Mark parked and let her treat him to a thank you lunch from a refreshment kiosk in St. James’s Park. They lazed in two of the park’s famous green and white striped deck chairs, soaking up the unrelenting sunshine while ducks bobbed and swans honked in the nearby pond.

“You’re a bad influence, Mark Keegan. I should be hunched over my laptop, surrounded by coffee-sipping hipsters, not eating cheese sandwiches in the park.”

“You were surprisingly easy to corrupt. I like that in a woman,” said Mark, raising a cheeky eyebrow and stealing her sunglasses to try on.

Warmth flooded Alex’s cheeks. She refreshed her parched mouth with a sip of cola. “Don’t let this innocent face fool you. Maybe it’s the other way around…I’m corrupting you.”

“Really now?” His brown eyes popped over the rims of her sunglasses. “Hmm. Well, I did have a monologue to learn this afternoon, but I couldn’t disappoint you. Your eyes! When you sussed my Vespa, they lit up brighter than Blackpool Illuminations. I had to snatch you away.”

“Perceptive! Yep, you got me—guilty as charged. I’m using you for your wheels. I love scooters. Can’t get enough of Quadrophenia.”

Mark gasped with a smirk. “You only want me for my Vespa? Shame, that.” He took a swig of his lemonade. “But if we’re being honest, full disclosure…I only like you for your American accent…”

“I thought Europeans hated Americans?”