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“Anything you fancy?” Liam asked.
Maybe they should’ve gone back home. Being around Liam’s accent was chipping away at her resolve to not find everything he said entertaining, adorable, and downright extraordinary. If only she could bottle it up and pop it open whenever she was feeling sad.
“I think I saw a Pizza Hut down the road,” she responded.
He gave her an odd look.
“What?” she asked. “Do you have something against Pizza Hut, too?”
“No. But there is a time and a place for Pizza Hut. Your first meal in the center of London is not that time nor that place.”
Seriously. Everything he said. Adorable.
They passed by a perfectly symmetrical Christmas tree in the courtyard of the Houses of Parliament, a white star perched on the top.
“Alright, then if it’s not Pizza Hut, where are we gonna go?”
“Greggs.”
“Greggs,” she repeated. “And what is Greggs?”
“They’re a bakery chain.”
She raised her brow, imagining a quaint shop with pastries, colorful tables to sit at, and white chef hats.
“We’re having baked goods for lunch?” She could get behind that.
They stopped at the side of the road, “Look Left” written in bold letters at their feet.
He led the way forward across the street. “There’s more to a bakery than donuts and eclairs.”
How that was possible, Claire didn’t know. But what she did know was that whatever this Greggs was, she couldn’t wait to try it out—especially if it was charming-Englishman-approved.
ELEVEN
This was Greggs?
Claire glanced around the small, rectangular shop, raising an eyebrow. She’d been imagining something cozy and quaint, a quintessential bakery. But this looked like nothing more than a miniature grocery store.
The flooring was broken up into black and white checkers on one side and light, slanted wood on the other. Refrigerators lined the back of the store, holding various drinks, sandwiches, and salads, while the other side of the shop displayed stands with plain baguettes and a wide variety of chips.
It was clean, she’d give it that. And the smell inside was fantastic. But Liam had made it sound like a high-end, not-to-be-missed bakery. This had to be just a fast-food joint.
“This is better than a Pizza Hut?” she asked as they joined the line that stretched to the back end of the store.
He nodded. “Trust me.”
Claire hmphed under her breath. Trust him? She barely knew him. She’d been disappointed by people she’d known for years, all of whom she should have been able to rely on. Why would he be any different?
The line behind them grew as they inched forward across the shop. Apparently, everyone in London had had the same idea to eat lunch there that afternoon. The food couldn’t be that bad if there were this many people here to eat it, right? Then again, there were some fast-food chains that always had eternal lines that spoke nothing of the value of their food.
“So what’s good here?” she asked.
“Nearly everything,” Liam responded. “I’d recommend getting one of the savory pastries at the front.”
Claire peered past the line to where the cashiers stood behind glass pastry displays decorated with snowflake window clings. The pastries did look appetizing with their glistening, golden crusts. But then, who knew what was inside each one? She wasn’t crazy mistrusting of foreign food, but what if they held some weird British concoction she couldn’t stomach, or what if she ended up with food poisoning like Tasha and Melody?
Pulling her lips to the side, Claire glanced to the refrigerated sandwiches instead. Those would probably be her best bet—something that let her see exactly what she was eating.
