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Not all Englishmen were created equal.
* * *
Liam Everhart stormed through the airport, clutching his carry-on as it rolled behind him. He readjusted his coat over his shoulders and stared straight ahead, avoiding everyone and everything. He couldn’t afford another delay. After spending way too long tracking down his suitcase, he’d missed his small window to grab a bite to eat. Now he’d have to head straight to work in order to not be late to yet another meeting.
As if he hadn’t worked enough for those soul-sucking leeches already, going to France on a last-minute trip that was supposed to extend over Christmas—not to mention the last eight years of life he’d wasted at Peregrine Productions. And how had they repaid him after all of that? Giving away what was rightfully his.
He shook his head, forcing away any last thought of the ungrateful gits. He had only one more day of work before his week off began, then he wouldn’t have to spend a single minute more thinking about the injustice of it all—or about how monumentally disappointed his mum would be if she ever discovered what had occurred at his job.
Of course, Liam didn’t have to worry about that, as he had no intention of ever informing her of the fact. Just like he had no intention of telling her what had happened between him and the woman at the baggage claim.
A pair of baby blue eyes and wavy blonde hair flashed across his mind, and regret prodded at his heart. From the minute Liam had started speaking with the woman, her innocence regarding his luggage had cried out like a lamb-eyed child.
It wasn’t her fault he was in a terrible mood. He was a train with a bad attitude, and she’d just happened to tread on his tracks. Never mind that she had been from the States, reminding him of the ill-fated phone call from his boss he’d received moments before setting off for London. He never should have told her off.
Doing his best to set aside any residual regret, Liam weaved his way past holiday travelers and large Christmas trees, eventually making his way outside to the shuttle waiting area where he breathed in the brisk, damp air.
He was grateful to be back on English soil, even if it meant spending Christmas with his mum. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being with her. This time of year was simply too painful a reminder of all they had lost. The holiday was far easier when they were both occupied with their careers.
Of course, with his career now on the line, it seemed as good a time as any to step away from work for a bit. Besides, he’d left his mum alone on Christmas for too long. It was time to make it up to her, to show her that her son wasn’t entirely worthless.
Who knew, maybe if he did enough for her, he’d be able to relinquish the still-present regret for how he’d treated the American. He didn’t know why he felt such guilt anyway. Heaven knew he’d never see the woman again.
THREE
After being reunited with her actual carry-on, Claire finally met with Melody and her aunt—or Tasha, as she directed Claire to call her immediately upon their meeting.
Once she’d apologized for the delay, avoiding any mention of the jerk who’d accused her of stealing his luggage, Claire left the airport with the others in Tasha’s zippy, red BMW, heading to their first stop of the day.
“I hope you’re excited to see the set designs, Claire,” Tasha said from the driver’s seat on the right side as they neared their destination. “Melody tells me you love Harry Potter as much as the both of us.”
Having married a Brit and then living in England for over thirty years, the woman’s accent was primarily British, though she pronounced the occasional, errant “r.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Claire said. She had been the one to suggest going to the studio tour when she and Melody had planned out their trip together. “I even had a dream about it on the flight last night.”
“You’re in the right company, then,” Tasha responded. “This will be my third time going to the studios.”
Claire smiled. She had been so worried that she’d be imposing on Melody and her aunt’s time together. But in less than an hour, Tasha’s warmth and encouragement had mollified all of Claire’s concerns, especially as the three of them spent the next six hours walking through the Harry Potter set designs, gaping at all the props and costumes, enjoying multiple tankards of butterbeer, and spending far too much time and money in the gift shop.
What made the whole experience even more magical were the sets decorated in snow and icicles, bringing Christmas front and center to their visit.
Claire was so enthralled with the entire experience and was treated so kindly by everyone throughout the tour, that by the time they’d finished, she’d nearly forgotten all about her encounter at the airport. The guy must have just been an anomaly that was her bad luck to meet in her first moments in England—bad luck that seemed to have finally lifted.
When they left the tour and were greeted once again by the frigid rain, their small group warmed up at a local pub, enjoying hearty plates of sausage and mash before heading to Tasha’s home.
Jet lag had been following Claire all day long, but sleep never had the chance to catch up until the moment they settled in the car. She hadn’t even realized she’d drifted off until the BMW stopped, finally arriving in Brook Green, London well after dark.
Claire straightened, ignoring her cricked neck and climbing out of the car. “How far away are we from central London?”
“About a quarter of an hour east,” Tasha responded, “dependent on traffic.”
Tasha and Melody insisted on carrying Claire’s luggage for her, so she followed behind them as she peered up at the row of red houses visible even in the cold darkness. White trim framed each window, and a green-leafed archway highlighted the entrance to Tasha’s place.
Any time of year, the apartments would no doubt stand out for their crisp coziness, but now, all Claire could think of was how delightfully Christmassy they appeared.
Soon enough, they entered the home, a short hallway to the left and a thin set of stairs to the right.
“Bedrooms and bathroom are upstairs,” Tasha explained, closing the door behind her and securing the lock. “Kitchen and sitting room are straight through there. Shall we have a cuppa before bed? Hot chocolate? Warm Vimto? Peppermint tea?”
