Page 7

I know for a fact that even the smallest room in the hotel costs more than a thousand dollars at this time of year.

But sure enough, at the bottom of the message there’s my booking information. For today, including an early check in from seven this morning, because they’re my best friends and they know I’ll probably be exhausted.

While I’m waiting for my bags to arrive around the carousel, I quickly Google the best way to get to Covent Garden, where The Hunt Hotel is located. Originally we were booked into a budget hotel south of the river, but this part of London is so much easier to get to. I smile when I see that all I have to do is take an underground train to Tottenham Court Road and walk for about ten minutes.

I’m not smiling twenty minutes later when I’m pulling my luggage off the belt and the second case is missing a wheel. With some skill it’s maneuverable, but I still look like I’m dragging a reluctant toddler into the airport train station where I wait for my tube train.

By the time I step out of the train at Tottenham Court Road Station, it feels like London is waking up. A glance at my Apple watch, which very kindly has updated itself to local time, tells me it’s almost seven.

All I can think about is that soft, warm bed waiting for me. Not even the scrape of my broken wheel against metal as I step onto the escalator with my luggage is enough to ruin the anticipation of that. And even better, when I step out of the station onto the streets of London, the sun is rising up over the high roofs, casting an orange glow across the shop fronts.

I take a left, following the instructions that my phone is kindly announcing into my earbuds, only making two wrong turns before I finally find my way to the old stucco buildings that circle Covent Garden.

Just like at Tottenham Court Road, the streets are full of delivery vans and bikers. Garbage trucks pick up oversized trash cans, the loud shattering of glass echoing through the metal as they empty. I’m just about to cross the road toward the hotel when I feel something strange press against my leg.

It’s furry. And black. I let out a scream, because I’ve heard stories of the huge rats that run wild through London. But then I see a little red collar around its neck and I know it’s not a rat. It’s more feline and beautiful than any rodent could be.

“Hey,” I say, scooting down. The cat looks up at me with striking green eyes. “What are you doing outside?” I murmur, stroking her soft fur. She looks recently groomed and she’s definitely not a stray. “It’s dangerous out here. You should be curled up by a fire.”

The cat tilts her head and lets out a low rumble of a purr. Then, before I can even curl my hands around her collar, she arches her back and launches herself into the road.

Right as a black car swings around the corner.

Oh God. My stomach contracts as the distance between them shortens. And without a second thought, I launch myself into the road after the cat.

Everything happens at once. I trip over the curb, the cat lets out a screech, and the car hits its brakes, stopping hard as I land in an ungraceful heap on the cobblestones, my arms and legs splayed out like a starfish.

My head hurts. My toe is throbbing from where I stubbed it on the curb. And I stare up at the salmon-colored sky and wonder how I can get up and walk away with any semblance of grace.

“Jesus Christ, are you hurt?”

The voice is deep and low. I lift my head to see a man towering over me. God, he’s tall.

I blink, taking in his thick, wavy hair. It’s the kind of brown that could be tinged with red in the right kind of sun exposure, but right now it’s dark and mahogany, with the kind of gloss most women would pay fortunes to achieve. It’s perfectly matched by his thick eyebrows, that are currently scrunched tight as he stares down at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m about to die or not.

“Can you hear me?” he asks, his voice so deliciously British I feel like I must be watching a movie.

My eyes catch his, and I feel the weirdest sensation in my chest. I open my mouth, trying to think of what to say, but no words come out. Just a long, soft sigh that makes his brows furrow even tighter, like I’m about to let out a death rattle.

“Hallo?” He clears his throat. “Please say something to let me know you can hear me.”

“Um, hi?” I manage to sit up. God, my coat is covered in mud.

He blinks at my voice, like he’s just realizing I’m not from around here.

“Are you hurt?” he asks again, running his thumb across his sharp jaw.

“I…” I shake my head. God, am I concussed? Is he really here? Isn’t there a movie where a woman hit her head and landed in her favorite romcom, only to find out it was all a dream? “Yeah, I think so,” I say, touching the back of my head to make sure it’s still there.

He reaches out a hand, and I take it. His fingers wrap around mine and it’s stupid, but I feel every inch of my body tingle. By the time I’m upright, I’m blushing like crazy.

“You didn’t look,” he says, once I’m fully upright.

“I’m sorry?” I frown.

“You didn’t look before you walked into the road.”

“I was trying to save the cat,” I say. “You didn’t hit her, did you?”