Page 18 of The Meet Queue-t
“Hey,” Thelma calls. “You there. Boy.”
Brandon turns, full of aggression and way too much testosterone, but when he sees her, he stops. In Thelma, he’s more than met his match. She’s a force of nature, and I lose myself in a daydream of her tornado-sweeping him headfirst into the Thames, just as he deserves.
She prods him in the arm with her stick, and I come back to earth. This isn’t as good as the Thames, but I’ll take what I can get. “Your girlfriend left,” she tells him.
For a second, I don’t think he processes it. Then he swears and spins, looking for Gracie. I can’t see her, either. If she’s left him—finally—good for her.
“Why don’t you go look for her?” I ask him, leaning into Oliver’s warmth. “Before she escapes, just like I did.”
He swears again, spitting the word at me, and gives me the finger before he storms back through the crowd. A few people laugh. Some clap, though they’re applauding Thelma, not me. My hands are still shaking.
Top tip: when dealing with unwanted men, use a stick.
Thelma clucks her tongue. “Men like that are why I never married.”
I tip my head back into Oliver’s shoulder, twisting so my mouth is close to his ear. “She’s my idol,” I whisper.
He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he whispers back, “You already have the hair.”
I giggle, and Thelma turns her attention to us, clacking her stick against the ground decisively. Maybe it’s my imagination, but Oliver seems to straighten under her gaze. After a moment, she nods and returns to her place through the crowd. Slowly, attention drifts away from us.
I twist in Oliver’s arms so I’m looking up at him, and his head tilts to look down at me, the corners of his mouth pulling into a wry grin. It’s not quite daybreak, but it’s getting closer, and the darkness has been replaced with a soft grey light.
“What are the chances she would have beaten him if he didn’t move?” he whispers.
“Certain,” I whisper back. His other hand settles on my other hip, and the embrace feels so natural, I don’t even question it. The blanket draped across one of his shoulders slides down his back like a blue cape. “She’s a tyrant, I think.”
“Good thing she stepped in. I don’t think I’m quite as formidable.”
He’s not. But I smile up at him anyway. “I appreciate you sticking up for me. I can’t believe I wasted four years of my life with that guy.”
“A friend of mine did a full medical degree before deciding it wasn’t for him and going into economics.”
“Are you comparing Brandon to a medical degree?”
Oliver wrinkles his nose. “Yes?”
“Unfair comparison. A medical degree is useful.”
He laughs, the sound unexpectedly rich, and not-unwelcome warmth unfurls in my chest. I’m going to regret this tomorrow, but that’s a problem for Future Tessa. For now, I just want to sink into this moment like a hot bath. His hands are still on my hips, and mine are tucked together against his chest, fingers curled into my palms. The boundaries between what’s real and what isn’t are blurring—neither of us has stopped pretending, even though Brandon’s gone.
And honestly? This doesn’t even feel like pretending. Even though we’re standing in a queue of people large enough to make history—or so he thinks—I feel as though we’re alone in this moment. Just us.
His eyes dance between mine, and Thelma’s voice replays in my head.I’ve been looking for a man like that all my life.
In the end, it’s fear that makes me lean away. Not because I don’t like this feeling with him—no, that’s not the problem at all. The problem is I like it altogether too much.
Chapter Six
Itfeelslikeforeverand no time at all before we reach our destination. The closer we get, the more my stomach curls itself into knots. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. Ahead, rising into the sky with its gothic towers, is Westminster Hall. There’s still a snaking queue leading inside, but we’re so close I can almost taste it. Although I’ve been awake all night, I’m wired up on coffee and anticipation, and as everyone moves inexorably on in quiet reverie, I hop from foot to foot.
“Tessa.” Oliver takes my arm, halting me mid-step. “You’re makingmenervous.”
“How does it feel?” I ask, looking at his face. Day has well and truly dawned now, and I can see the slightly bronzed colour to his skin and the precise shade of his brown eyes. Both things I could have stood not knowing, seeing as I’m never going to see him again. The more things I know about him, the more I’ll have to miss.
“How does what feel?”
“Being part of history.”
