“What?” She’s genuinely shocked and confused, but then her expression dissolves into anger. “Why not?”
I reach down and grab her hand. Earlier, I noticed how she avoided holding my hand after our impromptu tryst in the alley. I noticed the distance she started to put between us, and I didn’t like it. I hold her hand tightly as we walk back toward my flat.
“Maybe I don’t want you to leave,” I say casually.
“Ben, this wasn’t my plan. I didn’t come to London to find a fuck buddy.”
That stings just a bit.
I stop and turn to face her. “I know what you came to London for, Milly, and I’m not going to stop you from seeing and experiencing everything it has to offer. I would never do that, but I’m also not ready to give up whatever is happening between us either.”
There’s hesitation on her face; I can see it darkening her normally bright blue eyes. Maybe she didn’t want what I wanted; maybe she didn’t feel everything that I’ve felt over the past twenty-four hours. But at least I tried. And I know that I’m not an asshole, so I tell her, “Look, if this isn’t what you want, if I’m not what you want, then I’ll help you find someplace to stay for the next few weeks.”
“Thank you, Ben,” she says quietly, and that’s all she says for the rest of the night.
In the morning, before I leave to head to meet my accountant and review the week’s payroll, I leave the spare key to my flat on the kitchen counter along with a map of the London Underground. I scribble out a quick note and leave it tucked inside for her. Milly came to London to cure her wanderlust, and I’m going to give her the space to do it.
Milly
Ben is gone when I wake up, and the flat is incredibly quiet, which is unsettling. There’s a key and a map on the counter. and I catch a glimpse of a piece of paper tucked inside the map. I tug it free and read the note scrawled on it.Have fun looking at old shit. – Ben
There’s also a French press on the counter with a bag of coffee next to it. I wonder when he had time to go out and get the coffee.
I scan the map while I wait for the coffee to brew, studying it so that I don’t get lost again. It was so embarrassing to call Ben last night and even more embarrassing to admit that I simply hadn’t paid attention to where I was going. I don’t plan on making that mistake again. Today is all about the British Museum. I plan on spending the day there, getting lost amongst the mummies instead.
After a long day of wandering around the massive museum, I’m disappointed when I return to Ben’s flat and it’s still empty. I’m bursting at the seams, eager to discuss my day with someone. A quick check of the time and some simple math means that I still have plenty of time to call Holly. Except she doesn’t answer and I refuse to leave a voicemail.
The next morning, Ben is gone again when I wake up, but the French press that I left in the sink yesterday is clean and waiting for me. Gone is my gusto for exploration.You didn’t travel all this way just to have an affair with a hot British bartender, I remind myself.You came here to see the world so get out there and experience it!
God, I can be so rational sometimes.
It’s raining outside, so I bundle up in a thick, wool sweater, a pair of skinny jeans, and my new rain boots. Last night, I made reservations for high tea at Claridge’s. And now that the weather has turned cooler, a comforting pot of tea, freshly baked scones, and some clotted cream might be exactly what I need.
Except it isn’t; not at all. While I sip tea and nibble on cucumber sandwiches, Ben fills my thoughts. I miss the playfulness he showed me during our trip to the V&A. I miss the tender looks and soft kisses. Everything around me is sheer British perfection, but I only really want to be one place.
It’s still raining when I leave Claridge’s and I decide to splurge on one of those iconic black taxis instead of walking to the closest Tube station. When the cabbie drops me off in front of Ben’s pub, it’s packed. People are streaming in and out and one step inside tells me why. The large television screens scattered throughout all display a soccer match. The inside of the pub is wall-to-wall people, one massive sea of bodies that I doubt my ability to make it to the bar. Or to even talk.
I bump into several patrons while trying to make my way up to the bar, and they make their displeasure known quite loudly.
“Whatchit, ya daft slag,” someone half yells, half slurs in my direction.
“Oi, shut your gob, Tom, and leave the poor girl alone,” someone replies, just as loud and just as drunk. I turn just in time to see what I presume to be Tom’s friend leering down at me. “Whatcha got under that coat, dearie? I bet a delicious set of strawberry creams.”
The way he waggles his eyebrows and smiles grotesquely makes me want to puke, and I continue pushing forward until I’m at the front of the bar. But Ben is nowhere in sight. Instead, Tom and his friend are inching closer in my direction.
“Could we buy you a pint, miss?” Tom’s friend asks.
“Or could we perhaps interest you in a game of slap-and-tickle,” Tom adds, his white eyebrows bobbing up and down.
I try to back away from them, but there are so many people that it’s hard to push past them all. Where the fuck is Ben? A hand clamps down on my arm, and I want to scream, but then I hear Ben’s voice growl, “What’s going on, gents?”
“Aw, nothing, Bennie. Just getting to know this pretty lass s’all,” Tom says.
“Leave her the fuck alone, the both of you, or I’ll toss you wankers out,” Ben tells them. Relieved, I sag against Ben when he pulls me tightly against his side, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist. “What are you doing here, Milly?”
“Hoping to talk to you,” I practically shout. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Not bloody likely. Arsenal and Chelsea are playing a death match.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he just smiles and cups my chin with one hand, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. “I’m happy you came in, even if it’s fucking bonkers in here.”
