Page 35 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

I should text Saz. Leia pulled her phone from her dress’s pocket, typing ‘At Tarquin’s on Shad Thames, all good.’ She hit send and tucked it away, her eyes mimicking a pinball from Tarquin’s Guardians game, ricocheting from one surprise to another: a tall glass-windowed display case painted to look like one of those old British red telephone boxes and a life-size Star Wars Stormtrooper standing guard against a nearby wall. Just the John Williams’ theme, eh? She ran her fingers along the 6’5” tall figure, its white fiberglass dust-free and buffed to a shine. Wow, it’s the real deal. Dad would flip!

She wandered over to the red display case and patted its side. What? Nooo! It’s real, too?! Her pulse tripped in her chest and kept its stammering beat. Tarquin owns a telephone box! She peered through its windows. There are shelves inside—filled with books! Opening the heavy cast-iron door, she studied the titles holding court where a phone used to hang. Hardback business autobiographies, Bill Bryson paperbacks, and Star Wars encyclopedias stood spine against spine with cookbooks, travel guides, and several children’s favorites, including titles by Dr. Seuss and Maurice Sendak.

“I had to have that.”

Leia glanced over her shoulder. Tarquin strolled in, his hands occupied by two colorful beverages, ice cubes tinkling.

“You know me—savior of discarded things.” He laughed. “So many of these old boys are being sentenced to the scrap heap. I bought it at auction, had it restored. Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“I love it. So much.” She closed the weighty door and brushed her hand along its edge. “I had no idea you could buy them, though.” Taking her St. Clement’s from Tarquin, her smile swept the tidy living room, easily five times the size of her post-divorce studio apartment in New York. “Your home is incredible. The building is so huge and close to the Thames. Was it a warehouse before?”

“It was a brewery, dating back to 1871.” He sipped his raspberry soft drink. “They converted it into flats about thirty years ago. The views from my top floors are spectacular. Not Shard spectacular, but still nice.”

“Top floors—plural?” She stuttered, catching a familiar face smiling up from the hardwood—Ava’s fuzzy unicorn, awaiting its journey to Orkney.

“Yeah. There are five floors, outdoor terraces on every level.”

Leia gulped.

He chuckled as if fully aware of how crazy that sounded. “I know. It’s a lot for one person.” He scratched his chest through his black sweater. “And a cat.”

Eee! “You own a cat?” Her eyes scoured the room, free of toys or pet hair.

“Somewhere.” His face fell. “Oh, you’re not allergic…”

“No! I love cats—and dogs. It’s just…you—”

“Don’t seem the type? Yeah, I know. I’d LOVE a dog, but I’m not home enough, so before Christmas, I adopted a feline friend to keep me company.” A grin tweaked his mouth. “She’s a…dog-cat.”

Tarquin’s just a big ol’ softie! Leia’s smile grew. “A cat who thinks she’s a dog?”

“Exactly! Her name’s Mrs. Chuzzlewit.”

Leia laughed. “What? From the Dickens novel? Oh, you didn’t…”

“I wish I did! But that was the name she came with. Seemed wrong to change it.” He sipped his drink, his eyes settling on her lips. “So! Want the grand tour?”

“Please!” Leia squeezed her glass. Let’s start with your bedroom! Her stomach let out a loud growl, and she cringed. Ugh. How sexy is that?

Tarquin snickered. “We’ll order dinner after, okay?”

Her heart sank. Nooo. This evening is turning into a date. I don’t want to be rude but… just get those trousers off! She nodded. “Sure.”

• • •

Tarquin’s private elevator whisked them straight to the penthouse’s second-highest floor: the tenth-floor rotunda. The steel door slid open, and he apologized in advance for the chill—“The bloody damp sneaks through the glass up here”—then, he introduced the room as “an octagon-shaped reading nook.”

Nook? It’s bigger than my bedroom. Leia’s eyes toured the sparsely decorated, dimly lit space, home to two cobalt blue couches, a small glass table topped with neatly stacked travel and architecture books, and a well-loved drum kit. Several large framed black and white photographs of old buildings adorned the walls, but apart from the rotunda’s floor-sweeping curtains and the steel ladder leading up to the domed-roof gallery, that was it. No floor lamps, no pillows, no cat…not even a whisker. Leia kept a chuckle to herself. Nice mood lighting. Is this part of his seduction routine?

“You’re gonna love the 360-degree view…it’s pretty unrivalled.” Tarquin left his glass on the table and traded Leia for one of the curtains, the soaring glass windows guaranteed to show London in all its glory.

“Wow, 360, eh?” Leia glanced down at her drink. I bet it’s incredible, but that’s not why I’m here. Damn. Should I make the first move?

He grasped the weighty indigo curtain and pulled it back, revealing the distant glow of the financial district.

“Oh! It’s”—Leia’s eyes fell to something much closer—“ah-mazing.” She sucked in a breath, staring at his ass as Tarquin fussed with the curtain’s tieback. Where have YOU been hiding? Under suit jackets and long coats, that’s where!

“You’ve got your pick of terraces—one north, the other south.” He peered beyond the glass. “Ah, bugger, it’s raining”—he tossed a glance over his shoulder—“but come see anyway. It’s definitely worth a look.”