Chapter 12 #2
He sighs, heading toward the elevator. “Mr. Harris is more of an Emperor Palpatine.” He pauses, lifting the bag of Rocky Road bars. “Thank you again for these, Kaori. Truly. They’re a lifesaver.”
“You’re welcome.” I stand by his office door, watching his retreating form.
Just as the elevator chimes and the doors begin to slide open, I call out one last time. “Theo!” He turns, his hand catching the door to hold it. “Have a safe flight,” I say, offering a small, encouraging wave.
He doesn’t say anything for a heartbeat. Then he just offers a short nod before disappearing into the elevator.
Later that evening, I text Theo.
Kaori
Mission update. We have arrived at Takeuchi’s. Leon has checked his reflection in the glass door three times and counting as we wait for Lina.
I send a slightly blurry picture of our work dad adjusting his lapels.
Theo
Might be the only time I’ve seen him in a full suit and tie.
Kaori
That’s what I was thinking.
Theo
Tell him he looks sharp. And remind him to keep the conversation centered on Lina.
Kaori
I will.
I giggle. That’s much better than the “wisdom” Derrick and Andy were trying to dispense on the car ride over.
Derrick said, “Show off your alpha energy by telling her how you solved the hydraulic-failure issue on the Hurricane Harbor coaster. Chicks dig heroes.”
Andy wasn’t much better. “Play it cool by checking your watch every couple minutes. It’ll show Lina you have great taste in accessories and be a natural conversation starter.”
Thank goodness Amaya and Ela had gently reminded the guys that, one, Lina isn’t an engineer and a hydraulic lecture might make her fall asleep before the second course. And two, if Leon kept checking his watch, he’d look like he was counting down the seconds until he could escape.
Two hours later, I send Theo another text.
Kaori
Update: The “alpha energy” has been successfully contained. Leon brought up orchids and it’s like a light went off. Lina apparently has a large collection. Also, they both enjoy the same type of music—MJ, Bon Jovi, Guns N’ Roses, you get the gist.
Thirty minutes later . . .
Kaori
I think we’ve officially been fired as wingmen.
Kaori
They ditched us! We’re currently sitting here with an empty bottle of sake, a lot of leftover ginger, and the bill. Mission accomplished?
Kaori
Hope the flight is smooth.
Theo
So far, so good. Thanks for the updates. It’s keeping me entertained. Glad to hear Leon and Lina hit it off.
Kaori
Happy to be of service.
I stare at the three dancing dots on the screen.
Theo
Text whenever you like, Kaori. Wish you were here. Could use a friend.
The words feel different than our usual banter. My thumb hovers over the keyboard as a rush of warmth flares up inside me.
Kaori
Don’t worry, I will. Consider me your London-to-Orlando lifeline. Good night.
Theo
Good night.
I lock my phone and set it down. Around me, the restaurant is a blur of clinking glasses and the guys still arguing over the check, but my mind is four thousand miles away. He didn’t just ask for updates; he asked for me.
It’s the weekend again. I’ve got Spotify streaming the new Taylor Swift album, and the opening chords of track three fill the room as I hunch over my tablet, stylus in hand, chasing an idea I dreamed about last night. It’s been eating at my brain all morning.
“One more loop here and . . . wait a second.” I zoom out, squint, then groan. “Really? I’ve drawn the Central Line?”
I set the tablet down and stretch, trying to shake the realization that the design I haven’t been able to get out of my head looks exactly like a map of the London Underground. “It’s all your fault, Theo,” I mutter under my breath.
As if the universe has decided to mock me, my phone chimes. I know it’s him before I flip it over and read the name on the screen. Except, it’s not just a text from him. It’s a video request.
I inhale sharply, my heart leaping into my throat. I cast a frantic glance down at my outfit—a soft knit sweater and my favorite jeans. Thank goodness I actually bothered to get dressed this morning. The last thing I would’ve wanted Theo to see was my purple PJs with tiny unicorns on them.
I swipe to accept. Theo’s face appears a moment later. His hair is tousled, and there’s a layer of light-brown fuzz running along his jaw and neckline. He’s sitting at a small kitchen table with a mug in hand.
“Hi,” I say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Um . . . how’s everything going?”
“Fine.” His voice is warm but a touch hesitant. He rubs the back of his neck. “Did I, er . . . catch you in the middle of something important?”
“No.” I hold up my tablet. “I’m just sketching an homage to your home country’s public transportation system. Behold, my new coaster concept, sponsored by Transport for London.”
“Is that . . .” He leans forward, squinting at the screen. “The Underground?”
“It is,” I say.
A faint smile flashes across his mouth. He studies the sketch and finally says in his “boss” tone, “Your flow through the central section is strong. But these turns here”—he gestures with his free hand, tracing an invisible line—“they’re too tight for the velocity you’ll carry off this drop.”
I tilt the tablet, studying it. “You think I should widen it?”
“Not necessarily.” His tone softens. “Just offset the banking a few degrees more on the entry. It’d smooth the transition without killing the excitement.”
I stare at the track line, replaying it in my head. He’s right. “Thanks, I didn’t think of that.” I make a mental note to adjust the curve later. Then, lowering the tablet, I turn my full attention back to him. “How’s your weekend going?”
He exhales through his nose, a sound that’s almost a laugh, though it’s laced with a deep, bone-weary fatigue. “Dreadfully slow.”
“Slow?” I echo. “That’s not a word I usually associate with you.”
“London’s a brilliant city,” he says after a pause, eyes drifting off-screen for a moment, “but my people are five time zones away.”
My heart gives a frantic, uneven little thump. My people. It’s such a simple phrase, yet it feels like he’s just handed me a key to a door I wasn’t sure I was allowed to open.
“What about your grandmother? Could you go visit her?”
He nods once. “In theory, yes. But weekends like this, the motorways are a mess. One accident on the M4 and you’re stuck crawling the whole way.”
“What about the train?”
“Too slow for me.”
“How far is Devon from where you are now?”
“About three and a half hours if the traffic behaves. Or five hours by train.” He lifts his mug slightly, his expression wry. “If I had my bike, I’d consider it. The ride’s actually beautiful.”
I arch a brow, leaning back against my sofa cushions. “What exactly do you have against cars or trains, Mr. Riverton? Aside from the lack of wind in your hair?”
He takes a sip from his mug, thinking. “The sitting-still part. I need movement. Patience has never been my strong suit.”
I shift on the couch, curling one leg under me. “Was that always true? Even when you were a kid?”
“Yes.” He chuckles under his breath. “Ask my teachers. I was a nightmare student. The one who’d finish an assignment in ten minutes just so I could be done with it. Then I’d spend the rest of class dismantling the school’s toys to see if I could make them work better.”
I can see it so clearly—a young, miniature version of the man on my screen, probably with the same intense brow and restless hands, making life difficult for some poor primary-school teacher while he “optimized” a wooden train set. “Did you?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” he admits, a glint of boyish pride in his eyes. “More often, I was sent to the headmaster’s office for destructiveness before I got the chance to put them back together. They didn’t see the vision, Kaori.”
I study the crease in his shirtsleeve, the way his fingers curl loosely around the mug, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “Did you always know you wanted to be an engineer?” I ask.
“Yes. My grandad worked in attraction design, and I wanted to be exactly like him.” He offers a self-conscious shrug.
“My mother was hoping I’d be a surgeon, but I would’ve been a terrible doctor.
Machines make sense. If something’s broken, you can find the fault and fix it.
People aren’t like that. Too many variables. ”
He stares into his mug for a second, his expression unreadable.
“Maybe that’s why my parents’ divorce didn’t surprise me.
They were two variables that simply couldn’t be solved together.
My mum moved back to France as soon as the papers were signed, and my father left me with Nan and Grandad.
I think I learned early on that it’s easier to focus on a mechanical problem than a domestic one. ”
I stay quiet for a beat. Hearing about his parents explains a lot about why he is the way he is. So quiet and always lingering in the background. I want nothing more than to offer him a great big hug.
The nature of our relationship is changing. He’s more than just a boss and a friend to me. He’s . . . I pause. I don’t even know exactly what to label it. No word feels right. He’s just my Theo. Yes, mine.
“What’s your story?”
For a moment, I consider giving a light answer. But Theo deserves the real one. He’s just shared something incredibly personal with me, and I know he didn’t do that lightly. If he’s willing to let me see the cracks in his foundation, the least I can do is show him some of mine.
“Do you remember how I was in the hallway the day the power went out?” I ask softly.
He sets his mug down immediately. “Yes.”
I look away from the screen, inhaling deeply. “When I was eight, the—” I catch myself. “The place where I was living was undergoing renovations. One night, there was an electrical malfunction. A fire started in a room down the hall from mine.”
Theo doesn’t move or interrupt.