The Suitcase Swap

Chapter Four

Marisa pounded Tom’s back with the flat of her hand as he choked on his water.

‘That usually only makes it worse,’ Sophie pointed out, surprised that her voice sounded normal. Sitting next to Michael was . . . well. She didn’t know how to describe what it was. Their legs weren’t touching, but she swore she could feel the heat coming off him nonetheless. The subtle spice of his cologne teased her nostrils. She wanted to lean in, like he was a flower in full bloom, and take a sniff.

‘I know,’ Marisa said cheerfully, continuing to smack Tom’s back.

‘You’re hilarious,’ Tom wheezed. ‘Now please stop.’

She laughed, her pounding now replaced by soothing circles. Tom turned to her, kissing her cheek.

Mike leaned close to Sophie, dropping his voice. ‘Is this okay? If I’m intruding, we can swap the suitcases now and I’ll get out of your way.’

He started to stand, but Sophie stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. ‘What were you going to do for dinner?’

He opened his mouth, made a face, then closed it. ‘I would sort something out.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘We’re already here, in this nice restaurant. The food smells amazing. Why not eat with us?’ She dropped her hand. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

He gave a sharp shake of his head. ‘No, no, of course not. If you’re sure.’

Sophie smiled at him. ‘I think today has been very long, and sometimes very bad, but also very good, and I think a nice dinner would put it more squarely into the good column. I don’t know about you, but I could use some more of those kinds of days.’

Michael seemed to accept this, taking the napkin off the table and placing it across his lap.

The waiter stopped by the table, dropping off two delicious-smelling dishes as he took Michael’s drink order.

‘We ordered a few appetizers for the table,’ Sophie said, picking up her spoon and a small plate. ‘I hope that’s okay.’

Michael picked up his own plate, relief on his face. ‘Thank you. I haven’t eaten anything except a handful of mixed nuts since I left the airport.’

‘We got burrata and the dátiles , which are dates stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon,’ Marisa said. ‘Are you a Michael or a Mike?’

‘Mike, usually.’ He filled his small plate before nudging it towards Sophie. ‘This all smells delicious, thank you. Have you been here before?’

As Tom and Marisa launched into a discussion of their favourite dining spots in the area, Sophie put a few things on her plate, trying very hard to pretend that she wasn’t watching Marisa. Tom was doing the same thing, both of them waiting to see if Marisa was eating. Tom had said she hadn’t been very hungry, more just nibbling at things than eating proper meals. He didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, as she was stressed enough already, but he’d also been concerned because she’d started to lose weight.

Marisa continued to chat with Mike as she put one of the dates on her plate. Tom’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned his face to his own plate to hide his relief. In the short time that Sophie had been with them, she’d noticed several instances like this – Tom wanting desperately to take care of Marisa, but stopping himself out of apparent fear of becoming smothering.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Marisa said suddenly, snapping Sophie back to the conversation. ‘About your wife.’

‘Thank you,’ Mike said, his voice rough. ‘It’s been a long time, but . . .’

Marisa dropped her eyes, picking at the date with the tines of her fork. ‘It stays with you, doesn’t it? Losing someone.’

‘It does,’ Mike said softly. Then he handed Marisa his napkin.

Sophie had been so focused on those fork tines, the ones slowly and systematically tearing apart the bacon, that she’d missed the quiet tears sliding down Marisa’s cheeks.

Marisa took Mike’s napkin, holding it to her face. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I’m sorry.’

Tom put his arm around her, pressing his lips to her hair. ‘It’s okay, Risa. It’s okay.’ He closed his eyes briefly, and Sophie was certain she could see his heart breaking for the hundredth time with not only his own pain, but Marisa’s too. She wished she could wrap them both up in soft blankets and hold them tight until they’d weathered the worst of it.

‘Why don’t you take her home?’ Sophie said gently, knowing that Marisa wouldn’t be comfortable with her grief and pain out there for all of the strangers around them to see. ‘I can bring dinner for you.’

Marisa sniffed into her napkin. ‘I hate this. Hate it. I just . . . I wanted a nice dinner out. That’s all, and I—’ She cut herself off with a slow shake of her head. She tipped her face up, eyes red. ‘Not much of a welcome for you, is it?’

Sophie reached out and clasped her hand. ‘It’s been a wonderful welcome. My plane didn’t crash into the sea. I got to hug my two favourite people. There wasn’t any cocaine in my flat, and no one smuggled a marmoset. I literally cannot think of a better reception.’

‘I think,’ Mike said, ‘that either I missed something significant, or I’m having a stroke.’

Marisa gave a wet laugh as she wiped at her face with the napkin. ‘I like you. Sorry I ruined dinner.’

Mike reached out, touching her hand with the tips of his fingers. ‘You did no such thing. I mean it.’ A moment of understanding seemed to flow between the two, causing Marisa to smile slightly.

‘You do not need to be happy all the time,’ Sophie said, her words no less firm for how gently they were delivered, ‘not for me. But you do need to care for yourself just as much as you’d care for us. Tonight that means letting Tom take you home and having me drop off delicious paella at your door.’

Tom looked at her gratefully. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ His expression turned amused as he glanced at Mike. ‘If you’re sure?’

She waved him off. ‘I’ll be fine. He didn’t help me in the airport just to murder me in the middle of a restaurant.’

Mike turned his head and looked at her, confused. ‘Am I the murderer in this scenario?’

‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘My son was just a little concerned about me meeting up with a stranger earlier.’

Tom nodded, pushing back his seat and stood. ‘He could be playing the long con and the airport was only the first step in his dastardly plan. Maybe this is what he does: lures people places to retrieve their luggage, only to murder them in cold blood.’

Marisa sniffed. ‘That would be silly. Too many cameras in the airport. They’d catch him too easily.’ She set her napkin on the table as she stood. ‘I think he’s smarter than that.’

‘Thank you,’ Mike said. ‘I’d like to think I’d be at least halfway competent, even when it comes to committing murder.’

Tom slid his empty chair back against the table. ‘I feel like I should point out that the only things we know about him is that he doesn’t recognize his own luggage and he drank my water. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.’

‘People usually follow up that kind of statement with “no offence”,’ Mike said evenly.

Tom just looked at him, then laughed, unable to keep a straight face.

Sophie sighed. ‘I don’t think either of you should watch this Dateline show any more. It can’t be good for you.’

‘If I was in your son’s place, I’d honestly have the same concerns.’ Mike dug out his wallet, fishing around in it for a moment, before placing something on the table. ‘There’s my driving licence. Take a picture of it. That way if anything happens, you’ll have it.’

Tom took out his phone and snapped a photo. ‘Thank you.’ He put out his hand. ‘Thank you for understanding.’

Mike shook it. ‘I have two kids. Anytime either of them went on a date, I was worried until they checked in. Still am.’

Tom let his hand go with a nod.

Marisa took his hand next. ‘We promise not to steal your identity.’

Tom squeezed her to him. ‘I’m not promising anything.’

Sophie looked at her son, feeling the duelling emotions of overwhelming love and frustrated irritation in her chest. ‘I can take care of myself, you know. I do it at home. All the time. Have for years.’

Tom moved around the table to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Yes, I know, but just because you can, doesn’t mean you should have to all the time.’ He straightened, putting his arm around Marisa. ‘Goodnight, Mum.’ He nodded at Mike. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ Mike said. He nodded at Marisa, their earlier understanding still vibrant between them.

Then they were gone and Sophie realized that both her and Mike were seated on the same side of the table, and that felt incredibly awkward on several different levels. The memory surfaced of the only time she’d walked in on Andrew and his assistant, Lori, on a date while the divorce was being finalized. They’d been sitting cosily on the same side of a booth in the pub, feeding each other. Sophie was the type of person who would ordinarily have found that romantic, but the fact that these two people were the ones doing it had made it nausea-inducing. She’d turned on her heel and walked out, messaging her friend as soon as she was outside that they’d have to meet elsewhere.

She stood, moving to the other side of the table until she was seated across from Mike. ‘I’ve never been one of those people who sit next to their dates. Not that this is a date.’

Mike gave her a small smile. ‘Me either. My wife—’ He stopped, dropping his gaze.

The waiter appeared then, dropping off Mike’s drink and taking their meal order. Sophie ordered a few things for takeaway, all the while considering whether or not she should let Mike’s half-statement drop. Most people she knew would drop it, letting him keep his feelings to himself. She’d only just met this man, after all, and yet she instinctively thought that was the wrong move. It would be leaving an old wound to fester.

‘Your wife?’ she prodded gently.

Mike sipped his pint, his thumb tracing the line of the glass. The silence grew to the point that Sophie wasn’t sure he was going to respond to her prompt at all.

‘My wife was a romantic.’ His smile was so faint, it was like his mouth had a shadow.

‘She would have sat on the same side of the table with you?’

Mike shook his head slowly. ‘No, she would have sat across. Tara said you needed space to build tension. The back and forth of it.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m not explaining it well. It’s the body language of it: when you sit across, there’s the table between you and all this empty space. It takes effort to cross it. Will the other person put themselves out there? How vulnerable are they willing to make themselves? Do they think you’re worth it?’

Sophie absorbed this, breaking the idea down in her head while absent-mindedly noting that Mike sat fully on his side of the table, arms tucked in close, the body language of a closed-up shop.

He was staring hard at his beer now. ‘It was all about anticipation. Hard to build that when you’re plastered to their side.’ He sliced the date in half, taking a quick bite of it. ‘Of course, not everyone wants that. Some people want the same side of the booth.’

‘I’m with her on this, I think,’ Sophie said.

Mike nodded, his gaze flicking up from his beer, his fingers idly tracing through the condensation. ‘Not that it’s any of my business, but is Marisa going to be okay?’

Sophie hesitated for only a moment, deciding what Marisa would want shared with an absolute stranger and then adjusting that to what Marisa would want shared with this stranger. Mike, who had sat down and shared his own grief so matter-of-factly. ‘They were pregnant. Now they’re not.’

‘Oh,’ Mike said softly. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He grimaced. ‘That doesn’t seem like enough, sorry.’

‘I think there are times when something is so crushing that there aren’t really enough words to truly convey it, so it’s best to keep things short.’ Sophie sipped her drink, deciding to move the conversation onto safer ground. She wanted to keep Mike talking, because he was not only interesting, but she liked the sound of his voice. ‘What brings you to New York?’

‘Work,’ he said. ‘I’m an architect.’

‘I’ll admit, I have no real idea what an architect actually does.’

That earned her a genuine smile. ‘Most people don’t, which is why I say “architect” and not “design architect”, which just confuses them further.’

Sophie refilled her plate. ‘What does a design architect do?’

‘I work with the client to help them realize their design and reconcile their wants with the budget and other things like that. Then I hand those designs over to the architect of record. They’re the main architect on the job.’

He finished his pint and Sophie was temporarily distracted by the tip of his tongue as it slid out to collect a bit of the foam left behind on his lip. He had amazing lips, curved and lush, inviting your gaze to linger on them. Except this wasn’t a date, and she needed to stop staring at this man. ‘I didn’t realize architects did more than the design part.’

Mike nodded. ‘The Architect of Record will also manage things like zoning and codes. Sometimes projects have a single architect who wears both hats, but that wouldn’t make sense in this case because these things are very different in New York than they are in London.

The waiter returned, taking their orders for fresh drinks and whisking away the plates they no longer needed.

‘So why are they bringing you over here, then?’ She grimaced. ‘Is that a rude question to ask?’

‘Not at all,’ Mike said. ‘The owner’s concept is an event space that’s sort of a fusion of classic British teahouse meets cocktail bar aesthetic. My work fits what they’re looking for. How about you?’

‘I’m a travel blogger.’ Sophie smiled up at the waiter, accepting her fresh sparkling water. After the flight, a cocktail hadn’t sounded good at all.

Mike blinked at her. ‘But you’re terrified of planes.’

‘Yes,’ Sophie said dryly. ‘I’m aware.’ She braced herself for the sudden mockery, the derisive stare. Andrew’s barbs about her hobby-turned-profession had been so consistent that she half expected all men to respond in the same way. Or to think it was ‘cute’.

Mike’s brow furrowed, his expression one of open curiosity. ‘Surely that makes your job difficult?’

She smiled. ‘I usually keep it local.’

Before she knew it, she was telling him all about her blog – the early triumphs as well as the initial missteps – as they ate their meal. ‘So there’s my friend Edie, holding my phone so we could get a short video and not wanting to interrupt, but trying desperately to signal to me that Fergus had started chewing on the hem of my blouse.’

‘Fergus being the 800-kilogram Highland steer?’ Mike scraped up the last of his paella with his fork.

‘The very one,’ Sophie said, shaking her head. ‘He ate the entire back of my blouse. Edie had to throw her jacket over me.’

Mike was laughing now, the sound contained as he hunched over his plate, the fork in his hand shaking. ‘I would dearly love to see that video.’ He wheezed and Sophie wondered at how contained he was, even now, in a moment of joy. ‘Do you have plans for when you’re here, then? The Empire State Building? The Statue of Liberty?’

Sophie scrunched up her nose. ‘The blog is more neighbourhood gems. I feel like everyone knows about the tourist highlights.’

Mike watched her carefully as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Surely every day won’t be work? You’ve never been to New York, right? Don’t you want to go and see those things?’

‘If I have time,’ she said, shrugging it off, even though yes, she would love to see those things. Especially the Empire State Building – there was just so much romance attached to it. ‘I’m mostly here to spend time with Tom and Marisa. I’m sure Tom is over the tourist thing and I’ll need to spend my free time going to places for the blog.’

Mike tapped his fingers along the table, that careful gaze fastened on her. ‘It’s okay to do things just for you, you know.’

‘I know,’ she said defensively, suddenly wanting to get the conversation off her, feeling like he was seeing too much. ‘I assume you’ve done the tourist thing?’

Mike smiled, flushing a little – not out of embarrassment, she didn’t think, but something else. ‘Oh, yes. I took Tara to New York with me a few years after we got married. She absolutely had to go to the Empire State Building. It was non-negotiable.’ He laughed. ‘She was a movie buff. Loved rom-coms. After she saw Sleepless in Seattle , we had to watch An Affair to Remember . Come to New York and not see that iconic building? Absolutely not.’

His expression turned faraway and hazy, like he was happily drunk on the memory. Sophie tried to picture Andrew thinking of her with that expression on his face and she failed. ‘Did it live up to your expectations?’

Mike straightened, shaking the mood off. ‘It was magical, but then, anywhere with her was. You should go, just for you. Get yourself some of that magic.’

‘If I went, I’d probably get stuck in the lift, or get my shirt caught on something, tear it, and accidentally flash a nun.’

He grinned and she thought how much fun it might be, making this man laugh, really laugh, head thrown back with complete abandon. To get him to, if for only a moment, let go. How would it feel to be the person who made that happen?

She decided not to think about it too much, as she was convinced that she would never be the one to know.

He’d stayed firmly on his side of the table the entire meal, showing no indication of wanting to close that gap.

Which she was fine with. After Andrew, she hardly wanted to go after anything serious, and she was pretty sure that Mike was a serious kind of guy. So really, it made no sense to want anything between them.

And yet, she felt a pang of disappointment when Mike leaned back in his chair and signalled for the bill.

The restaurant was only a few blocks from Tom and Marisa’s building, but Mike insisted on walking Sophie back. He could say it was because it was dark, she was alone, and he’d promised her son, but if he was honest with himself – which he tried, but often failed, to be – it wasn’t really for any of those reasons. No, his real reasons were both simpler and more concerning. He liked talking to her. He liked looking at her. He liked that he never really knew what was going to come out of her mouth, so every conversation was like an adventure. So while he could say it was for her safety, selfishly he simply wanted a few more stolen moments with Sophie in his life.

The heat of the day had faded only a little as night came along, the air staying muggy and close. They pulled along their matching luggage, the wheels making identical whirring sounds he could barely hear over the bustle of the city around them. New York truly never slept, unlike London, who would ask you to turn the lights out at ten, thank you very much.

While simply being with her was lovely, he was aware of the seconds relentlessly slipping away and he desperately wanted to hear more from her; conversations he could use to brighten up the long, lonely nights. Mike cleared his throat. ‘Why marmosets?’

Sophie grinned at this. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t ask about the cocaine.’

He manoeuvred around a slow walker, coming back to her side. ‘I thought I’d ease into the cocaine.’

‘Just a joke my son made about my luggage,’ Sophie said, flushing in the dim light. ‘I told him I was smuggling them in my bags and he was going to have to spring me from jail if I was caught.’

Mike racked his brain, trying to think of anything interesting to add to keep her talking. What would Sophie find interesting? A detail surfaced and he spat it out before he could second-guess himself. ‘There are monkeys that live in a temple in Bali that have trained themselves to steal from tourists. They’ve learned which items are high reward – phones, glasses, wallets – and will barter them for bigger, more exciting treats.’

Sophie almost stopped in the street but caught herself and kept moving. ‘Is it wrong that I want to go there just to have monkeys steal my phone?’

‘The heart wants what the heart wants,’ Mike said. ‘And what your heart wants is to be burgled by monkeys.’

‘It’s true,’ Sophie said. ‘Sadly, it’s not on the cards. I barely made it onto the plane to get here.’

‘It must have been very important to you,’ he said softly. ‘To manage such a feat.’

Her laughter held a note of bitterness. ‘Hardly a feat. People fly every day.’

He didn’t care for that note. No one should disparage Sophie Swann – even herself. ‘You don’t fly every day,’ he said evenly. ‘There are people who jump out of planes all the time. For fun. Put me up there with a parachute and I’d be clinging to the seats, terrified out of my wits.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ she said, her voice taking on a strange tone he couldn’t identify.

‘So for you, major feat. Most people, they wouldn’t face one of their major fears like that.’

She peered over at him. ‘Even you?’

He nodded. ‘Especially me. I wouldn’t consider myself claustrophobic, but there is nothing that could make me go caving.’

She paused, staring at him, her lips parted.

He wondered, idly, what she might taste like.

He very carefully tucked that thought away. ‘What is it?’

She shook her head and started walking again. ‘It’s nothing. I was just trying to imagine Andrew admitting any of his fears, and realizing I couldn’t.’

‘Andrew is your ex?’ Mike had never met the man, but his name felt odd in his mouth. Prickly and slightly poisonous, and he had the oddest desire to spit.

‘Yes.’ She spoke the word like she wanted to spit, too.

He shouldn’t ask. It was none of his business and she obviously didn’t want to talk about it. ‘That bad, huh?’

‘Left me for his assistant and took the company I helped him build.’ Her words were delivered evenly, casually, but they sounded to Mike a lot like the way he explained to people that his wife was gone. A carefully curated account that lessened the sting.

‘I’m sorry.’ What else could he say to such a thing?

She huffed out a breath. ‘Me too.’ Then she stopped, waving a hand towards a brick building off to her side. ‘This is me.’ Her smile was just the barest curving of lips. ‘Thanks for dinner. And for earlier, at the airport.’

Mike wondered why suddenly, for no real reason, he felt like crying. He cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Sophie Swann.’

She stared at his hand for a moment, before setting her takeaway containers onto her suitcase. Then she stepped forward, putting her arms around him in a hug. She pressed her lips, warm and silken, against his cheek and he closed his eyes, his arms going around her automatically. She felt soft and good and Mike wondered when the last time had been that someone had hugged him like this, and he came up blank.

For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull her tighter against him, to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. She was wearing something – he wasn’t sure if it was perfume or what – that reminded him of peaches and honey. He didn’t give in to the impulse, though, keeping it a hug and not an embrace.

‘Take care of yourself, Michael Tremblay,’ she said, then started to let him go.

He regretted it, even before she stepped away. ‘I will,’ he said, his voice strangely thick.

‘You ever want to get dinner again, you’ve got my number.’ Then she smiled, turned and walked to the doors.

She hadn’t offered anything else – only dinner. Which was good, because that was the limit of what Mike could really accept. It was the most he could offer. He knew he was shit at dating, that after losing his wife he couldn’t make himself that vulnerable again. He just couldn’t.

And if one simple dinner with Sophie had already twisted him up like this, it was probably a bad idea to see her for a second one.

Which was fine – better than fine, really. They’d had one good night. One good dinner.

It was enough. It was for the best. He knew it.

And if a tiny, long-ignored voice in the back of his mind called him a liar, well, he could just ignore it.