The Suitcase Swap

Chapter Seven

Javi was a man of medium build with tanned skin, black curly hair shaved at the top, and the body of a man who danced for a living. Sophie was also convinced that he was possibly some sort of wizard because the way the man moved was magic. Which she felt only highlighted how not-magically she was moving.

‘Okay, cross body lead, one two three, here comes the turn,’ Javi said, clapping his hands. ‘Remember, small steps, no bouncing. At the end of the lead, changing hands, five, six, seven, good!’

Mike placed his hand on her hip, grumbling as he led her in the steps. ‘I swear that man is actually a cat.’

‘It’s uncanny, isn’t it?’ she whispered.

‘He’s freakishly talented – I know this is his profession, so of course he should be, but damn, what have I been doing wrong my entire life?’ His arm slid around her waist as they moved into the next part of the dance, and Sophie missed her step.

She didn’t mind that she was fumbling her way through the dance moves – it was fun, even if she wasn’t a natural at it. It was only that she might have been better at it if she wasn’t distracted every time Mike touched her hip, or held her for a step. The touches were fleeting, but it also felt like they were layering up, each one building to something inevitable, like flowers blooming in the spring. Or like the Titanic crashing into an iceberg.

Mike, even buttoned up in a suit for his professional look, was handsome. It turned out that this side of him, his jacket abandoned, top two shirt buttons undone, sleeves rolled up revealing his forearms, took him a step beyond. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his hair was tousled from him running his hands through it, he was breathing as hard as she was from the exertion, and it was quite possibly the single sexiest thing she’d seen in her entire life.

His eyes glittered with laughter as he flubbed another step, barely missing her feet.

Javi came over to them, his hands still keeping the beat. ‘Small steps, move those hips. Show everyone you’ve still got it.’

‘You’re a very good teacher,’ Mike told him. ‘Don’t take our butchering it personally.’

Javi clucked his tongue. ‘You’re having fun and trying. Dance is about joy, and the sensual pleasure of letting your body move. Who cares if you’re not perfect? This isn’t a competition.’

‘Well said,’ Sophie said with a laugh as she wobbled on her heel, Mike catching her easily, his arms wrapping around her and oh.

‘My assistant got some footage and stills of you,’ Javi said. ‘You should definitely get some shots from the social, though.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ll credit both of you and give you a glowing review. It’s been so much fun, even if I’ve stepped on Mike’s toes a million times.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Mike said gruffly, moving them both back into a starting position. ‘My toes are at your disposal.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Javi said. ‘Okay, let’s go from the top, people. And, one, two, three!’

The social took place in an open room, with a scattering of high-top tables along the edges. A live band was on the stage, already playing the first song. Mike had gone to grab them both a cocktail from the bar while they took a breather before joining the other dancers. There were people of all levels dancing, some from their beginners’ class from earlier, some experienced, all of them there to have a good time. The lighting was dim, most of the light coming from colourful hanging lanterns.

Mike joined her at the table, depositing her drink in front of her. ‘Your “These Hips Don’t Lie”, which I am convinced is almost entirely tequila, so I’m recommending caution.’ He pulled a bottle of water out of his pocket, placing it next to her. ‘For hydration purposes.’ He fished out his own bottle of water and set his cocktail down, something with a lime wedge on the rim.

‘What did you get?’

‘ “La Noche”,’ Mike said, taking a sip. ‘Don’t ask me what’s in it. I’ve already forgotten.’ He took a bigger sip. ‘But it’s delicious.’ He offered it to her, eyebrow up.

She handed him hers, trading for sips.

Mike tasted hers, eyeing the drink suspiciously. ‘I’m certain that’s pure tequila. I watched him make it. He barely waved a lime wedge over it. Why is it so good? Last time I drank straight tequila, I coughed so hard I almost sicked it back up.’

‘Really? When was that?’ she asked, sipping more of her drink.

‘Uni,’ Mike said promptly. ‘So admittedly, we were drinking the cheapest tequila we could find.’

‘Not exactly the best representation of its kind, then.’ Sophie laughed. ‘Well, this is good tequila. It makes a difference.’

‘One point for getting older,’ Mike said. ‘You can afford the good alcohol.’ He snapped open his water bottle, taking a healthy swig.

They fell silent for a few minutes after that, sipping their drinks while they both rested their feet. Sophie enjoyed watching the dancers, taking a few short videos while they waited. Even sitting at their table, she was having a good time. Mike was a relaxing companion, and she didn’t feel the need to entertain him.

She liked watching the other dancers, some of them making the same missteps she’d made earlier. Once they’d finished their drinks, Sophie found one of the couples from their class and asked them if they’d mind taking some videos of her and Mike dancing for a few minutes. She offered to pay for their drinks, but they waved her away.

Mike escorted her out onto the floor, getting them into position and putting a hand on her hip. ‘Do you ever worry about anyone stealing your phone?’

‘Not really,’ Sophie said. ‘I mean, it’s possible, but what else am I going to do? I can’t always get someone to go with me. People have lives and I can’t afford to hire an assistant.’

Mike peered down at her, his hand moving to the small of her back. They were so close she could smell his cologne, his sweat, his breath that held a hint of lime. Heat unfurled in her belly, spreading fire rapidly through her body. How was it that the smallest touch from this man could do this to her? She thought back to the early days with Andrew and couldn’t remember feeling anything like this.

‘If you need someone to hold your camera while you’re here, call me,’ Mike said gruffly. ‘Please.’

She blinked up at him. Sophie knew comparing Mike to her ex wasn’t a great idea, not if she wanted to banish Andrew from her mind permanently, but she couldn’t help it sometimes. Her husband – ex, ex -husband – had never helped her with the blog. Not once. He’d never shown even an iota of interest in it. So Mike’s offer felt a lot like . . . a gift. ‘Really?’

The song started, Mike leading her in the opening steps. ‘Of course. There’ll be times when I have to work, but I’d be happy to help.’ He spun her into a turn, pulling her back against him like they’d been dancing like this their whole lives. ‘I’m having a great time.’

‘Even though I’ve been stepping on your toes and sweating through this dress?’

‘Turns out I’m very into those things,’ Mike said. ‘We’ve discovered my secret fetish.’ He leaned in, pulling her tighter against him as they moved, trying to be heard over the music. ‘Besides, I love this dress.’

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body feeling warm and fluid as they moved, either from her relaxing into the dance, or the tequila. He stared down at her, their eyes locked as they moved, no longer paying attention to words, not thinking about their feet or the steps, simply feeling. It felt like magic, a warming glow of a moment crystallized in slow-moving sap, hardening into a memory that would last the ages.

Then the song ended. The world snapped back into focus, slapping her with reality. They stood for a second, frozen in each other’s arms. She saw the muscle in Mike’s cheek twitch, like he was clenching his jaw, and she felt his thumbs trace down the back of her dress. Then he stepped away from her, eyes lowering. ‘I’ll go and get your phone for you.’

She let him go, all her unsaid words bunched in her throat.

Two more cocktails and an untold number of dances later, they left the social. Sophie’s sides hurt from laughing, the magic of the night weaving its spell far beyond the dance floor. It was getting late, and she knew Mike had to work in the morning, and yet . . .

‘I don’t want to go home yet.’ The words fell out of her mouth unplanned, but she didn’t regret them.

‘I think,’ Mike said, tipping his head up at the sky, ‘we need food.’ He frowned for a minute. ‘Hold on. Don’t move.’

He disappeared back into the bar, coming out a moment later. ‘Okay, I’ve got a plan. Trust me?’

‘If the first step of the plan is food, I’m game.’ She blinked up at him. ‘No roast dinner.’

Mike smiled down at her, bemused. ‘I’m not entirely sure that’s an option here, anyway. No villainous meat and potatoes. No dastardly Yorkshire pudding, or scheming veg. You’re safe from the evils of a Sunday roast.’ He glanced at her shoes. ‘Are you okay to walk a few blocks?’

‘I’ll regret it tomorrow, but for now, we’re good.’

‘Let me know if that changes.’ As they started walking, he took her hand. Sophie wasn’t even sure he realized he’d done it.

Her feet were killing her by the time they got to the food truck, and she almost didn’t say anything. He’d made plans and she didn’t want to bring the evening down and . . . no, she wasn’t doing that! She wasn’t biting her tongue, making herself smaller, ignoring her needs ever again. She refused to act like she was still stuck in her marriage.

‘My feet are going on strike.’

Mike looked around. ‘There’s nowhere for you to sit. Can you last until we get our food? I promise a terrifying taxi ride after that where you’ll at least be off your feet.’

She considered the very real possibility that her feet might break into a thousand pieces. ‘Yes, but only if the food is fast and the taxi soon.’

‘On it.’ He draped his jacket around her shoulders. ‘Anything you can’t have or don’t want besides roast beef?’

She hadn’t even checked what kind of cuisine the truck offered and didn’t care. All food was created equal at this point. ‘Surprise me.’

He stepped away, getting into the queue. Sophie waited, lifting one foot at a time to find some relief. She loved these shoes, but she also might throw them into the bin when she got back to her flat. His jacket smelled like him, which wasn’t a surprise, and with his back turned, she took the opportunity to snuggle into it, turning her nose to capture his scent. It should be illegal for a man to smell that good.

The queue moved at a good clip, Mike returning shortly with a bag full of boxes and two water bottles. ‘Okay, taxi time.’

She sighed longingly. ‘Never have I heard sweeter words.’

‘That’s me,’ Mike said. ‘Mr Romance.’ He waved down a taxi with an ease that was, frankly, irritating. She hadn’t been in New York long but had already realized that this was a skill she didn’t seem to have.

Once inside the taxi, she groaned in relief, it felt that good to get off her feet. Mike rattled off an address while she closed her eyes, leaning against his shoulder, taking a moment to rest. The world was spinning in a lovely way that she didn’t want to stop. She wasn’t drunk, just . . . happy.

When the taxi stopped, she opened her eyes. ‘Where are we?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ Mike said, taking out his credit card.

‘You don’t need to cover the taxi—’

He shook his head. ‘My idea, my money. I don’t make the rules.’

She snorted. ‘I think that’s you literally making the rules.’

‘Take me to court,’ Mike said, ushering her out of the taxi. ‘I have an excellent lawyer.’

‘Do you really?’

‘No, but it sounded good, didn’t it?’

She laughed, adjusting his jacket on her shoulders as they walked, taking in the lights glittering on the water in front of them, the bridges, and the silhouetted shapes of carousel horses around them. This place – he’d mentioned it to her, but she couldn’t remember what it was called. ‘Where are we?’

‘Jane’s Carousel,’ he said. ‘The pavilion was designed by the Ateliers Jean Nouvel, an internationally renowned designer and architect.’ He switched the bag to his left hand, so he could point with his right. ‘That’s Lower Manhattan, the East River, as well as the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.’

Sophie paused, dragging him to a stop. ‘Wait a moment.’ She brought out her phone, hitting the record button. ‘Okay, go.’

He stared at her, perplexed. ‘With what?’

She lowered her phone for a second. ‘Your thing. If I’m lucky, I’ll remember half of this tomorrow at best. Hence the phone. So tell me about the carousel.’

He hesitated a moment. ‘This will help you?’

‘Yes.’

He sighed. ‘Okay.’ He went through it again, the bridges, rattling off a few details about each, though it was the carousel he knew the most about. When he was done, he lifted the bag. ‘And now we’re going to enjoy dinner.’

They found a bench and Sophie almost groaned in relief, getting off her feet again. Mike handed her a bottle of water, then dug out a takeaway container and passed it to her.

‘Wait . . .’ She brought her phone up.

He laughed. ‘You want to record it.’

She felt deflated for a moment, pulling her phone back close to her chest. ‘Is that – are you okay with that?’

Mike gave a little shrug as he got his own food out. ‘It’s your job. Do what you must.’

She brought her phone back up, centring the screen on him. ‘Okay, what did we get?’

‘We got food from a halal food truck,’ Mike said. ‘I got us both the chicken and lamb over rice combo.’ He set his meal down and held out his hand.

‘What?’

‘Give me your phone. It’s your blog. They don’t want to see some sweaty pillock babbling about architecture, they want to see you.’

She looked at him. Considering the fact that a good number of her loyal fans were women, she didn’t think they’d complain too much about Mike taking up some screen time. But he was right, it was her blog. She handed him the phone.

‘Okay,’ he said, holding it up. ‘Take a bite. Tell me what you think.’

She opened the box, dug her fork in and shovelled a bite into her mouth. Flavour exploded across her tongue and her eyes rolled back a little. ‘Oh my god, this might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’

He grinned at her from behind the phone. ‘I’m sure the fact that you’re starving helps a little.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is ambrosia, food of the gods.’

He laughed, bringing the phone down. He gave it back to her, taking out his own phone. Then he squeezed in close, snapping a photo of them both.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘What was that for?’

‘For me,’ Mike said, tucking his phone away.

‘Oh, right,’ she said, finally understanding. ‘Proof to your kids that you’re not working twenty-four seven.’

‘No,’ Mike said, tucking into his own food. ‘Just for me.’

‘Oh.’ She scooped up another bite with her fork, not knowing what to say. He wanted it just for him. That meant something, right? Except she wasn’t sure what, exactly. A picture of his new friend, or . . . Sophie shook her head. It didn’t matter. That wasn’t why she was here. She put those thoughts away and concentrated on her food.

The conversation shifted after that, flowing from topic to topic as they ate. Sophie felt a lot better once the food was gone, her water bottle empty.

As Mike went to find a bin for their empty cartons, Sophie wrapped herself in his jacket, watching the carousel. It really was magical, the horses sliding by, the river behind them.

‘Ready to go?’ Mike asked.

‘Not quite,’ Sophie said. ‘This place is enchanting.’ She eyed him. ‘You’re good at this.’

‘At what?’

‘Finding interesting places.’ She turned until she was facing him. ‘What do you think of collaborating?’

He frowned at her. ‘Pardon?’

She waved a hand at the carousel. ‘Helping me when you have free time – you know, beyond being a human phone-holder. I’m not sure I would have found this gem without your help. You can also speak much more about the buildings and history than I can.’

‘But it’s your blog,’ Mike said. ‘It should be about you.’

Sophie waved this away. ‘That won’t change. Edie helps me at home. You’ll just be my New York Edie.’

Mike gave her a rueful smile. ‘Have you consulted Edie on this? I’m not sure she’d be okay with me poaching her role.’

‘Edie would love it,’ Sophie said. Not only would Edie approve of Sophie getting the help she needed, but she’d also love the fact that Sophie’s new sidekick was a handsome, charming man. Edie would probably hope Andrew would see the posts and writhe in jealousy. Sophie didn’t care about that. She could be honest enough to admit that she wanted Andrew to share the level of pain she’d felt about their break-up, but she didn’t want to waste whatever time or energy it might take to make that happen. She’d wasted enough of her past on Andrew already. Tom and now Marisa were her gifts from that, and she was grateful for them. But she wanted to move on.

‘If you’re sure,’ Mike said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a mint and handed it to her. ‘Courtesy of Vince, the best bartender in the world. How are your feet?’

She took the mint, unwrapping it and putting it in her mouth. ‘Feeling better, while also demanding a soak.’

Mike chewed his mint, looking out over the water. ‘We should get them home, then. They’ve earned some respite.’

Sophie hummed her agreement as she rolled the mint around in her mouth. ‘In a minute. This place – I just want to soak it in for a little bit longer.’

He looked around, taking in their surroundings again. ‘Thank you.’

She laughed. ‘For what? You brought us here.’

He leaned back on the bench, placing his hands behind him. ‘I never would have come here without you. My kids are right. I would have stayed in my flat working until I went back to London. That’s what I do.’

Sophie kicked off her heels, bringing her feet up onto the bench and stretching out her toes along the chill of the wood. ‘That doesn’t seem healthy.’

‘No,’ Mike said. ‘It’s not, but it’s all I’ve got.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that. You have family who love you. Friends, too, I assume. Why make your life all work?’

He stared at the carousel, his hands absently taking her feet, stretching her legs out over his lap. He dug into the arch of her foot with his thumb and Sophie had to bite her lip to stop from groaning, it felt so good. ‘I don’t think I’m capable of much more than what I have.’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Sophie said, her voice hitching as he started massaging her other foot. ‘But it’s your life. You choose how you want it to go.’

He looked at her then, his eyes jewel-bright even in the low light. ‘Is that what you did?’

She frowned. ‘I didn’t choose my husband running off with his assistant, no, but I chose how I dealt with it. I chose how I went on.’

He kept watching her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘I’m not sure I’m as strong as you.’

‘Then make yourself stronger,’ she said. Was he closer now? He seemed closer, but she wasn’t sure when that had happened. He still had one hand on her foot, the other on her calf. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a man’s hand on her calves.

Mike let out a shuddering breath, his gaze still locked on her. ‘I don’t think I want to. If I was stronger, I wouldn’t do this.’ Then he lowered his mouth onto hers, a soft press of lips. Then more, their breath mingling, his tongue gliding along her lip, a shallow taste of her.

Sophie slid her hand into his hair, pulling him closer, taking the kiss deeper. He tasted of mint, spice and something indefinable, something good that she wanted more of.

He groaned, one hand on her neck, his thumb tracing her jaw as his other hand slid up her calf, the back of her knee, her thigh.

She tugged on his hair, asking for more, her blood bubbling pleasantly from the contact. The taste of him, the feel of him, was headier than full-bodied wine. She could get drunk on this man.

He pulled away, lips tracing her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. ‘This bloody dress.’ His words were mumbled, garbled, like maybe he was drunk on her as well. He stayed there, breathing deeply, his hands clutching her.

She wanted to cry, ask him why he’d stopped, but she didn’t, knowing that if she pushed him now, he’d run. Sophie stroked his hair, coaxingly, as if she were trying to convince a feral creature that it was safe.

‘We should go,’ he said, his words hot on her neck. Then, close on the heels of his first statement, a second one delivered with an edge acknowledging that out of the two of them, only one of them was regretting the way the night had gone. ‘I need to go.’

Sophie’s chest felt thick, full, as if an entire flock of emotions had tried to land in the same nest. Frustration flapped its wings. Hurt fussed its feathers, making room for Sorrow. But it was Pity, ultimately, who commandeered the nest. Pity bugling out a sad noise for a man so shut down and fractured that he couldn’t enjoy a single stolen moment of pleasure.

Or maybe she was wrong and there was some other reason he was putting a stop to things. She guessed it didn’t really matter, because her response was the same. ‘Okay.’

He let go of her, helped her put her shoes back on, and stood. Then he summoned a rideshare as they walked back to the car park, neither of them saying a word.