Chapter Eight
Bea regretted that extra glass of wine on Monday morning, but she downed a couple of painkillers and an extra glass of water with her coffee before jumping into the shower.
She was awake ridiculously early. She tried to tell herself she was practicing for tomorrow, when she’d have to be up even earlier to get to Heathrow three hours before her flight, but she knew better.
She was meeting Blane for breakfast at seven-thirty, and once her eyes had popped open and she’d remembered that, there’d been no chance of getting back to sleep.
She took her time styling her hair and getting dressed. She didn’t know what the day would hold, but she hoped he saw it the same way she did—that breakfast was only the beginning. They had a whole free, wonderfully unexpected day ahead of them, and she wanted to spend all of it with him.
By seven ten, she was tired of pacing in front of her window. There was no point picking up the book on her bedside table; she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on a single word. She might as well go downstairs. Perhaps she could have a coffee with Delia while she waited for Blane.
The lifts were back to their usual mischief, both stubbornly sitting on the ground floor when she pressed the button, but eventually one arrived and carried her down to the basement.
She walked into the breakfast room expecting to wait.
Then she spotted him. Blane was sitting beside that bloody great fern again, and her heart did a little somersault when she realized he was here even earlier than she was.
She tried to tell herself that perhaps he’d been working already, but when he got to his feet and came toward her, she knew that wasn’t it. He was as eager as she was.
Delia hurried over. “Sorry, Miss Hartley. I’ll get your table ready. Can I help you, Mr. Wilder?”
Bea couldn’t blame the other woman in the least when her cheeks turned a little pink in the face of Blane’s blinding smile.
“You can, if you will. We’d like to share a table this morning.”
“Of course.”
As Delia hurried away, Bea held her breath when Blane leaned in, kissed her cheek, and murmured, “Good morning.”
“Good morning yourself.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “Oh my. You just made it a very good morning.”
One eyebrow went up. “Wasn’t sure if that’d be too much.”
“It wasn’t too much at all. You mustn’t take everything I say as criticism. I absolutely meant it.”
“Good.” He slid back into the booth and patted the seat beside him. “Sit with me.”
She would have taken the chair opposite, but who was she to refuse?
Once they had their coffees and had ordered breakfast, Blane turned to her. “You okay?”
“I’m wonderful. Very much looking forward to today. How about you?”
“I am.” He took a drink of his coffee. “Any ideas what you want to do with it? You said something about a suitcase last night.”
She pursed her lips. “I did, but I’m sure I can sort something out with that. We should probably take you sightseeing. Don’t you want to see the London Eye or some other point of interest?”
That warm feeling beneath her ribs came back in full force when he held her gaze. “I get to spend the day with you, Bea. You’re my point of interest.”
“Well.” She laughed softly. “I would never have had you down as the kind of man who …” She trailed off. It wasn’t funny, and she knew it.
“It wasn’t a line.”
“I know.”
“I’m not that kind of guy, Bea. If I say something, it’s because I mean it.”
“I know,” she repeated, softer this time.
Then, because she suddenly needed to move them past the moment, she said, “And yes, I wouldn’t mind your help.
I have to get rid of my old suitcase. I don’t want to leave it for housekeeping to deal with.
We can ask reception if there’s somewhere nearby I can donate it. ”
Their food arrived, and Bea eyed the two omelets Delia set down in front of Blane.
He lifted a shoulder. “I know. Greedy, right? I had to order a second one the first morning, so since then I’ve just gone ahead and ordered two.”
He glanced at her plate and smiled when he saw she’d ordered the same. Well, only one omelet. But still.
As they ate, it struck Bea that she’d grown used to eating breakfast alone. In fact, she ate almost all her meals alone these days. She pushed the thought away. Simon didn’t get to steal a single moment of this one precious day she had with Blane.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
She turned to him. “I know that’s not a complaint. And you’ll probably live to regret noticing. I just need more coffee inside me before I start my rambling for the day.”
He chuckled and caught Delia’s attention as she passed. “Can we get some more coffee when you get a chance?”
Bea slapped his arm. “You’re teasing me now, aren’t you? I thought you were about to order tea instead, to make me shut up.”
His smile faded. “No, Bea. I enjoy hearing you ramble. That’s my point.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze, feeling foolish.
He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Come on. Ramble at me, woman. Tell me what you want to do with our day. You must need some shopping or something.”
She laughed. “You’re volunteering for shopping? You made it perfectly clear at the museum that it isn’t your favorite thing.”
“It’s not about the shopping.” He picked up his coffee. “It’s about seeing you enjoy yourself.”
After they finished breakfast, Carla and Lauren at reception pointed them toward a charity shop only a five-minute walk away that would happily take the suitcase.
He didn’t wait in the lobby, as she’d expected, while she went to collect the case from her room. Instead, when they stepped out of the lifts on the twelfth floor, he assumed what she was beginning to think of as his usual position—arms folded across his chest, feet squared.
“I’m guessing you don’t need a hand since the case is empty. I’ll wait here.”
As she hurried into her room to collect it, she couldn’t decide how she felt about him not coming with her. Of course it was the appropriate thing to do. There was no reason for him to join her in her room, and yet somehow, she was a little disappointed.
She grabbed the handle of the case and tugged it along behind her, telling herself not to be silly as she hurried back down the corridor to join him.
Blane pushed the button to summon the lift, then reached for the handle of the case.
“It’s okay, I can—”
He cocked an eyebrow.
She tried not to laugh. He might not be a man of many words, but his eyebrows were becoming quite eloquent. When they drew together a moment later, she knew something had bothered him.
“I’m not trying to take it off you if you want to do it,” he said. “But there’s no need; I might as well come in handy for something while I’m here.”
She rested her hand briefly on his arm. “It’s your company I’m after, Blane. Not your help.”
When they reached the charity shop, the young man behind the counter showed remarkably little interest in either them or the suitcase. He took it with barely more than a nod, then looked at Bea as though wondering why she was still there.
“Don’t you give a receipt for that or anything?” Blane asked.
The young man sat up a little straighter, his eyes widening as he took Blane in.
“I, uh—”
“It’s fine,” Bea said. “I don’t need one.”
As they walked out of the shop, she realized she truly didn’t. Leaving that case behind was something she’d wanted to do for herself, no matter how impractical it might seem from the outside. She didn’t need a receipt or any other proof that she’d done it. She knew, and that was all that mattered.
Once they were back on the street, Blane placed his hand at the small of her back as they made their way along the crowded pavement. Bea held her breath for the first few moments. The presence of his hand solid, warm, and grounding was impossible to ignore.
“Where next?”
“Well, if you’re really up for shopping, I thought we could wander over to Covent Garden.” She smiled up at him. “I assume you’d rather walk, or I can introduce you to the pleasures of London buses, if you prefer.”
“Let’s walk.”
~ ~ ~
As Bea wandered among the stalls at Covent Garden Market, Blane found himself following in her wake.
He couldn’t stay beside her the whole time; she kept stopping to look at knickknacks and things that made no sense to him.
But apparently, he didn’t need to. Seeing the smile on her face as she picked things up, watching her laugh with the vendors and chat with the people around her—that was what he was here for.
He drew in a breath as that thought landed.
He hadn’t realized that was what he was here for, but he looked at the crowd flowing around him and knew it was true.
He would never come to a place like this otherwise.
In fact, this was the kind of thing he actively avoided.
Gift shops, stalls, a sea of humanity wandering around without any obvious objective.
Every bit of it went against the grain for him.
And yet here he was, and worse, he was enjoying himself.
Bea turned and held up a small painted ceramic dish with ridges across the center.
“What do you think?”
He folded his arms across his chest and studied it.
He could tell her it was nice. Tell her that if she liked it, he did too.
He supposed that was what a man was meant to do in this situation.
But he didn’t feel the need to. For some reason that he didn’t understand, Bea seemed to like him exactly as he was. So he gave her the truth.
“What the hell is it?”
She laughed. “It’s a garlic grater.”
He looked at it again. “That’s a thing?”
“Yes, Blane. It’s a thing.”
“What’s wrong with a knife?”
The woman behind the stall gave Bea a sympathetic smile. “You can’t have it all, love. Don’t push your luck. He’s good-looking and patient enough to wander around here with you on a Monday morning. I’d be grateful for that. I wouldn’t ask for more if I were you.”