6. Natalie
CHAPTER SIX
NATALIE
Natalie: Headed back to the hotel. I will fill you soon SO DON’T BOTHER ME. I have to pack.
From the back of her Uber, Natalie watched her screen for a moment. No reply from Kate but she didn’t really expect one. Middle-of-the-night in Texas, her sister would be dead asleep. She tapped over to her father’s contact and sent a quick message.
Natalie: Morning, Pop!
His response came instantly.
Pop: Good morning. Everything ok? Still on schedule?
Natalie: Yes! Wrapping everything up. On my way to the airport soon. How are you?
Pop: Better now that my baby girl’s heading back to my same time zone.
Natalie smiled, watching as her father added a string of sweet emojis to the end of his message.
Natalie: I’ll text you when I land. Promise.
Pop: Have a good flight, honey. I love you.
Natalie: Love you more.
Pop: Not possible.
Pop: PS: Your mom would be so proud of you! Even when London knocked you down, you got right back up. And now, Chicago! (My kind of town!). I’m proud of you too.
She pressed a hand to her heart.
Natalie:
She hit her hotel room like a gale force wind. Showering, packing, checking emails—all in record time. With her checklist complete, she stretched out across the bed and studied the last item destined for her carry-on: the boots. She tugged on the offending heel. Solid and secure.
I don’t know how you pulled this off, but you’re something else, Mr. Crown.
She snapped a pic and sent it to Kate with the caption: He took care of my boot! Natalie laughed when her sister sent back a snarky reply.
Kate: Among other things!
Natalie: Haha you’re not wrong. I’m all packed. Call me if you can.
Kate’s call came through in seconds.
“Good morning,” Natalie answered on speaker, trying her best to sound calm.
“Baby sister got laiddddd!” Kate shrieked.
“Stop!”
“Tell me everything—but make it the CliffsNotes version. I’ve got students coming in early.”
“Well, this guy sat down at the bar and bought me a drink before I ever said a word to him. Then he pulled out this stopwatch and that’s when I texted you our code.”
“A stopwatch? For what?”
“A little gimmick to strike up conversation—not that he needs one. He’s a walking rom-com script. Anyway, we talked for a while, then he invited me to go dancing at a club. That’s when I texted you about monitoring my location. Then we went back to his place, and well, you know the rest.”
“Nat. You haven’t told me anything. What’s his name? How old is he? What does he do? Eye color? Hair color? Other than being a Longhorn fan, I know nothing. I assume he’s from Texas?"
“You asked for CliffsNotes!” Natalie raised her voice.
“Screw it. I’ll be late to campus. You haven’t hooked up with anyone since Roman, so start talking. I want to know all the things.”
Natalie softened her tone and walked through the whole story of Thomas Crown, beginning to end, every heart-pounding, romantic moment. Mid-ramble, she remembered a very important detail.
“Oh my God! I took a picture of him last night. Hold on.”
She opened the photo gallery on her phone and clicked on the thumbnail image. When it filled her screen, her excitement fizzled, leaving only frustration.
“Damn it.”
“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.
“You can’t even see his face. He’s all backlit. It’s just a silhouette. And my damn finger is in the way.”
“Send it to me anyway.”
Natalie sent the photo and waited for her sister’s assessment.
“Yeah, a photographer you are not. He looks tall. Is he tall?”
“Well over six feet.”
“What was he drinking?” Kate asked.
“Why do you always ask that?
"Because cocktails reveal character.”
When Natalie huffed, Kate added, “But I guess it doesn’t matter now. Looks like the mysterious Mr. Crown will remain a mystery.”
Warmth settled in her chest as she recalled those first few moments, sitting side by side at the pub, getting drunk on his smile. His every line, whisper cool. The ultimate shot of Crown.
“I guess he will,” Natalie conceded, staring at the shadowy photo.
Her hotel room phone never rang. She didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.
Mr. Crown had carved out a sizable niche in her mind, lingering there all morning.
A clear, crisp image, unlike the botched photo.
Scenes from their magical night held while she waited to check out of the hotel.
"Everything satisfactory?" asked the front desk clerk.
"It was, thank you." She placed her credit card on the counter.
He pushed the card back. "A gentleman named Crown settled your account. He also arranged a car for you.”
Natalie blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
He pointed to a silver Lincoln Town Car with heavily tinted windows parked at the door.
“And there’s one more thing.” He placed an envelope on the counter.
Her room number, written in large print across the front.
She couldn't help but smile at the tiny airplane he'd drawn on the corner, a dotted line off the tail signifying its in-flight position.
He was here? He was HERE?
Natalie snatched up the envelope, thanked the clerk, and practically sprinted outside.
She sank into the roomy backseat, tearing into the envelope before the driver finished loading her bags in the trunk.
Inside, a handwritten note. She heard his accent as she read, her stomach knotting up like a Cirque du Soleil contortionist.
My dearest Ms. Earhart,
You’ve seen your share of Ubers over the last twenty-four hours. I thought you might enjoy something a little more plush to take you to the airport. A woman like you deserves plush.
I hope you’ll change your mind about leaving today. Use this code to access the main entry of my building, as well as the private elevator to my apartment: 041770
Let a gentleman steal you away for one more night.
Always,
Thomas Crown
Ambassador Tower, London
Her pulse spiked as the car pulled away. London blurred past her window while her options fought it out in her mind.
If you stay, he’ll wine and dine your socks off. Charter a private plane for you. Make you feel like the only woman in the world.
But …
What if the magic was just a 24-hour thing? What if he couldn't get her back in time? What if the private plane thing was just wishful thinking? What if she wasn’t the only woman?
Doesn’t matter. You’re not looking to be anyone’s woman.
But if she were, he’d be the one.
It all narrowed down to one truth:
Stay, and give him control.
Leave, and keep it.
Or …
Natalie glanced at her watch. Ahead of schedule, as usual.
Stop by his place and thank him in person for taking care of your bill and for the car. You have time. He deserves that.
"Sir?” She leaned forward. “Could we make a short detour?"
"Certainly."
“And a stop at Tesco or Sainsbury’s?”
The driver nodded. Decision made. Natalie clicked her nails against her phone case, contemplating.
Should I call Kate? This is way too much to text.
No, better wait until I have the full story.
She studied Mr. Crown’s handwriting—an interesting combination of upper and lowercase print, but neat and orderly. By the time the car eased into a Sainsbury’s, she’d read his note at least two dozen times. The driver caught her eye in the rearview mirror.
“Miss, will this work?”
She unlocked her seatbelt. “Yes, this is great. I’ll be quick.”
Natalie ducked in and out of the store in record time, her purchase concealed in one of their signature orange bags. Even though it cost less than five pounds, it was the perfect good-bye gift.
Traffic thinned as they rolled toward Chelsea. When his building came into view, she drew a deep breath and released it slowly through pursed lips.
Quick and painless. Thank him. Praise the night. Then be on your way.
"I’ll only be a minute." She gazed up at the top floor, her hands now sweating.
"My services are booked for the day. Take as much time as you need," the driver said.
Clutching his note, she walked briskly to the main door.
Through the glass entryway she spied a man seated behind a circular desk, clicking away on a keyboard.
Gathered behind him, two additional suits, hunched over the computer screen with perplexed expressions.
As she typed in the code on a small keypad, all three heads looked up, giving her the collective once over. The doors opened and Natalie entered.
“Afternoon, miss,” the men said in chorus.
“Afternoon,” she replied.
She crossed the lobby, entered the elevator, and punched in the code a second time. Her hand trembled. With a jolt, the elevator began its ascent. Her insides jolted as well.
Calm down. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
Seconds later, the doors opened and Natalie stepped over the threshold and into his foyer.
"Mr. Crown?" She called out.
Silence.
My God, this is ridiculous. We should have exchanged names.
She called out again but got no response.
Where is he? Showering, maybe?
As she moved through the apartment, her nose picked up a strong scent.
A distinct scent synonymous with her childhood home.
With each step toward his bedroom, the scent intensified.
When she pushed open the bedroom door, she froze.
The entire room, literally every surface, overflowed with bouquets of her favorite flower—dozens of creamy white gardenias in full, intoxicating bloom. But Mr. Crown was nowhere to be found.
What the heck?
Natalie inhaled deeply, her gaze drawn to the bed.
The bed that held their entangled bodies hours before was now dressed in fresh linens, and ready for round two.
She took it all in, every petal surrounding her, shocked (but also not) that he'd remembered a tiny detail from one of their many conversations.
Let's see … if I had to guess, I'd say peonies, he’d said.
Close. My big sister loves peonies. I'm more of a gardenia girl.
She stood stone-still, recalling the feel of his fingers through her hair and on her skin and that deep final kiss. A kiss that challenged her laser focus, to the point of almost pushing off her Natalie linens provided = bonus!). Accordion-style business brochures. Cake from Beverly’s.
Kate finally texted.
Kate: Sorry! I’ve been in class. Let me step outside. Call you in one minute.
Natalie waited, her eyes focused on several couples with young children pushing their way toward the gate.
The moment one woman pulled a baby from a stroller the tot’s ear-piercing wail rang out.
A second baby’s cry added to the chorus.
A loud sigh of annoyance slipped out as Natalie rolled her eyes to the point of injury.
Kate’s call came through.
“You hear that?” Natalie answered. “Crying babies. And we’re not even on board yet.”
“You used to be one of those crying babies. Pop in your AirPods; you’ll be fine. What’s the breaking news?”
“Stand by for a pic. Let me know when you get it.” Natalie texted the photo and held her breath, anticipating Kate’s reply.
“Got it. Who died?” Kate asked.
“It’s not a funeral. That’s Mr. Crown’s bedroom.”
“What?!”
Natalie gave a rundown of recent events: the note, the driver, the last second decision for one final goodbye—all while keeping a close eye on the line to board her flight.
With each detail she shared, tiny seeds of doubt embedded in her judgment.
By the time the final boarding call echoed, and Natalie had joined the queue with the remaining passengers, she’d cultivated an entire garden of uncertainty.
“Am I crazy? This guy is nothing but green flags.”
“No human is one hundred percent green flags,” Kate said firmly.
“I don’t know, Kate. This one might be.”
“I’ve never heard you talk like this. Not even about Roman. This guy really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
Natalie forced a smile at the gate agent. "It's not him. It's me. I'm doing a number on myself. A sad, pathetic number. It’s just … after everything that happened with Blaze and Roman …”
"You made the right choice, Nat, because you chose yourself. Your career. Your dreams. The perfect guy will come along when the time is right.”