Chapter 16 #2
“It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?” I say, turning back to him with a lopsided grin. “Us flying over the line where time begins. It’s like we’re time travelers. Or at least, we’re currently in the most expensive way possible to avoid being late for dinner.”
He laughs in agreement.
Outside, the golden web of London has dissolved into the deep, velvet shadows of the countryside. Rolling fields and dense patches of woodland blur together beneath us. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out any sign of civilization through the dark. “Just what do you have planned for us, Theo?”
This is looking less like a dinner date and more like the beginning of a thriller movie. Darn it, Leon. Why did I let him get inside my head? At least I doubt we’ll see any twins.
“You’ll see,” Theo says, that infuriatingly soft smile audible in his voice. “Only a few more minutes. We’re nearly there.”
On cue, the helicopter tilts forward and begins its descent, gliding lower over a vast stretch of open grass. A double row of small amber ground lights glow to life, marking a landing path that leads toward a grand silhouette in the distance.
The skids touch down with a gentle bump, and the roar of the rotors begins to wind down, the blades slicing slower and slower through the air until they finally cut off.
“Welcome to Ravensbridge Place,” Theo says.
Cool night air rushes in as the cabin door opens, carrying the scent of damp grass and river water. We step out and remove our headsets. A Georgian manor house sits a short walk away.
Light glows through the tall windows, casting warm rectangles across the lawn. Ivy climbs the pale stone walls. The silhouettes of ancient oaks frame the property on both sides.
“This looks like one of those houses from a Jane Austen movie,” I say, a breathless little giggle escaping me. “Should I go stand by a pond and wait for a broody suitor to emerge in a damp white shirt?”
“No,” Theo says, his voice a fraction gruffer than he probably intended. He catches my eye, his expression softening just enough to be dangerous. “Only me. And I’m staying dry.”
Is it bad that a small part of me is actually disappointed? Because Theo in a wet, semi-transparent white shirt? Yes, please. I’d happily volunteer to hold his coat while he does a lap in the lake. I’d even find him a towel. Eventually.
Unsurprisingly, the inside is even more beautiful than the outside.
Polished hardwood floors glow softly in the low light.
A sweeping staircase curves upward beneath a chandelier whose crystal facets send tiny rainbows dancing across the ceiling.
Portraits of stern men in military coats and elegant women in sweeping gowns line the walls.
We pass under a pair of arched double doors.
A long wooden dining table sits in the center of the room, draped in a red-and-white checkered cloth.
A silver candelabra glows with soft, dancing flames.
A small vase of blush-pink roses sits between two place settings.
The air smells like slow-simmered tomatoes, garlic, and fresh basil.
“If I didn’t know any better,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips, “I’d swear this came straight out of Mamma Lina’s kitchen.”
Theo beams, pleased with himself. “That was the goal.” He pulls out my chair, waiting for me to settle before taking his seat across from me.
“It’s not Lina’s recipe, but it’s the closest I’ve found on this side of the pond so far.
I just wanted us to have something that felt like us, if that makes any sense. ”
“This is perfect.” The helicopter ride was a grand gesture, something out of a movie, but this—the fact that he could’ve easily booked the fanciest Michelin-starred terrace in London and instead chose a meal packed with this much meaning—is more than I ever could’ve wished for. This man is quickly capturing my heart.
“When did you have time to put all this together?” I ask.
“Between meetings. It’s not that impressive. All it took was a call to my cousin to ask about the house. And a couple mouse clicks to order food from the restaurant that’s catering and book the helicopter company.”
That’s Theo. Mr. Nonchalant. It’s the same way he handles projects.
He does the heavy lifting, saves the day, and then acts like he just happened to be standing there when the problem solved itself.
He doesn’t downplay his efforts to be humble.
He’s just so used to operating behind the scenes that he honestly doesn’t think he’s doing anything special.
He doesn’t even realize that most people can’t “mouse click” their way into a private Georgian manor by sundown.
“You didn’t have to do all this. I would’ve been happy with a pub dinner as long as it meant spending time with you.” I reach across the table and take his hand, my thumb brushing his knuckles.
“That’s exactly why I did this.” His eyes lift to meet mine. He shifts his hand, threading our fingers together, his thumb sweeping once across the back of my hand. “You matter to me, Kaori.”
“Theo,” I whisper, my heart doing a slow, dizzying roll. “You matter to me too. And it’s not just as a friend.”
He squeezes my hand, his gaze searching mine.
“I’m an engineer. I’m better with physics and formulas than I am at reading people.
I didn’t want to assume you felt the same way,” he admits quietly.
“This is all uncharted waters for me. I didn’t want to risk being wrong and ruining what we have.
I promised myself I’d play it cool tonight, but I hoped—”
“Theo, stop talking. Just kiss me already.”
It takes him approximately two seconds to catapult out of his chair.
He’s around to my side of the table before I can even finish the sentence.
But in our mutual rush to bridge the gap, the physics he’s so proud of fails us completely.
I stand up just as he leans down, and instead of a cinematic embrace, our foreheads collide with a dull, clumsy thwack.
We both recoil instantly, clutching our heads with identical winces.
“Smooth,” I hiss through my teeth, though laughter is already bubbling up in my throat. “If that was a tactical maneuver to daze me into submission, it worked.”
“I should’ve just let you take the lead. Lesson learned.” He rubs his own brow with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try a reboot. And from a position of structural stability this time. How do you want me to kiss you? Standing or sitting?”
I rise to my feet. “Standing. Definitely standing.”
“As the lady wishes.”
Theo steps in, the humor in his eyes shifting into something much deeper.
He cups my cheeks with both hands. His touch is so gentle, it’s as if I’m something fragile, which is hilarious, considering that I just nearly gave him a concussion.
His thumbs brush lightly beneath my cheekbones, and that small, steady contact makes my knees feel like they’ve turned to water.
He pauses for a heartbeat. He’s waiting. Giving me every chance to change my mind or take the lead.
I don’t hesitate. I close the remaining distance, rising on my toes just enough for our lips to meet.
His mouth is warm and steady against mine, not demanding, but asking a question I’ve wanted to answer for months.
My hands find his chest. The fabric of his shirt is soft and a little wrinkled beneath my palms, but underneath it, he is all heat and solid strength.
I breathe him in—the faint, clean scent of cedar and vanilla—and the world outside this old manor house simply falls away.
As the kiss deepens, his fingers slide from my cheeks to the back of my neck, threading into my hair and setting off a full-scale fireworks display behind my eyelids.
I curl closer, gripping his shirt, as we move together with a sudden, strange grace—like we’ve done this a hundred times already and our bodies finally got the memo.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against mine, both of us exhaling a shaky breath at the same time.
“I always enjoy starting with dessert first,” he murmurs.
I snort, the sound ruinously unromantic, but he just grins wider. “That was not dessert,” I whisper as my pulse tap dances in my veins. “That was a sampler. A palate cleanser at best.”
His eyebrow arches. “Oh? Am I being sent back to the kitchen, then? Should I work on the flavor profile?”
“No,” I say, smiling. “The profile was fine. But dessert deserves to be enjoyed slowly so it can be properly appreciated.” I brush my thumb along his jaw. “Which means we should probably eat dinner first.”
“You make a very convincing case,” he says, eyes dark with amusement. “Fine. We’ll have dinner first. Then dessert.”
He returns to his seat just as the waiter appears with fresh bowls of steaming pasta, basil and roasted tomatoes glistening under the candlelight, a basket of garlic bread still crackling with heat.
Once we’re alone again, Theo looks at me thoughtfully. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “Something real. I feel like I know you, but I don’t know you.”
My fork pauses halfway to my lips. For a split second, I consider it.
Do I tell him that my childhood home was the Imperial Palace?
That I have a Wikipedia entry that’s long enough to be a novella, detailing everything from my blood type to my favorite tea?
Which are A+ and Twinings Perfect Peach, for the record.
No. The man sitting across from me didn’t ask for a press release. He asked for the real me. The girl who would happily throw her contact lenses into the Thames and wear her nerdy glasses full-time if she could, and who—despite what the tabloids might speculate—has never actually had a boyfriend.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling. “Three things. One—I am deathly afraid of spiders. Size is irrelevant. If it has eight legs and too many eyes, I’m vacating the building and letting the spider have the deed to the house.”
Theo chuckles, his elbows on the table. “Duly noted. I’ll add ‘arachnid security’ to my job description. And number two?”
“Two—I sleep with a nightlight.”
The teasing glint in his eyes disappears and is replaced by something softer. “Because of the fire?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod, happy I don’t have to explain. “It keeps me company, I guess. It makes me feel like I’m not alone in the room, even when I am.”
“Have you ever tried those glow-in-the-dark stars?” he asks. “The plastic ones you stick to the ceiling?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve never even heard of those.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. “I thought those were a universal childhood requirement. Like scraped knees and hiding vegetables.”
“Well, not for me.” I swirl a few noodles around my fork, trying to keep my voice casual. “My upbringing wasn’t exactly . . . typical. I was sheltered. I grew up in a historical residence where everything was an antique. You don’t exactly stick adhesive plastic to sixteenth-century crown molding.”
Theo’s brows lift. “Were all the embassy houses that old?”
I nearly choke on a noodle. Nice one, Kaori. Real subtle. “No,” I say quickly, forcing a light smile. “Just a few of them.”
“Hmm.” He nods, thankfully letting my slip go for now. He taps on his phone and slides it across the table. “That’s what they look like.” I look at the photo—a cluster of neon-green stars glowing against a ceiling. They look like a tiny personal galaxy.
“I suppose it’s like Ravensbridge,” he says as I slide the phone back.
“My cousins spent a fortune restoring this place. They’d probably call the police if they caught me with a pack of glow stickers.
” He takes another bite of pasta, then looks up, his gaze locking back onto mine. “So what’s the third thing?”
“When I was about five,” I begin, “I used to sneak into my father’s study on Saturday mornings.
He’d be buried in the newspapers, but if I sat quietly, he’d let me stay.
We’d watch cartoons with the volume turned all the way down, and he’d sneak me pieces of Hi-Chew candy.
” I snicker. “My mom was strict about sweets, so it felt like we were coconspirators. Like we were breaking the rules together.”
I exhale. “Sometimes I miss being a kid. Back then, life was simple. I didn’t know how good I had it.
” I set my fork down and reach for my water glass.
“You’d like my father. You two have similar senses of humor and you both enjoy motorcycles.
Though he doesn’t ride his bike anymore.
He had to give it up when he became the emp—employee of the year. ”
Employee of the year? Really, Kaori? That wasn’t just a slip; it was a full-speed skid across black ice.
There is absolutely no way he’s buying a line that cheesy.
I’ve officially blown it. My stomach twists into a knot, bracing for the inevitable follow-up question that brings the whole house of cards crashing down.
“I’d like to meet him sometime.” Theo watches me for a beat. “We should probably eat before the pasta gets cold.”
Relief rushes through me. I take a bite of the pasta, though I barely taste it over the sound of my own thudding heart. I make a silent promise to myself right then—I’ll tell him everything this week.