Chapter 27 Alexander
Alexander
We wind up and down charming cobblestone streets, taking in the medieval architecture and the creamy-colored homes with dark wood accents.
All the while, a look of awe never leaves Ivy’s face.
She is as enamored with this place as I am with her.
And her reaction to our surroundings looks so unlike the faces I see in Hollywood.
That’s not to say there aren’t good people there; it’s only that so many are jaded and so self-important that there isn’t a lot of magic for them outside of themselves.
Ivy is finding the magic, and her happiness is spreading to me in ways I didn’t realize I was missing. I take a photo of her as she’s touching a stone wall.
“Can you imagine what these walls have seen?” she asks, leaving her hand on the stone and turning to look at me.
“I can’t.” And I wouldn’t have even thought to wonder.
She sighs and we continue down the street. “I’m really glad I came today. I wish Val and I had planned for more of our trip to be outside of London.”
“Where else do you plan to go?” I ask, trying to conceal my hope to join them. It had been rather convenient that her hotel was twenty minutes from my home. But if they leave and I’m not invited? It will be much harder for me to do what I’m wanting to do.
“In three days,” she pulled out her phone, checking the date. “Days are weird on a long vacation. But yeah, in three days we’re taking a train to Edinburgh to tour around the lowlands of Scotland for a couple of days, before flying out from there.
“Hoping to see a kilted man, are you?” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
“I’m not seeing any here.” She eyes my blue canvas shorts. “So yeah. That’s top priority for Scotland.”
“I could get a kilt,” I offer. I’m not serious, but I’d do it if she wanted.
“You do have the legs for it,” she says, eyeing said appendages once again.
“Thank you.” I take the opportunity to study her long legs for a moment. Her overall complexion is fair, but I can tell her legs have seen the sun lately, giving them a healthy glow. They’re strong and beautiful. “You have the legs for a kilt, too.”
This makes her snort a laugh. I love it when she does that.
“Why, thank you.” Her eyes are absolutely sparkling, and good grief if I don’t want to spend all my time complimenting her. To lay the world at her feet. Joke with her. Laugh with her. Make her look at me the way she’s looking at me now.
“Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?” I ask, reaching up and coiling some around my finger.
“You have. A few times.” She gives a small smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and I decide then that those crinkles might be my second favorite feature of hers.
“Hmm … this probably won't be the last time.” I let her hair slip off my finger and watch the curl reform.
She smiles and shakes her head, but she takes my hand. She takes my hand. It’s the first time she’s done it, and I count it as a major win.
“Please. Just some small earrings. Or a bracelet if you’d rather.”
“No,” she whispers to keep from drawing attention. We wandered into Whitefriars, a crowded shopping area near where I had parked the car, and I brought her to a stop in front of a jewelry store.
“Come on, it’s part of pretending. If this were real, I’d get you any jewelry you wanted.”
“But when this is over, I would still have it, and I don’t think I’d want it. And I already have the dresses.”
“Oh. I understand. It would make you miss me.” I nod as if this were an undeniable fact. And maybe it is, and this is simply another way she’s protecting her future self. As much as I hate it and wish to shower her with gifts, I get it.
She just shakes her head and smiles up at me. “There’s a man over there with blown glass. He’s got a screen showing him making them. So cool. Let’s go watch.” She’s clearly trying to distract me, and I let her.
We arrive just in time to see the recorded version of the man in front of us bringing the long tube with molten glass on the other end to his lips. He blows and spins and works the glass. I wish I could see it in person.
I pick up one of the finished pieces, a blue, white, and clear vase. “I’m going to get this for a friend back home.”
I pay as Ivy continues to watch the video demonstration.
“So who is this friend who will love that vase?” she asks as we walk away.
“I hope she’ll love it. I’ve made friends with a couple who own a restaurant that I love.
I mentioned them when we were talking about your restaurant the other day.
Mrs. Parker is almost always wearing this shade of blue when I see her.
I’m guessing it’s her favorite. And Mr. Parker is always buying her flowers, so I thought she could put it to good use. ”
“That was awfully thoughtful of you.”
I shrug. “They’re the best. Honestly, they’re the closest thing I have to family now.”
She gives me a sweet smile. “So do you just go around befriending restaurateurs?”
That makes me chuckle. “I’d not thought about it, but I suppose I do.”
It looks like she’s about to say something when we’re interrupted.
“Alexander Henry! Oh my gosh! Can we take a picture with you?” Two girls, seeming to be in their early twenties, rush up and into my space. The girl who didn’t speak shoulders Ivy back, then presses her phone into Ivy’s hands without so much as a glance, much less a request of her.
“I would have been glad to take a photo with you; however, you running over here, pushing my friend, then shoving your phone into her hands, and disrespectfully interrupting our conversation has left me inclined not to.” I take the phone from Ivy and pass it back to its owner.
“I’m a person, and you’re not entitled to my time just because you’ve seen my movies.
And I certainly won't reward you treating my friends like they’re invisible. Goodbye.”
I turn from the stunned girls. Ivy looks at me, eyes wide, as I place my arm on the small of her back and lead her from the shopping center. I fume silently, until she stops, looks at me and smiles. “I’m gonna buy you a snack,” she says.
She’d spotted a falafel street vendor and now leads the way toward the delicious-smelling foods.
We order chicken shawarma and falafel, and once again, I’m delighted to watch her eat. No wonder she opened a restaurant. She clearly enjoys food and the experience of trying new things. Her eyes light up when she takes her first bite of the shaved chicken and sauce in pita bread.
I want to take her everywhere just to feed her all the best food the world has to offer.
“Enjoying that?” I ask as I take a seat beside her. We’ve found a spot nearby on top of a short wall, away from the crowd.
She’s still chewing, but she smiles and gives me a look that says you know good and well that I am.
Ivy finishes her bite, and I notice a drop of sauce on the corner of her mouth. I take the napkin from underneath the tray of falafel in my hand and slowly bring it to the corner of her mouth, cleaning the spot.
“You know, you could have just told me,” she teases.
“And miss a chance like that? Bloody unlikely.”
She laughs and knocks her shoulder into my arm. “I like your Englishness.”
This makes me grin, falafel all but forgotten. “Do you?”
“Mmm hmm.” She’s acting coy, and it makes me want to toss the food and press her back to the grass behind us.
“Well, as it happens, I quite fancy you and all your Ivyness.”
A little color touches her freckled cheeks, but she laughs softly. “Eat your food, pretend boyfriend.”
With her words, I notice a trend. I think each time she starts to feel something more, or something that surprises her, she calls me “pretend boyfriend.” And yes, we did say we would remind each other of that, but I imagined it more randomly—not as much as a tool to try to shut down feelings.
I obey and take a bite of the falafel. I’m sure it was fine, but I didn’t really taste it.
“I thought it was really good how you spoke to those girls.” She wipes her fingers on her napkin. “You weren’t mean, but you were clear that their actions were not what they should have been.”
“I normally just take the pictures and move on, but I couldn’t stand how they treated you. Acting like you don’t matter.”
I can tell she doesn’t know what to say. If I told her how much she is starting to matter to me, would she try to push me away? I’m betting she would. Her hand is resting beside her, on top of the wall. I place my hand on hers.
“Thank you for letting them know that I matter,” she says.
“Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” I joke, in order to keep myself from telling her how very much she matters to me.