Chapter 24
NORA
The four of us wake up a little worse for wear—though I think Jude and I are feeling the worst of it, given the length of last night.
We woke up only a couple of hours after we fell asleep, sometime around five, and Jude hasn’t stopped yawning yet. He insists he’s fine though, and we all head down to breakfast together.
“I would like to go to town today, to pick up some supplies for our trip,” Farrah announces.
“And I need new mittens!” Cap says, fully recovered from last night and chipper as a cheerleader. “The other ones got all wet and my fingers were freezing, but Gerrard gave me a hot pack thing to warm them up and—”
“Who’s Gerrard?” Jude asks, his bacon suspended where he’d been about to take a bite.
“He’s the tour leader,” I say, stifling a yawn. Farrah and Cap told us all this when they recounted their first trip.
“He is very good at his job,” Farrah says, and is it just me or do I notice a little blush on her cheeks? She looks beautiful, even after the exhausting night, though she did get a solid sleep after we took over with Cap.
It’s only when we run into Gerrard in the lobby on the way back to the elevator that I confirm it had to be a blush.
“Farrah,” he says, reaching out two hands to cup her shoulders and giving her two European kisses on the cheek.
She titters. “Hello, Gerrard.”
The man looks like a stand-in for James Bond with his almost comically chiseled cheekbones and dimple in his chin. He even has a little mustache.
“And Cap, my fearless explorer.” He kneels down next to Cap, who gives him a hearty high five.
Jude stands there next to me, practically gaping. “This is their tour guide?” he whispers.
“He looks pretty capable,” I say, smiling broadly.
Jude glares at me, but then Farrah’s making introductions and we’re all chatting about their trip tomorrow.
Despite Jude looking like he wants to possibly pick a fight with the guy, Gerrard tells him all about all the safety precautions they take, including a satellite phone, heat source, and emergency camping equipment, and after reassuring him that the route will only ever take them one mile out of range of civilization at any given time, Jude seems to relax.
That is, until he catches me eyeballing Gerrard’s bicep as he gives Cap a handshake when he leaves.
“Excuse me,” he says as Cap and Farrah head toward the elevator to the parking garage. “Did I see you staring at that man who wasn’t me?”
“I wasn’t staring,” I say, laughing.
“Listen, I’m taller than him, and I could wipe a tennis court with him with my eyes closed and right arm in a sling.”
“I know you could,” I say, loving this slightly jealous side of him.
Jude leans in. “Plus, I bet he can’t fuck.”
I gasp, grasping onto his arm. “Jude!”
There are people everywhere. I also can’t help noticing that Jude’s bicep is just as impressive under my hand as Gerrard’s. Plus, it’s attached to Jude.
“But I can fuck, can’t I, Nor?” Jude says in my ear.
I shudder, waves of pleasure from just his breath in my ear running through me. “I don’t know. I can’t really remember.”
Jude slides a hand over the back of my neck. “You little minx,” he says, nipping at my ear. “Guess I better show you when we get back, huh?” The three of them are going into town while I plan on spending a couple of blissful hours reading in the bath.
But before I can answer, Jude plants his mouth on mine, his tongue in a proprietary sweep against my lips.
I hope Cap and Farrah are already out of sight, not just because of the very public kiss, but because right there in the lobby, Jude’s free hand slides down and squeezes my ass hard enough to have me squealing against his lips.
“Wait for me,” he says as he walks away from me.
“We’re not meeting up until dinner, remember?”
Jude points fingers at his eyes and then me. “I remember. You better be ready.”
He grins and winks, then turns around, a little skip in his gorgeous step. And me, I just stand there in the lobby of this fancy hotel, my insides having gone to complete jelly. Jude Kelly’s a fool if he thinks there’s anyone on this planet sexier than him.
A day on my own is just what I need. I consider doing something relaxing like a pedicure or a massage, but my mind is running all over the place, and I know I won’t be able to relax.
Instead, I call Christian to check in—he seemed tight-lipped about his own life when we’d last talked, but he doesn’t pick up, as usual.
Probably over an ocean somewhere. I write a ridiculously long text telling him about our progress with Eleanor and ask him to check in when he has time.
Then I spend an hour swimming laps in the pool, then order a sandwich and sit down to go over the notes and footage I took the other day in town.
There’s so much to read, but as I go through all the articles, I grow a little more deflated with each.
There’s some good information, especially around the specific dates Eleanor and her husband were here, and some mentions of some of the other towns they visited.
But nothing tells us more than we already know.
Worse, there’s nothing pointing to the specific location of that cottage.
For all I know, it could be an image of them anywhere.
But it’s not just the lack of useful information making my heart sink. It’s that when I turn in frustration from the articles and notes to the video, after taking some of the spread of articles on my table and go back to yesterday’s, I realize almost all of the footage is of Jude.
My hands tremble as I rewind and fast forward through Jude on the train leaving London, laughing at the town hall, and later, zooming in on that photograph of Eleanor Cleary and her mysterious lover in the window reflection.
I’m not even properly editing the footage yet—I have lots more to take—but I already feel sick knowing I’m going to have to keep looking at it long after this trip is over.
Even though I’ve already decided the video will only comprise a portion of my thesis, I feel so ridiculous for having switched from the seniors’ stories project to this romantic ghost story.
It’s not too late to switch back.
I consider the possibility of going back to the old project. It’s a good project, and I loved talking to the seniors about their pasts.
But as I pause the video player on my laptop, first to Jude’s face, looking at me with that mischievous grin, knowing the pain he holds on to underneath, and then pausing again on the photograph of Eleanor, I know this is the project I need to do.
It would make an incredible entry for that contest, too.
I shake that thought off. This is purely for my thesis, no matter how good a fit this is for the contest’s theme.
It’s highly unlikely they’d even accept my proposal let alone that I’d win.
Even if I did, the mere thought of standing up on stage and talking all over London about not just my work, but Jude, feels like actual death.
No, I’m going to use it for my thesis. This is the project that speaks to my heart.
I heard Jude switch from family to unit at the last minute when he spoke about us. He might have some feelings for me, but they’re not the big heart-ripping feelings I have for him. He doesn’t have those with anyone.
But giving up on this project would be the chicken thing to do. And I won’t keep doing that, not when there’s this much to lose.
I get a text from Jude an hour before we’re supposed to meet for dinner saying they ran into Gerrard again in town. Jude suspects it wasn’t a coincidence.
JUDE: I don’t think I can take his moony eyes. But he’s invited us to dinner and like, I can’t say no if he’s going to be looking after my kid for two nights??? Remind me why I said yes to this trip again!
NORA: Because you’re loosening up and being a cool dad.
JUDE: Excuse me, I’m already THE cool dad. But fine. I’m sorry. Do you want to join us still? I can come and get you? Or you can bail on us. I might forgive you.
NORA: You go ahead and have fun with double-O Gerrard. I’m going to go on a date here instead.
JUDE: ???
I was kidding—was going to add the caveat that my date was going to be with myself. I love having dates for one, just me and my book at a nice restaurant.
But suddenly, the joke feels off.
What if I did go out and get a date? Or at least go out and flirt with someone?
There are plenty of handsome European men all over the resort.
I’ve been so lost in the dreamy part of being with Jude, I keep forgetting that we’re not really together.
That’s not what friends with benefits are.
We’re just two friends having sex. Who won’t be again in a matter of days.
My stomach does a strange little drop at that.
This is what you wanted.
My phone buzzes again, startling me.
JUDE: I said: ???
NORA: Don’t worry, I’ll let you know how it goes. That’s what friends do, right? Talk about their dates?
There’s a beat of silence. Three dots pop up. Then they go away again.
I should tell him I was joking. But some petty—or maybe pathetic—part of me wants to see what he says.
But he doesn’t respond.
Annoyed, not just with Jude but myself, I decide I’ll make this a proper date.
Never mind that it’s with myself. Jude’s going to be gone next week, and if I come away with only a battered heart, I refuse to slip back into the same sad sack student persona I was.
I had world-class sex, with a world-class athlete.
Never mind that for me it goes way deeper than that.
It’s Sasha’s voice that echoes in my mind when I think you need to capitalize on that.
I think of Sasha’s easy laugh, her flirtatious giggle.
I pull another of her dresses out of the closet.
This one’s a form-fitting hunter-green tweed with a boat neck, no sleeves, and knee-length skirt with a slit at the back.
She calls it her “slutty professor” dress because it shows all the curves without revealing all that much skin.