Chapter 7 #3
“I do my best,” I say, lifting my tea for a sip. “But yeah… it’s a balancing act. One day I’m home in Brooklyn, the next I’m halfway around the world.”
Gregg’s eyes flick with interest. “Brooklyn? I don’t know why I would’ve guessed Manhattan.”
“I don’t have the kind of money to live where I’d want to in Manhattan.” I laugh. “Brooklyn is way more affordable. But more convenient for work, too.”
“I see. Do you fly this route often? I assume you’re on a return back to New York tomorrow?”
I shake my head, washing down a bite of scone with tea. “No and no, actually. I usually fly trips to France or Italy since I speak the language.”
Gregg nods in understanding.
“And tomorrow,” I continue, “we actually fly to Istanbul.”
“Oh, wow! Then where will you be off to?”
“Ready for this? Mumbai, Bangkok, Tokyo, Honolulu, then San Francisco.” I list.
Gregg blinks, trying to process the itinerary. “Over what? Eight days?”
“Ten, actually. But it’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Riley and I picked it up. The rest of the crew… well, they’re very senior at the company.”
Gregg chuckles softly. “I thought Celestial had a hub here in London?”
“We do,” I concur. “But they have their own special flying. Mostly through Europe and Africa.”
“Ah, I see.” Gregg leans back. “I’m learning a lot about this airline life. What’s your favorite destination so far?”
I pause and let the memories flip through my mind. “Probably Iceland. The landscape feels otherworldly. And the quiet… it’s like nowhere else.”
Gregg nods his head slowly, his gaze warm. “Iceland suits you.”
I frown lightly. “What do you mean?”
He smiles thoughtfully in a way that made my pulse do something inconvenient. “It’s beautiful, layered, and surprising. Just like you.”
I freeze, just long enough for my heart to skip before I manage a small laugh. “Careful, Gregg,” I tut, “you might charm me.”
His smirk softens into something gentle. “What if that’s the idea?”
For a moment, the bustle of the café and the noise of the street fades into nothing. It was only us.
“So,” Gregg steers the conversation back, spreading clotted cream onto another scone. “Are you from New York?”
“Uh, no, actually. San Francisco,” I say, still processing his last comment. What if that’s the idea? Maybe this is a date? “Well, I grew up between there and San Jose. But I spent a lot of time in the city growing up, especially at the museums.”
“Museums? Let me guess, you’re a fan of the classics?”
“Kinda,” I say with a smile. “Mostly impressionism. There’s something about the way those artists captured light and movement… like they could take a fleeting moment and make it last forever. I could spend hours in front of a Monet or a Renoir.”
He watches me, seemingly impressed. “That’s not just appreciation. You sound like an artist yourself.”
My fingers find the edge of my teacup, picking at it. “Well, I got my degree in Art History from Berkeley, and I do paint. Mostly for myself. It’s something I’ve always loved, but life gets busy, ya’ know?”
“You should make time for it,” Gregg states with sincerity. “If it brings you joy, that’s reason enough.”
I look up at him, a little disarmed by how earnestly he meant it. “Do you have anything like that? Something you love but don’t really have time for anymore?”
“The piano,” he says, his expression soft. “I started playing when I was young. My mum encouraged it, but my dad, well, he didn’t think it was a worthwhile pursuit.”
“Why not?” I ask, frowning without meaning to.
He shrugs casually, but with a weight underneath. “Dad’s always been focused on what he considers ‘practical.’ Music wasn’t part of his vision for me.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologize quietly. “Do you still play?”
“When I can. My happy place is our family home in Lochaven. There’s an old piano there. But I have one at home here, too. When I can, I play for hours. It’s grounding.”
I feel my lips tug into a faint smile. “Lochaven sounds idyllic. Like something out of a novel. Where is it?”
“Oh it’s quite wonderful.” His eyes light up. “It’s in Scotland. What about you? Do you have a place like that?”
I hesitate briefly, my fingertip tracing the rim of my teacup.
“Hilton Head. In South Carolina,” I answer softly.
“Or anywhere with Drew—” I catch myself, but the words had already slipped out.
Gregg didn’t push, he just let the moment settle between us.
I knew he’d seen it, the flicker of grief I tried to smother the second I felt it rise.
“I think that sometimes,” he says gently. “It’s not about always finding a new place, but making peace with the place you’re in.”
I look up, surprised by the depth behind his eyes. “You sound like you’ve done that.”
He gave a faint smile. “Still working on it I think, to be honest.”
I nod, taking a sip of my tea, grateful for something to do with my hands. I’m struck again by how easy he is to talk to, how natural everything feels, even with the walls I kept around my heart.
“So,” Gregg quips, sensing the shift and lightening the tone, “you mentioned you love Impressionism. Any masterpieces hidden away in your apartment?”
I let out a soft laugh. “Hardly. My paintings are pretty experimental. No one’s mistaking me for Monet anytime soon, trust me.”
“I’d like to see them sometime.”
I blink. “You would?”
“Of course. Art says so much about the person who creates it. And I want to know more about you.”
My throat goes tight, and before I can figure out what to say, the server returns to check on us. A small rush of relief hits me, but so did a curl of nerves. Gregg’s words linger, settling far too close to parts of myself I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to see.
I try to keep the conversation casual, but I can’t shake the feeling that Gregg saw more of me than I usually let people see. Not just the polished surface, not just an easy smile. Something deeper. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for, something that scared me as much as it pulled me in.
The warm breeze drifts by, carrying a faint smell of jasmine with it, and I watch the server clear our plates and return Gregg’s credit card. It was definitely a black card, not that that matters. Warmth and unease tangle in my chest, but strangely, with every passing minute, the unease fades.
“I wish you would’ve let me pay.” I sigh. “Or at least split it evenly.”
“Absolutely not,” Gregg disagrees, firm but teasing. “It was my pleasure.”
He took a beat, then gave me that easy smile of his. “So, are we still on for Velvet Noir tonight?”
“Looks that way.” I laugh. “I obviously need to change. And I’ve got dinner plans with Riley and Marc before.”
Gregg reaches into a satchel I hadn’t realized he’d been carrying and pulls out a pen and a scrap of paper. “That’s fine,” he says as he scribbles something down. “I need to shower and change too, then I’m heading over to Julian’s in Canary Wharf.”
He tucks the pen back into his bag, folds the paper neatly, and holds it out to me as we both stand. “Here’s his address. Come by when you’re ready. We can have a drink or two then leave from there.”
I take the paper, my fingers brushing his, a little spark catching at the contact. I glance down at the address, then back up at him.
“Canary Wharf, huh? Fancy. Sounds like he’s got a good setup.”
“Julian’s idea of minimalism is still twice as extravagant as most people’s idea of luxury.” He laughs. “But he would literally give you the shirt off his back.”
I fold the paper again and slide it into my pocket. “Alright. Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you later.”
He hesitates, just a fraction of a second, but enough for me to notice, like he was weighing whether to say more. Finally, he settles on, “Looking forward to it.”
We linger there, the breeze catching between us, and I finally tear my eyes from his and nod down the street.
“I should get going. If I make Riley wait for food, she’ll turn into a monster.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles, stepping back with his hands raised. “Enjoy your dinner. And don’t let anyone talk you out of coming tonight.”
“Not a chance,” I say, already walking backward. “I’ll see you at Julian’s.”
I turn and head toward the hotel, unfolding the note the moment I was out of sight. Gregg’s handwriting is surprisingly just above chicken scratch, and it makes me smile. I stare at the address longer than necessary, trying to quiet the doubt creeping in. Am I ready for this?
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement as we went our separate ways. But my mind stays with him. And I wonder if I’m crossing his mind too…