Chapter 3
3
ZARA
Four months later…
How does one measure happiness?
Research suggests certain theories, yet I am testing them in my own way. I’m living with the freedom of anonymity—not shadowed by my own past, by the person back home everyone knows me to be. People in London only know me at face value based on the woman I present when we first meet. A new country, a fresh new start, and a new timeline of happiness.
The warm feeling in my chest is an indicator of where the scale of happiness is stuck. Firmly on yellow. Sunshine in my heart.
Prior to leaving LA, my friends warned me about the dreary weather, and even though it’s the first week of October, in my mind, it feels like a hot summer day. I’ve been here for a month, and already I’m loving everything about the city—the architecture, friendly people, and traditional bars.
Before starting my new job, I toured the sights from daylight to dark. On my first day, I rode on a red double-decker bus, and then stopped off at The Tower of London, Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey. Then I spent a week visiting castles. There is plenty of sightseeing, and with the recommendation of my new work friends, I’ll be traveling around the country every weekend for the next ten years. Living in London signifies my deep love for royalty, so I eagerly absorbed the history. This is my new home, and I refuse to be ignorant about the country’s heritage.
I’m stuck in fascination mode, and everything about the country is like a shiny new toy. It’s only been three weeks since I began working in the heart of the city and within walking distance from my hotel. Some nights are split between visiting an old-time pub and the cocktail bars closer to my hotel. The other half of the week, I stay in my hotel room to work on extra projects for the company and gain my footing in this new role while trying to set myself apart from the team in the event that a promotion opportunity arises. If I’m going to do what I said and accelerate my career, I need to be committed and stay up as late working as I do on pub nights.
While I love trendy cocktail bars, like the ones I frequented with my friends in LA, the old-time bars give a timeless feel since they have been around for centuries. As long as I’m not expected to quote Shakespeare, I have slipped into discussions relatively easily, especially since topics with my work colleagues have moved beyond questions about living in Los Angeles and why I moved when Hollywood was at my doorstep.
A career change and making a name for myself as a professional is my response because every time I think about home, tears threaten to unhinge me, and I question my decision.
Penny.
Hugh.
Every morning, when I open my eyes, I think about them, their families, and how happy they are. Taking the risk and creating a new life is hard when all I want to do is hug my best friends.
And Penny’s baby.
Being mindful of my happiness and not feeling like the worst best friend is more difficult than I thought.
It’s the end of the working week, and before I step inside the pub, out of the wind, my cell chimes in my bag.
It is Piper from the office.
Hey, we’re all meeting at a bar in Notting Hill tomorrow to watch the game. Do you want to join us?
It’s my first official invite that excludes meeting work colleagues for a drink after work. And, it is my first free Saturday where I haven’t busied myself exploring the city. After I text back , I’m still smiling as I walk into the grand old-time bar.
The bartender fixes me a gin and tonic, which I down quickly and ask for another before I leave the safety of the bar to find a seat.
Oomph . I stumble when some idiot bumps my hip. Thankfully, I somehow managed not to spill a drop.
“Sorry, love. Ahh… here she is. U.S. of A.” Oscar grins at me before eyeing my drink.
Oscar is tall, dark, and handsome. And not my type. He introduced himself the first time I wandered into this bar after the cheers of happy people drew me inside .
He is a gentleman, perfectly groomed with not a hair out of place or any sign of a shadow on his jaw. Oscar’s voice is soft and caring. Sometimes, it’s too gentle for me to hear over the boisterous patrons in the bar. Something about him screams he wouldn’t cope with a broken heart, and it’s a known fact I fall for the bad boy. But this move is about stepping into my own light—no more blending, not even with the way I used to be—so I promised myself not to rule anything out.
“Still afraid to try the ale?”
“I tried it a few nights ago and still not a fan.”
He smiles, clinking his drink with mine. “G and T it is. Do you drink anything else?”
Does a bear shit in the woods? “Wine. Cocktails. Champagne.”
He chuckles. “If you try the ale again, start with shandy.”
“Noted.” I look over his shoulder, but the table I was eyeing is now taken.
He turns to where I’m looking. “Do you have a table?”
I shake my head.
“Are you here with anyone?”
I offer a strangled laugh. “Not tonight, though my work colleagues have invited me to watch the game tomorrow.”
“Look at you fitting in with the locals. I assume it’s not at the game ?”
I frown at him. “You shouldn’t assume.”
He chuckles. “It’s incredibly difficult to get tickets and prices are high, but yeah, there are ways to buy them. So at someone’s house or a sports bar? I could name the bars in the area that are screening it live.”
“Notting Hill.” I clink my glass against his. “You can drop any detective skills, Big O. Unless, you are working for the FBI and haven’t told me?” I say, and smile.
He grins, though it’s more about his pet name—Big O. The reference is to his height and not to what every woman wants between the sheets. Oscar is six foot six, and my own personal drone to what is happening in the bar. “Not a chance. And it’s MI5, here, Americano.” He nods toward the back of the bar. “Let’s find you a table.”
Thirty minutes later, we are laughing about the differences between our countries, more so with the extra gins I have consumed. “You know something, Big O? I should be drinking champagne to celebrate. I have officially lived here for one month today.”
“If you want champagne to celebrate, then I’ll get us a bottle even though I like it as much as you do the ale. But you’re not in any state to be walking home alone tonight.”
I smile at my friend. “You don’t have to do either. I can buy my own drinks, and I’ll get an Uber home.”
“You’re not paying for your celebratory drinks.” He slides out from the table and heads toward the bar.
I eye his tight ass hidden beneath the perfectly tailored suit. Like me, he is here for Friday night drinks, though we haven’t shared our place of work. Should I be more careful? I pull out my cell to take a sneaky photo because I should have someone I spend time with on my camera roll.
A text from Penny lights up the screen.
Can we please FaceTime? I need to speak with you and make sure you’re okay.
Pen, I need you to stop worrying. I am fine. I’m not going to pretend I don’t miss you, but I’m happy here. I’ll send you my location so you know where I am. I’ll send you another when I get back to my hotel. Give Summer a big hug from me x
After sending my location, I drop my cell back into my bag. It’s the same every Friday night. Before Penny met Franklin, we would meet on Friday nights along with Hugh. Nothing stood in the way of our meetups, not even my boyfriends.
However, guys never stayed with me longer than six months. Every relationship has ended the same. We were too different, even though I tried to change to be more like the girl they envisioned me to be in their mind. I even changed my freaking diet and pretended to like the same foods as they did. I’m not made of relationship material, accommodating the other person, ultimately making me unhappy. Miserable, actually, and I’m not going back to being that girl.
Finally, I understand I have to love myself before anyone else can love me. My new life is about self-discovery along with the adventure of living in another country and building my career.
The champagne bottle pops, and cheers sound from nearby tables. Everyone is so happy here.
Oscar fills my glass, and we clink our glasses. “Cheers.” He smiles at me.
What are we cheering?
“It’s my understanding that scones are not scones, and biscuits are not biscuits,” I say and raise my glass.
“Life lessons.” He grins and downs his glass, then wipes his mouth before a shudder rolls over his broad shoulders. “Next lesson, what food are you ordering?”
Before I answer that I’m not hungry, I acknowledge the test.
“Chips, not French fries.”
He refills my glass. “Bangers are?”
“Pork sausage. Now, I have a question. What is it with everyone taking a vacation to Thailand? Why Thailand?”
He laughs at my disbelief. “First, it’s holiday, not vacation. ”
“Oh, right, I remember.”
“Exotic destinations are appealing.”
I shake my head. “Like Mexico?”
His brows tighten. “I consider Thailand to be different from Mexico. I prefer Madeira.”
In conversation with my coworkers, I discovered many of them have traveled to far more countries than me. I have traveled around the US, Canada, and Mexico but never pondered venturing farther until a few months ago.
“Mark it as a place of interest,” he suggests. “What’s the next destination on Zara’s want-to-explore list?”
“Oh, more castles and formal gardens, and I’ve not been to Scotland.”
“An Outlander fan?”
“Only since my flight over. I binge it when I can’t sleep.”
“Does live music interest you?”
“Hell, yes.”
“There she is.” He grins. “I thought you’d aged twenty years while I was at the bar.”
Our discussion leads to our favorite bands and another bottle of champagne.
The girl at the table beside me begins dancing around us. Because of the lack of space, she bumps into me. Instead of getting annoyed, I jump up and dance with her. Carefree, I move my hips to the beat, laughing along with her as though we have known each other for years and not the ten minutes we’ve been dancing. While her youth is noticeable, I don’t care that I’m thirty-freaking-five and should be acting in a more mature, classy way. It feels good to be free of judgment. As much as Penny and Hugh like to enjoy themselves, they’d never in a million years get up and dance with a stranger in a bar—and so, in my typical blending fashion, I wouldn’t have either. But here, I’m coming out of my shell, and it feels fantastic .
Oscar claps his hands and smiles at me as he stands, whispering, “I’m heading to the loo.”
What a weird word.
I don’t need to know his every move, though I appreciate he is looking out for me. With my hands in the air, I twirl, the liquid bubbles giving me more confidence than I naturally have. The cheers of other tables incite us to keep dancing. Eyes closed, I imagine all my fears leaving my body, as though I’m expelling it through my fingertips, and like invisible gas, it’s circling above me, and I’m lighter for it.
I have to stop reading fantasy books.
Smiling, I open my eyes, and my entire body freezes. A few feet away, Jobe Hendricks’ dark eyes hold me captive.
“What are you doing, Zara?”