When I showed up the following afternoon, Ames was waiting against the outside wall, backpack slung over one shoulder and head bent, as he looked at his feet. His feet shuffled, and his eyes looked a thousand miles away. Without Sam there as a buffer, I felt my palms go clammy. Nerves prickled my skin. I didn’t fully realize what being around him without Sam meant. It meant alone. Just me and Ames. The wedding ring. The mention of the father-in-law.

This was just a local being friendly to a tourist. That was all. Reminding myself of that fact relieved some of my anxiety.

His head lifted and he took me in as I approached. “Ready?”

He’s so handsome, was my first thought. And I tried to talk myself out of going with him. Handsome, married man, I told myself. Just being friendly to the tourist. That’s it.

Nodding, I stuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Are we taking the tube?”

“We could.” He pushed off the wall and didn’t wait for me to follow him. “But we’re going to take the bus.” And as if he’d summoned it, the bus stopped just a dozen yards from us, and I followed him to the second level of the double-decker before the bus pulled away from the sidewalk and moved back into traffic.

“Is there somewhere near the park, to grab lunch?” I asked him as the bus jostled, sending me bumping into him.

“Oh.” Ames pointed at the backpack he carried. “I had Lotte pack us something.”

I thought of the woman at the bar, who looked like she’d stepped off the stage of a ballet concert. “Is she a dancer?” I asked on a whim.

Ames finally looked directly at me, one eyebrow raised. “Random question…”

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I just … she moves like water.” I shook my head, realizing that probably didn’t make any sense. “She is very graceful—not in how she looks, but how she moves. And she has the best posture of anyone I’ve ever seen.” I mimicked a hunched over appearance. “A lot of people I meet walk like this, with their heads leaning forward.” I pushed up my shoulders. “And rounded shoulders. It’s noticeable.”

Ames just stared at me, unblinking. I straightened and pushed my hair away, wishing I’d thought to bring a ponytail holder. “I probably sound ridiculous to you.”

“No.” There was a slight tick in his jaw as he studied me and I became increasingly aware of just how close we were to one another on the bus. He smelled clean, with an undercurrent of something that was uniquely him.

He’s married, I reminded myself. The last thing I needed, three months after losing Colin was another boyfriend and, as a follow-up, a boyfriend who was already in a committed relationship. Been there, done that, hated myself for it.

My palms grew sweaty and I rubbed them down the knees of my jeans as the bus hit the brakes, the high squeal penetrating my eardrums and making me wince.

“Are you alright?”

I waved him off, wishing to hell that the bus would stop and I could put some physical distance between Ames and me. What had possessed me to readily agree to let a married tour guide show me London? That question didn’t remain unanswered in my mind for long, though: it was because I was impulsive. Make decisions now, question them later: it was practically my life’s motto.

But when you have parents who dote on your continually ill twin brother, it’s easy to be reckless with your own life. In small, little ways. I wasn’t jumping out of airplanes or eating live bugs—but I was definitely making decisions in the heat of the moment—and ill-prepared for their potential consequences.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, Jude’s text buzzed on my phone.

Quickly, I typed out my reply. Ames seemed, mentally, a million miles away, so he wasn’t paying any mind to what I’d say.

Smiling, I turned my phone off and tucked it into my little backpack purse, just as the bus drew to a stop. I followed Ames out and onto the sidewalk and then across the narrow street, pulling my camera from my bag—remembering that I’d need to take the photos I’d forgotten to snap on Westminster Bridge.

“This is it?” I asked him, holding the camera up and shooting a few photos of the entrance. There was a wrought iron fence, supported by brick-laden beams. It appeared to be a large garden, tucked in a busy neighborhood. Impressive stone buildings loomed on either side of the entrance and a mature tree in the garden spread its branches over the sidewalk we stood on. I looked back at Ames with a question on my face.

“Come on,” he said, nodding his head and gesturing for me to go first in through the opened gate. Once I’d passed the gates, I instantly felt like I happened upon a secret. Not that the location itself was a secret—after doing research on it the night before, I’d realized this park had been in the movie Closer, so it clearly wasn’t some little off-the-beaten-path gem. But the overall ambiance of a well-kept garden, with paths circling around little green lawns, tucked away in the heart of a big, bustling city felt like I’d driven clear outside the London limits and found myself in a garden that belonged in a book.

As soon as we passed through the gates, the city noise quieted until only the sound of the breeze gently swaying the trees remained. A few people milled about, on their phones or seated on benches with paper bag lunches on their laps.

Ames’ hand touched the small of my back and I started, surprised. “Come over here,” he said, and steered me off to the left, in an area that was under shadows this time of day. An awning covered a little walkway—and the way the posts supported its roof reminded me of a horse’s stable. “In Commemoration of Heroic Self Sacrifice” was written in white paint across the front. I snapped a photo, felt Ames’ eyes on me.

Under the shadowed awning, painted tiles were laid into the wall, surrounded by brown brick. There were names and dates and explanations when I looked at Ames again, I found his green-blue eyes staring back, small creases in the corners that smoothed out slowly when he turned away.

“You come here often?” I asked, before turning back to the wall and stepping closer for a better look, snapping a couple of the names with my camera. I didn’t look at him as I pulled my camera down and scrolled quickly through my photos.

“When I need a bit of thinking space, yeah.”

I didn’t reply to that, just kept snapping photos. I felt his eyes on me still, but I didn’t look back at him, not wanting a distraction just then as I read the names across the tiles, and the acts that earned them a place in this park. I lowered my camera so it hung by its strap around my neck, and decided to take a break from documenting this for the moment.

The wall of names appeared in contrast to the rest of the park, which was covered in green and red and white from the grass and the trees and the flowers that bloomed in great, round circles throughout the pathways. The names were tucked in a corner, covered in shadow, and gave the impression of being the focus of the park at the same time that it felt like an afterthought.

I turned around and found Ames leaning up against the post, staring me down. “Hi,” I said, to break the tension I was sure he had to have felt too.

The side of his mouth lifted. “Hi.” He was just staring at me. I rubbed my suddenly sweaty palms down my jeans, gave him a nervous smile, and turned, my fingers braced on the brick wall that surrounded the decorated tablets installed across it.

He braced a hand on a pillar and looked up at the names in front of him. “This place gives me hope.” His eyes met mine, but only briefly, and he almost looked embarrassed to have admitted it. Turning to the plaque, he read softly, “’Henry James Bristow. Aged eight.’” He paused, nodding, and I wonder if he too felt the pinch of heartbreak in hearing that age—a life cut short too soon. “’Saved his little sister’s life by tearing off her flaming clothes, but caught fire himself and died of burns and shock.’”

I let out a heavy sigh, laden with sadness for his family, for the sister whose life he saved. “That gives you hope?”

“It does. He was an ordinary lad, young too, and thought of someone other than himself in his last moments.” He rapped his knuckles on the seat below him and looked thoughtful. “It was tragic, don’t mistake my meaning. But … he saved someone who needed saving.” He watched me carefully, eyes hooded in the shadow of the awning over us. “What do you think?”

I breathed out a laugh and turned to him. “Of this?”

“Of anything.”

“Well.” I swallowed the nerves that gripped my tongue. “I think this is a very interesting memorial.”

“Interesting how?”

“It’s just not something you see. Not often, at least.” I gestured toward a tablet dedicated to a Sarah Smith. “’Died of terrible injuries received when attempting in her inflammable dress to extinguish the flames which had enveloped her companion.’” Over one hundred and fifty years earlier. Before ceiling sprinklers, and fire trucks. “I suppose ‘interesting’ is too weak a word. She was a regular person.” I glanced at Ames and wanted to look away immediately, but I found myself unable to. “She was a regular person, who died saving a friend. It happens all the time, I’m sure, but rarely is it acknowledged.”

“Almost never,” he agreed. “We have memorials dedicated to war heroes and kings and queens, but what about them?” He waved a hand across the tiles. “What about the everyday heroes?”

“Do you want a memorial for yourself?”

“I’m not a hero. So, no,” he replied immediately. He blinked and his brow furrowed for a moment, and I found myself transported back to when I’d first seen him, on the bridge, when I’d locked eyes with him and felt something shift within me—like the center of my gravity had changed, like the ground I stood on had turned into quicksand. “Do you?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.

“No.” But I thought of Colin, with his grave filled with dirt—his ashes in the wind. It didn’t feel right going to his grave—he wasn’t there. Not in body, nor in spirit. A stone in a graveyard of a thousand others made the whole thing impersonal. There was nothing in that graveyard besides his name etched into that rock that made me think of him. So I’d never gone. I didn’t want to stand at an empty grave, and look at a gray stone that bore his name but nothing else that was really him—his smile, his gregarious personality, his love for fitness and mountains and the way his hair had flown in the air when he’d stood on top of the many mountains he’d conquered in his twenty-five years on earth.

Colin, a man whose death had unburdened others with the organs he was able to donate. I closed my eyes, thinking of him, and feeling no small sense of betrayal for being in such a profoundly meaningful place with a man who was not him. I wondered if it’d ever get easier living with this heartache that gripped me like a vise.

“My boyfriend died,” I said, not looking at Ames. “And I didn’t … see him, before he passed.” I swallowed, the memory of seeing his face lose color still so vibrant that I could hear my sobs, feel the tremble in my hands as he collapsed into them. “He has a gravestone, but it doesn’t feel right—he’s not even there.” Closing my eyes, I realized exactly what I was saying—and to whom. Ames was a stranger, and here I was, telling him a secret that I hadn’t even shared with my brother.

I turned and met his eyes, giving him a rueful smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be a downer.”

He let out a breath, and it was as if he’d lost ten pounds of burden. “Don’t be sorry.”

But I just nodded and hoped my face made it clear that I was already regretting the things I’d said, and didn’t want to continue. He shifted a little, opened his mouth like he was going to say something. I’m not sure how long I waited for him to say it, and how long it took for him to decide not to say it, but we stayed in that suspended silence for a few moments longer, before I averted my eyes.

He was braced on the beam, with veins roping over his forearm and his biceps pushing through the constraints of his tee. He was very fit, which surprised me for the manager of a bar. I didn’t imagine that slinging drinks had given him all of the muscles he wore, which made me all the more curious about him.

He’s married, I reminded myself again and forced myself to stop staring at him.

“Ready to eat?” he asked, and I just nodded, following him to a bench behind us that overlooked the tablets. “I guess I didn’t ask if you were allergic to anything—but Lotte made goujon sandwiches.”

The name of the sandwich gave me the slightest pause. “I’m not sure what goujons are, but I’m game to try them. Unless they’re live bugs.”

Ames held the parchment paper wrapped sandwich in hand as he looked at me, eyebrows drawn together. “Not a fan of live bugs?” When I shook my head, he sighed, defeated. “Don’t yuck my yum, Mila.”

“Are you serious?”

He tossed the sandwich at me and I threw my hands up in the air to keep from catching it.

“Oh, you believed me?” He laughed lightly, and then handed me a bottle of water.

“You laughed,” I said, feigning astonishment. “I don’t think I’ve seen your lips do anything except frown.”

He looked up at me in surprise, and I felt my stomach go all light and wild again, my eyes dipping to his lips and then away. Fuck. His lips were so full, and wide, and he.was.married. I couldn’t believe I was allowing myself to find him attractive. That I was indulging in those long stares, knowing he belonged to someone else.

I turned away and laughed at myself as I took the water bottle.

“What’s so funny?”

I went for a lie. “You run a bar—”

“Pub.”

“And you brought us water. Not beer.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t want to get pissed.”

“One beer gets you drunk? You’re a cheap date.” As soon as the words left my lips, I mentally slapped myself across the forehead. Married. The ring around his finger made that plain enough. I held the sandwich in my lap, my fingers picking at the sides of the wrapping. “What are goujons?”

“Goujons are slices of chicken breaded in cornflakes and baked. And no, one beer doesn’t get me drunk.”

“Oh, okay. So, they’re like chicken tenders.” I opened my wrapper without hesitation then, and took a big bite. Somehow, they were still a bit warm, and when combined with the crusty bread and the healthy dollop of mayo, they were absolutely perfect. “Wow. These…” I pointed at the sandwich, “are incredible.”

“Lotte’s a good cook,” he agreed. “Her mum’s recipe.”

We were quiet for a bit after that as we sat beside each other on the bench in the shade. People milled around us, but none went to look at the tablets which were directly in our line of sight. “Why’d you say yes?” I asked him abruptly, when my sandwich was reduced to just a few crumbs in my wrapper.

“Yes to what?”

“Bringing me here.” I looked sideways at him and did my nervous habit, tucking my hands under the backs of my thighs. “You don’t seem to particularly like me. I’m not sure why you’d want to go out of your way on your day off to bring me here.”

“It’s not my day off. I have to work this evening.”

“You know what I meant. And you avoided my question.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me a question.”

“I did! I asked why you said yes.”

“I’ll tell you this: I don’t regret saying yes now.”

It wasn’t the answer to my question, but it made my brain hum.

He stood up and crumpled his wrapper into a ball and then took mine. Silently, he walked the garbage to the can and dumped them into it before returning to where I sat.

“Ready to go?” he asked, completely avoiding my question.

I sighed, resigned, and brushed the crumbs off my lap. His hand entered my vision and I looked up at him as he waited for me to grab it and pull me to standing.

With a thousand voices screaming in my ear, I did just that, and felt the same magnetic pull I’d felt the night we met, when he’d held me after pulling me over the railing. It was as if, in that moment, the world didn’t make sense anymore—everything was upside down and inside out. I was too close to him, breathing in the air he was exhaling, our faces just inches from one another. The shadow of a leaf crossed over his face, making his eyes look all the more bright and alluring and even as the shadow danced in the wind, I found myself undistracted, staring into his eyes as if they were speaking when his lips weren’t.

His eyes dipped to my lips and like a kick to the chest, I remembered exactly why this was a terrible idea.

He’s married.

I pulled my hand from his and gave him a smile I didn’t mean before I turned around. “Thanks for the tour and the lunch. I appreciate you going out of your way. Catch you later.”

And then I was gone.