Fuck these early morning meetings. The negotiation went well, but having to deal with people first thing in the morning just kills my day. I smile to myself as I get off the elevator of the offices of my latest clients, or soon-to-be clients. They haven’t signed on the dotted line yet, but they will. I can always smell the excitement of a buyer who is desperate for my horse, but thinks that playing it cool is a good strategy to lower my price.

Sometimes, I want to save them the trouble and tell them I never lower my asking price. I know what I’m selling. It’s worth everything I ask for and more. But other times, I just sit back and watch the drama. It’s a game they love to play. Those stingy bastards would ask for a discount on a bag of fries if they could.

If it weren’t so ungodly early in the morning, I’d go out for a little celebratory drink. Instead, I need to find somewhere to pick up some chow. I missed breakfast and I’m starving. I know there’s a little hole-in-the-wall café at the end of the next block that do huge fry-ups, so I head in that direction. It’s cold and all around me people in thick coats are hurrying to the next warm place. Not me. I’m in a T-shirt. I love the cold. I even ride bare-chested in the middle of winter.

I open the door and the smell of coffee and grease hits me. My stomach rumbles.

The place is small and cozy and boiling hot. It has a hearth along one wall where people can curl their hands around steaming mugs of hot cocoa or coffee and chat quietly. There are two girls there right now, and they look me over with appraising eyes. There was a time, long ago, when I would have flirted right back. Not anymore. I’ve lost my mojo. Not even a lap full of gorgeous blondes could do it for me last week.

It’s fairly crowded, but I find a table by the window and sit down. A waitress stops by. Her hair is tied back in a messy bun and she looks harassed. I order coffee, the With Everything On It Breakfast, and extra toast.

She nods and makes a note on her order pad. “You’re hungry. Want black pudding on the side? It’s good.”

She just earned herself a hefty tip right there. “Why not?”

“Great. Be right back with your coffee,” she says flashing a big smile.

I scan the place and people are turning around to watch me. Two years ago they would have turned to look at me because I was a celebrity. Now it’s because I’m a strange fucker with a big beard and long hair. If someone looks at me it’s only because I’m so damn big and bearlike. Ignoring them, I take out my phone. I have one more appointment then I can get back on the road.

Truth is, I can’t wait to get back to the farm, back to my horses. Dealing with horses is a lot less complicated than interacting with people. Something changed in me when I lost my friend. I understood in a real and material way that life wasn’t endless. I had an expiration date. I lost my taste for the life I used to live, always needing excitement, getting into trouble, getting my picture in the gossip mags. But all that seemed like a waste of time.

Then once it became clear I was not going to be able to find Izzy, life lost all its color and vibrancy. I felt cheated by life. Everything I loved, wanted, was taken away. I devoted my time to my horses and I became a recluse and a workaholic. Some might even call me obsessed and a little mad.

There’s a little old-fashioned bell above the front door and it tinkles whenever somebody comes in or goes out. It rings and my eyes dart up from my phone purely out of reflex. And what I see knocks all the air from my lungs.

Izzy.

I stare at her, frozen, disbelieving, mesmerized. The one person I’ve always hoped to see and the last person on Earth I ever expected to see again. The amount of times I’ve run up to a woman and turned her around only to be disappointed is too numerous to be counted. It never occurred to me that I would see her here in my old haunt. Especially after both the highly recommended private investigators I hired independently informed me they didn’t even believe she lived in London anymore.

But here she is, right in front of me, smiling politely, holding open the door for a lady leaving at the same time as she is trying to come in. When the woman goes past she comes inside. Stripping her leather gloves off she rubs her hands together and blows at them through pursed lips. My astonished eyes follow her as she walks up to the counter.

How many times have I imagined seeing her again?

How many times have I dreamed this moment?

But by God, she makes all my dreams and fantasies seem like faded photographs. I stare at the color in her cheeks, the apple green of her eyes, the blonde strands of hair that have slipped out of her beanie hat. She is like an angel.

I never believed in miracles before, but this is just too incredible not to be one. What are the chances of running into her in a city of nearly nine million people? The sheer wonder of it gets me out of my chair and sends me over to her. She’s standing in line, presumably to get a cup of coffee to go.

“Izzy,” I murmur, standing behind her.