Sixty-Eight

London, five days later

The double-decker buses, the iconic red phone boxes…for Riley, London was like a postcard come to life. It was also rainy, extremely crowded, and lonely, but when in Rome… Stiff upper lip, ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, and all that bollocks, as Casey would say. Tightening her scarf as the sun played hide and seek with the clouds, Riley tried to ignore the jitters in her stomach. I’ll make my time here count, regardless of what’s to come.

Walking with purpose along a southeast London street, she pulled her phone from a new Strand tote and double-checked her directions. Three days into her life abroad, her track record for getting around was laughable. Despite living only ten minutes away from Elstree Studios, she got lost on her first day and got turned around heading home on her second. Thank God, it’s Saturday and I can start fresh—in more ways than one.

Laughter and music coaxed her around a corner. A bustling market tucked between a railway viaduct and a high wall sparked a surge of adrenaline through her veins. Is this it? Her already racing pulse beat faster underneath her parka. But the sign hanging above the entrance says ‘Ropewalk’…? Strolling toward the lively hang-out with its colorful flags and bunting waving over the heads of hungry shoppers, she spotted a chalkboard leaning against a table: MALTBY STREET MARKET: SATURDAY 10-5, SUNDAY 11-4. Ben’s here…somewhere.

Piper had told Riley stories about London’s outdoor markets but being immersed in one was a delight for the senses. So many accents! And it smells SO GOOD! Sizzling steaks, grilled cheese, freshly made waffles drizzled with maple syrup. People crammed the narrow alley and flocked around its tables, their vendors peddling artisan coffee, Scotch eggs, Japanese gyoza, tandoori breads, and so much more.

Standing here, it’s so real now. Am I doing the right thing? Surprising him?

On Tuesday, the day of her departure, it’d still felt like a good idea. Ben had finally reached out via text. He brushed off St. Patrick’s Day as “a bender gone off the rails” and apologized, swearing off drink for the foreseeable and saying how mortified he was for getting in such a state. He claimed he could “hardly remember a thing,” so whatever might have required her (or Maggie’s) forgiveness never came up—and Riley didn’t push him, afraid if she found out, she’d be a tear-soaked mess on her long overnight flight. Since her arrival in London Wednesday morning, they had continued to text, but she’d declined his FaceTime requests, blaming long hours at work—a white lie that kept her location secret…until now.

Zigzagging through the throng, Riley searched for Ben’s adorable bedhead hair, his easy smile, his ‘Love Bites’ table sign, but no luck. Did I miss him somehow? She dodged preoccupied eaters with messy burgers and got stuck behind a large group of slow-walking tourists devouring shrimp po’ boys, their every…plodding…step stoking her agitation. Jeez, can I get around them? Squeezing past, a cheeky laugh stole her breath.

It’s him… Her heart, beating out of control, catapulted into her throat.

She darted through a break in the crowd, following the sweet sound and…found him, half-hidden beneath a gray Tottenham Hotspur beanie with a cluster of customers swarming his table. Oh, Ben! You look…so well. So happy. So gorgeous. Afraid he’d spot her, Riley ducked behind two tall guys reading a London map, keeping her presence secret as she watched Ben smile and laugh and hand over baked goods in exchange for colorful British five- and ten-pound notes. I’m so proud of you! Look, you’ve got customers—lots of ’em! A heady rush of memories came flooding back: her hands lost in his messy hair, his kisses tenderly tracing a path down her neck, his promise in Central Park to always be there for her.

But then a tall blonde and her two friends were served next, and Ben dialed up his charisma to eleven, playing to his female audience with smiles, compliments, and offers of free samples. The women were all over him, touching his arm and complimenting him, their obvious interest in her boyfriend reminding her of St. Patrick’s Day and those words that kept her up at night.

“It just happened…forgive me?”

But what happened? The question gnawed at her relentlessly.

Purchases in hand, the flirty women reluctantly moved on from his table, and Riley got a clear view. Ben, comfy in a puffer vest, hoodie, jeans, and an apron, used the lull in business to reorganize his dwindling stock: a few cookies and a lone slice of raspberry cake. Riley snickered. Nice blue plastic gloves, Ben. Very fetching. He turned away and popped open a container of something decadent, his back to the market’s foot traffic and Riley.

You can’t stand here forever. Talk to him. Stepping out from behind the human wall, she approached his table, clearing her throat.

“All right, love?” Back still turned, Ben spoke over his shoulder and sliced through a pan of cakey brownies. “What can I get ya?”

It’s now or never. She swept her hair from her face and smiled nervously. “Do you have anything with American peanut butter? I hear it’s the dog’s bollocks.”

Ben froze mid-slice. “Riley…?” he whispered, turning around.

Their eyes met.

Ben. Her breath caught in her chest.

Dropping the knife, a smile took off across his cheeks, his eyes disappearing into happy-go-lucky crescents. “It’s YOU! Holy sh—” A plastic-gloved hand flew to his mouth as he gave her a lingering once-over. “Blimey O’Riley, you’re really here!”

“Hi Ben.” Her voice cracked as she spoke his name.

“What the hell—c’mere, gorgeous!” He clambered out from behind the table, removing the barrier between them. “My Hope!” Wrapping his arms around her waist, Ben lifted her up.

Riley clutched his shoulders, the feel of him flooding her heart with bittersweet joy.

“I can’t believe I’m actually holding you. I just…oh, bollocks, just kiss me, Hope!” He held her tight and pressed his lips to hers. She reciprocated, but her body language signaled the kiss would go no further.

I can’t…not until I know what’s going on.

Ben set her down and Riley let go, his happy demeanor fading as he sensed something was wrong. “So, I’m completely gobsmacked…and confused, too.” He chuckled nervously, his hands falling from her waist. They aimlessly flitted along the knotted belt of his apron. “Yesterday you were texting about delays on the Staten Island Ferry and now you’re here! Did you just arrive?”

“No, Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” His forehead creased.

“I texted you from work, from the BBC.”

“What?” His face wavered between a smile and a frown. “They changed their minds?”

“No, it was mine all along.” Riley bit her cheek.

“So, why’d you…fib?”

She winced. “I wanted to surprise you…but after St. Patrick’s Day, I didn’t know if this was a good idea.” She looked away. “I still don’t…”

“Why?” Ben tilted his head, trying to meet her eyes. “Riles, what’s happened?”

He’s asking ME? The fucking nerve. Her nose began to tickle. Hold it together. “Funny you say that…I was going to ask you the same thing.”

A customer stopped at Ben’s table and glanced around, searching for assistance.

Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

“Fuck,” Ben uttered under his breath, rubbing his chin with his forearm. “Riley, sorry—just gimme…” He smiled tightly at the man and slipped back behind his table.

Fighting tears, Riley stared at her boots until, one raspberry cake slice and four brownie sales later, Ben’s undivided attention was hers again.

He reached out to her. “Riley, let’s—”

“No.” I can’t wait any longer. “What were you afraid to tell me on St. Patrick’s Day?”

Avoiding her gaze, he hugged his stomach and ducked his head like he was bracing himself.

“That wasn’t the drink talking, Ben! You were upset, and not about some cat biting you or the Waterstones course—it was like you needed a brewery’s worth of liquid courage to speak to me.” Her jaw and shoulders tensed.

He slowly nodded and chewed his bottom lip.

“You kept apologizing, saying you were lonely, that it was a mistake to move in with Spencer…and then you asked me to forgive you.” She gulped for breath. “You said Mom wouldn’t forgive you.” Eyes damp with tears, she whispered, “So, what did you do, Ben? Did you sleep with Spencer?”

“What?” He looked up, meeting her eyes again, his dark lashes blinking rapidly. “Riley.” He raised his hands to cup her face but remembered his food-service gloves and peeled them off, his face softening into an uneasy grin. “Spencer’s a university friend. She’s like a sister to me.” He dropped the gloves on his table. “I swear, we’ve never snogged or slept together. That would be…weird.”

Never? “But…what about New Year’s, you and her on FaceTime…”

“Ohhh, that!” He scrunched his nose. “That was me, acting up a storm. I was playing her boyfriend to save her from a handsy bloke for the millionth time. It’s something we first did back in uni—she asked Mark and me to help her get rid of some loser in the students’ union bar. Mark already had his arm around some girl. Me, on the other hand…” He scratched his chin. “I can’t just stand there and do nothing, but you knew that, right…?”

The tension in her body eased slightly. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t.” He smiled. “But is it wrong that I find it hot—you being jealous?”

Riley rolled her eyes.

“Look, I’d never cheat on you, Riles. Never. You’ve got my heart—you’ve gotta know that, okay? No matter…what happens…” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them gently, his eyes closed.

Confusion and concern swirled in Riley’s head. I believe you, Ben—completely—and my heart’s yours, too, but you’re keeping something from me…I can FEEL it. She pulled her hands away and tugged on the straps of his apron in frustration. “So, what am I supposed to forgive?”

His face fell. “It’s…Christ, I don’t know how to tell you…”

Oh God, tell me WHAT, Ben?

He nodded solemnly. “I have to…”

Her stomach tightened.

“Will you come with me?”

“Where? Now? But you’re working—”

“Mo will watch my table.” Ben turned to an older guy working the next stall. “Mate? I’ve gotta go. Something’s come up.”

Mo eyed Riley and flashed a toothy smile. “I bet it has…go on, get out of here!” He waved Ben off and dropped several falafels into a bubbling pot of hot oil. “I’ll look after things. See you tomorrow.”

“Cheers, mate. I owe you one.” Ben removed his apron and stuffed it in his backpack. He tossed it over his shoulder and bundled half of his cookies into a paper bag. “For the journey.” He clasped Riley’s hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Paddington Station—to catch a train. I’ll explain everything when we get there, I promise.”

“At Paddington Station?”

“No, at our destination—Reading.”

“But…wait—how far is that?”

“Uh, thirty, forty miles, maybe? Tube and train—won’t be more than an hour. You’ll have lots of time to catch me up.” He kissed her cheek. “Tell me about where you’re staying, this cool job you scored…I want to know everything, okay?”

So do I, Ben. So do I…