Instead, a simple hi comes out.
“Hello.”
And the bubbles rise higher.
“Hi,” I say, then realize I’m repeating myself. But he doesn’t seem to care.
“I want you to know I tried—valiantly, I assure you—to find suitable literary pickup lines,” he says.
I smile, too broad for my face, and flop onto the bed, settling into the pillows. “And you didn’t find any?”
“Oh, I found far too many.”
“Are you going to keep them all to yourself?”
“I’m not sure I can bring myself to share them, Jo.”
“So, you called to tell me you have a collection of cheesy pickup lines, and you’re just going to taunt me with them? Keep them all to yourself?”
“I’m terrible, obviously,” he says, deadpan and so very British.
“Just awful. But fair is fair. I gave you some top-tier cornball come-on lines last night. Serve up yours. C’mon. I’m waiting.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he says, “This pains me. Truly, it does.”
I shift to my side. A bed has never felt more comfortable, a little moment never more delightful. “You can do it. I have faith.”
“Fine. I’ll try.” He clears his throat, then his voice goes all deep and almost dirty. “Let me show you the sound and the fury.”
I purr. “Oh, more than just show, I think. You gave me the sound and the hot, hot fury! Okay, more, more.”
I imagine him shaking his head as he paces about his flat, maybe goes to his window and gazes at the city, wherever he is in it. “Actually, I’m not much for pickup lines. I’d rather be direct. Would you like to have dinner with me this weekend?”
“Oh.” I sit up, purse my lips, try to contain the hot-air balloon of excitement rising in me.
He’s so . . . old-fashioned, and I love it. I love that he’s not playing the hey game, and the s’up game. He’s not doing the I’ll text her in forty-eight hours thing either. He’s both smooth and uncomfortable at the same time. It’s endearing.
“Oh? Is that bad? Is that a no?” He sounds genuinely worried, and I don’t want that for a second.
“It’s a big yes, actually.”
“A big yes,” he echoes, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then why don’t you tell me what kind of cuisine you like, and I’ll make a reservation for Friday night.”
We spend the next fifteen minutes talking about food—our favorites, our likes and dislikes—and it’s so refreshing not to discuss work with this new man.
It feels good to discuss . . . life. The little things that make it taste good.
As I hang up the phone, I can’t help but think that maybe this is part of the reason London will be good for me. Because the city might hold painful memories, but it has this amazing new job, and now the potential for true romance too.
The next morning, an email pops up on my phone from Andrea in New Haven.
You will have a good day at your new job. I just know it!
How, you may ask? Because my grandson took his first step this morning! It’s a good luck kind of day.
I reply right away.
I can’t wait! I hope it’ll be good. But I also miss New York desperately. Hope to see you soon! You, Central Park, The Met, the taco truck I love . . .
I hit send, check at the front desk to make sure my luggage will be delivered to the flat, then head to the office, ready to tackle the day and determined to make my mark.
It’s a good luck kind of day, after all.
When I reach the reception on the sixth floor, a woman with a wide smile and bright red hair beams at me from behind the front desk.
“Hello!”
“Hi, I’m Josephine Brennan. I’m starting today.”
“I know! I’ll get Emily. She’s excited to meet you.”
“I’m thrilled to be here. And you’re . . .?” I ask as she pops up.
“Claire Reynolds. I answer the phones,” she says.
“So good to meet you, Claire.”
She scurries down the hall and, less than a minute later, returns with the boss. Emily is elegant in gold-rimmed glasses but trendy in a leopard-print blouse.
“You must be Josephine,” she says, extending a hand.
“Yes, but I also answer to Jo and JoJo. Whatever works for you,” I say breezily.
She smiles. “I already love your attitude.”
With a laugh, I thank her. “I try to be easygoing.”
Emily presses her hand to her heart. “That’s a breath of fresh air.” She gestures toward the hall. “Let me introduce you to the team.”
The office’s aesthetic is both sleek and colorful, a mix of steel walls with rose gold and muted orange accents. The design is in sync with the approach of this house—strong, but trendy.
I hitch my purse higher on my shoulder. “I’m so thrilled to be here and to get to know everyone.”