suspect we’ll be working up an appetite, the answer is yes.”
We head into Sticks and Stones, a place I’ve been to a ton of times with Maeve, or with Naveen and Anya, my mates from cooking class who own an Indian restaurant over in Notting Hill. Or even with Taron, who runs one of the old furniture shops I haunt. They’re my people—the ones I meet for a drink or a laugh at the end of the day.
Sam’s behind the bar on the phone, and he gestures that he’ll find me soon.
As luck would have it, Naveen and his wife are here, and they wave their hellos from the bar. I give Fitz the quick download on the couple. “Those are some of my good mates. He was born in Mumbai; she grew up in Auckland. They met several years ago at a café in Covent Garden when the staff mixed up their orders.”
“That’s quite a meet-cute,” Fitz remarks.
“Just imagine if the server had given her the portobello mushroom sandwich and him the lentil soup like he was supposed to.”
“I guess you’ve heard the lentil-portobello story from them before.”
I give him a small grin. “Just a few times. But it’s sweet. Come on over and say hi.”
“Would love to.”
I head over, kissing Anya’s cheek and giving Naveen a clap on the back.
“Haven’t seen you in ages,” Naveen says.
“Yes, don’t be such a stranger,” Anya says with a flip of her blonde hair.
“I saw you just a week ago. But I get it— it feels like ages when you must miss me terribly.” I park a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “This is Fitz. He’s in town from New York for a few days. He’s quite funny, he plays hockey, and if you see Taron around, you better tell him not to give Fitz so much as a second glance because he’s already spoken for during his stay.”
Naveen laughs. “I’ll pass on the word that you got your claws into the American first.” Then he extends a hand to my . . . date. Fitz shakes.
“Nice to meet you, Fitz,” Naveen says. “Don’t know how you put up with this cheeky fucker.”
“I’m guessing a few days is about all you can take of Dean anyway,” Anya weighs in.
“I can handle him for the short-term.” Fitz smiles then kisses her cheek, European-style. “Good to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too,” Anya says. “And how are you liking London?”
Fitz glances my way, a hungry look in his blue eyes. “So far, I’m enjoying the sights quite a bit.”
That sends Naveen and Anya into peals of laughter, and I roll my eyes as I move him along, heading down the bar to grab a couple of stools.
“I guess you come here a lot,” Fitz remarks.
“I do. Since so many of my mates are here.”
“And this Taron guy? Is he an ex?” There’s a flare of jealousy in his voice, and it’s endearing.
I laugh, shaking my head. “No. Not at all. One, he’s not my type. Two, he’s actually pretty serious about someone, so I was just taking the piss out of him, and he’s not even around to defend himself. Poor fella.”
“Why is he not your type? What’s your type?”
I rake my eyes over Fitz. “Well, I happen to prefer a little rugged charm.” I take a beat. “Or a lot, for that matter.”
“Perfect answer.” He grabs the menu, and as he looks at it, something occurs to me. Fitz is the first guy I’ve brought to this place where my friends congregate.
The whole time I was with Dylan, I never brought him here.
Never wanted to.
I kept him and other hookups separate from the people in my life I see nearly every day. Maybe because this place and these people feel like mine. I’d want to keep these friends in the inevitable breakup, so it was simpler not to let my worlds collide.
No need to intermingle.
Though I just did.
But Fitz and I have a natural split coming our way on Thursday. That must be why I’m comfortable with him being here.
Since he’s leaving, this place will always be mine.
Fitz taps the menu. “What do you recommend? I have to admit, I haven’t heard great things about English food. Outside of scones, of course.”
“Which you missed in your overzealous haste earlier today.”
“You missed the scones too,” he points out.
I arch a brow, taking my time. “No, Fitz. I didn’t miss the scones one bit.”
“You have such a dirty mind, and I love it,” Fitz says, dragging