A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,78

him.

And I hope he’s kissing me back the same way.

32

Dean

It’s a little after twelve, and I make lunch. It’s weirdly domestic, but I like it. I cook a chicken and veggie stir-fry, since I know Fitz tries to eat as healthily as possible, same as me.

Fitz stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking an iced tea and watching me.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

I eye his jeans, his bare, muscled chest. “Yes, me too. Please walk around shirtless literally all the time,” I say as I turn the heat down on the pan.

“I will if you will. Speaking of, why are you wearing a shirt?”

“Oh, you know, that thing called cooking. Figured it’d be better with clothes on.”

He scoffs. “I beg to differ.”

I shake my head as I plate the food. “Sit down. Time for lunch.”

Fitz pats his belly. “Good. I’m starving.”

I arch a brow. “You’re not starving. You’re several days and many meals from starving. You’re just hungry.”

He finds cloth napkins in the cupboard and utensils in the drawer, and sets them down at the table. “No. I’m definitely starving. I didn’t eat breakfast. I skipped out on Emma when I realized what an ass I was, and then I came straight here.”

I move to the table and set down the food. “So next time you’ll have learned your lesson. Don’t do a runner before the cook wakes up,” I say, sitting and picking up a fork. “I’m an excellent cook.”

Fitz digs in, moaning around the food. “Damn. You are. This is amazing.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I guess your cooking club comes in handy,” he says, deadpan.

“Cooking classes,” I correct.

“Whatever it is, it’s working. You can definitely make me breakfast tomorrow,” he says, then takes another bite.

“Gee, thanks. I was hoping you’d let me.”

He sets down the fork and leans across the table to give me a kiss.

Then he returns to his meal, and as we eat, he asks, “So, what do you want to do today? Besides fuck?”

“Well, that. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats.

“I think the more important question is—what do you want to do?” I toss back at him. “Is there something you want to see? Tower of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Borough Market?”

He screws up the corner of his lips, thinking, then he shrugs. “What would you do?”

“If I were you?” I ask.

“Yeah. If you were me, and you had one day left to spend here.”

“I’d just walk around the city,” I answer.

“Then let’s do that.”

We straighten up and leave, and when we hit the street, I take his hand.

Fitz looks at our hands, then at me, and he smiles.

My heart trips over itself with happiness.

And sadness too, since this is all over tomorrow.

Time takes on a surreal quality as we walk along the river.

The clock ticks louder with every step, but I also can’t escape the sense that I’m living in a cocoon of time. That I’m wandering through a dream state of what it’s like to live one perfect day.

The blue sky above blankets us, the river rolls beside us, and the sun warms my skin. It feels as if this could last, as if this could be my life.

Here with him.

I want so badly to believe in this illusion as we walk past the Tate and the Globe and I tell him about growing up here, as he tells me about California and New York. When we stop at the railing, elbows resting on the stone, watching the boats glide by, the illusion feels wholly real.

He loops his arm around my lower back, yanking me a little closer to him as we stare at the water.

“Do you ever get tired of this view?” he asks, gesturing to the Thames.

It’s a murky brown, but that’s beside the point. It’s not the color of the water that matters. It’s the way it weaves and bends through the city, how it’s the city’s highway, bringing fame, fortune, respite, and certainty.

I shake my head. “No. But I do think sometimes I take it for granted. I walk by, head down, lost in my own world, and don’t even bother to glance up, because it’s too familiar.”

Fitz nods as he stares at the water. “You’ve got to remember to look up. To see what’s around you. I try to do that in New York.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Just try not to spend all my time on my phone as I walk around. To look at the restaurants and stores, the people, the buildings, the parks. To pay attention, you