the comfy cushions, take a deep breath, and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun streaming through the window and the hum of the chatter around me.
“Things have got to be pretty bad if you’re choosing to catch some Zs in public,” a voice says.
I ping my eyes open to see an extremely handsome face I’ve seen once before grinning down at me.
“Chris,” I exclaim, taken totally by surprise. “What are you doing here?”
He pulls a chair out from the table and sits down opposite me. “Well, I can tell you what I’m not doing here, and that’s falling asleep in the sun.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was resting my eyes.”
He laughs, his face lighting up. “I see. Well, I suppose that’s an improvement on a giggling fit at the opera, anyway.”
“True.”
“It seems to me you urgently require some caffeination. Might I assist with that?”
“Is that a weird way of asking if I’d like a coffee?”
“Did I sound like Sebastian? ’Cause that’s what I was aiming for.”
“Actually, you kinda did.”
He leans closer to me, and I catch the aroma of his scent. “Although, between us, I could never be like your fiancé.”
“Why not?” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This guy is getting a little overly familiar—again. And now that I know how he treated Jilly and how much Sebastian dislikes him, I wish he’d just leave me alone.
“Seb’s English, for a start. I mean, I’ve been here since I went to college, and they still confuse the heck out of me.”
“I can relate to that.”
“What is with calling someone a Muppet as an insult? Being a Muppet is cool. I so wanted to be Kermit as a kid.”
I giggle despite my determination not to like this guy. “No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, I wanted to be a Power Ranger, but seriously, they’ve got some weird expressions and ways of doing things. Have you noticed the queuing?”
“Queuing?”
“Lining up. They do it whenever and wherever they can. I was in London last week, and I saw a line of people just standing there on the sidewalk. I asked one of them what they were doing, and they said they were queuing up but had no idea what for. They just joined the queue.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Okay, that was a total lie, but they do love a good queue here.”
With his fun, cheeky personality, I can’t help but warm to him a little. Maybe it’s having a fellow American to talk to in this new and unfamiliar world? Whatever it is, it still feels a little wrong to enjoy the company of the guy who broke my friend’s heart.
“Here’s another one for you,” he continues. “How about the way they talk about butts as ‘bums’? That’s weird.”
“I know, right? A bum is a homeless guy who smells bad, not a part of your anatomy.”
“I went on a super steep learning curve when I moved here for college.”
“Why did you come to college here?”
“My mom’s British. She had this idea that her offspring should go to universities here because she did. Cambridge is her alma mater.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Boston.”
“Right. Because they don’t have any good colleges there.”
He shakes his head as he laughs. “None I’ve heard of, anyway. Going to Cambridge was a major stretch for my family financially. We’re not like the Fotheringtons or the Huntington-Rosses.”
“Who is? I didn’t exactly grow up in the lap of luxury myself.”
He smiles at me, his Bradley Cooper blue eyes soft and warm. “Something else we’ve got in common, Texas.”
Greg arrives at the table with a cardboard tray filled with our drinks and cookies. He gives Chris a sideways look before he says, “Here you go, love. Hope it all goes well with the house this week, and I’ll pass on your info to Denise.”
“Thanks, Greg. These cookies will help for sure.” I stand to leave as Greg returns to the counter. “Well, it’s nice to see you again,” I say to Chris.
He rises to his feet too, and I notice how tall and broad he is. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Didn’t you come in here for coffee?”
“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “I’m fickle.”
Outside the coffee house, I pause and say, “Well, see you ’round.”
“Before you leave,” he says, and I turn to face him. “One word of advice—whatever you do, don’t butter your toast with the butter knife.”
Random.
“Err, okay.”
“I figure you need all the help you can get marrying a stuffy English aristocrat.”
“What do you know about marrying a stuffy English aristocrat?” I