Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,41
know how much. She loosely crossed her arms and stared wide-eyed, her fingers clutching the sleeves of her dress.
The sound of Tarquin clearing his throat turned her head. She smiled, pushing aside the stunned shock threatening to render her speechless. “Hey! Your view…my god. You can almost reach out and touch that bridge!”
“Yeah, it’s quite something, especially at sunrise.” Grinning sheepishly, he pulled off his beanie. Tufts of his auburn hair sprang to attention. “Sorry I took so long. There was a text I had to…” He scratched his temple, his gaze hopping to the bridge and back again. “So, can I get you a drink? I’ve got sparkling water, orange and lemonade. I might have some cola around somewhere…” He smoothed down his hair and fumbled his hat, dropping it on the hardwood floor.
I thought he seemed nervous on the way here. He didn’t even try to kiss me. “Orange and lemonade would be great.” She admired the view again. “Thanks.”
Scooping up his beanie, Tarquin’s mouth curved into a smile. “Oranges and lemons, says the bells of St. Clement’s. Be right back!” He tossed the beanie onto his gray sofa, long and wide enough for two adults to lie down and cuddle in front of his massive 85” television, and slipped into the kitchen.
I should text Saz. Leia pulled her phone from her dress’s pocket, typing ‘At Tarquin’s on Shad Thames, all good.’ She hit send and tucked it away, her eyes mimicking a pinball from Tarquin’s Guardians game, ricocheting from one surprise to another: a tall glass-windowed display case painted to look like one of those old British red telephone boxes and a life-size Star Wars Stormtrooper standing guard against a nearby wall. Just the John Williams’ theme, eh? She ran her fingers along the 6’5” tall figure, its white fiberglass dust-free and buffed to a shine. Wow, it’s the real deal. Dad would flip!
She wandered over to the red display case and patted its side. What? Nooo! It’s real, too?! Her pulse tripped in her chest and kept its stammering beat. Tarquin owns a telephone box! She peered through its windows. There are shelves inside—filled with books! Opening the heavy cast-iron door, she studied the titles holding court where a phone used to hang. Hardback business autobiographies, Bill Bryson paperbacks, and Star Wars encyclopedias stood spine against spine with cookbooks, travel guides, and several children’s favorites, including titles by Dr. Seuss and Maurice Sendak.
“I had to have that.”
Leia glanced over her shoulder. Tarquin strolled in, his hands occupied by two colorful beverages, ice cubes tinkling.
“You know me—savior of discarded things.” He laughed. “So many of these old boys are being sentenced to the scrap heap. I bought it at auction, had it restored. Looks good, doesn’t it?”
“I love it. So much.” She closed the weighty door and brushed her hand along its edge. “I had no idea you could buy them, though.” Taking her St. Clement’s from Tarquin, her smile swept the tidy living room, easily five times the size of her post-divorce studio apartment in New York. “Your home is incredible. The building is so huge and close to the Thames. Was it a warehouse before?”
“It was a brewery, dating back to 1871.” He sipped his raspberry soft drink. “They converted it into flats about thirty years ago. The views from my top floors are spectacular. Not Shard spectacular, but still nice.”
“Top floors—plural?” She stuttered, catching a familiar face smiling up from the hardwood—Ava’s fuzzy unicorn, awaiting its journey to Orkney.
“Yeah. There are five floors, outdoor terraces on every level.”
Leia gulped.
He chuckled as if fully aware of how crazy that sounded. “I know. It’s a lot for one person.” He scratched his chest through his black sweater. “And a cat.”
Eee! “You own a cat?” Her eyes scoured the room, free of toys or pet hair.
“Somewhere.” His face fell. “Oh, you’re not allergic…”
“No! I love cats—and dogs. It’s just…you—”
“Don’t seem the type? Yeah, I know. I’d LOVE a dog, but I’m not home enough, so before Christmas, I adopted a feline friend to keep me company.” A grin tweaked his mouth. “She’s a…dog-cat.”
Tarquin’s just a big ol’ softie! Leia’s smile grew. “A cat who thinks she’s a dog?”
“Exactly! Her name’s Mrs. Chuzzlewit.”
Leia laughed. “What? From the Dickens novel? Oh, you didn’t…”
“I wish I did! But that was the name she came with. Seemed wrong to change it.” He sipped his drink, his eyes settling on her lips. “So! Want the grand tour?”