Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,79

its subtle red windowpane check, a white shirt, and a purple tie especially for Leia, wanting to look his best for their last night together. “That’s a great location, lots of people on a night out. It’s near the Hackney Empire, isn’t it?” He took a sip of coffee (his second cup of the day) from his ‘I heart the NHS’ mug.

“And the Picturehouse. I’ve heard rumblings about it going on the market since last summer,” said Simon, the sound of buzzing juicers in the background forcing him to speak louder. “But the ‘For Sale’ signs went up at lunch, so I thought I should let you know ASAP.”

“Cheers, Si. I’ll definitely check it out.” Tarquin sat down and pulled up his schedule on his laptop. A blue box with DINNER WITH LEIA owned the end of his day. The rest of his week was dotted with an appointment at the bank, meetings with his architect and project manager, and consults with a structural engineer and a conversion officer. Maybe go see it Friday? “A property like that won’t hang around long.”

“It might be a good replacement for that Spitalfields pub you lost out on.”

“Uh, don’t remind me.” Tarquin sat back in his chair. “That one hurt.”

“Well, here’s something to ease the pain—oh, cheers.” Simon’s voice trailed away briefly. “Sorry, Tarq, just paying for my juice. Sooo, this morning Leia said she’s going to miss London and wishes she could stay longer. Would that have anything to do with you, Monsieur Balfour?”

Hope so. “We did have a pretty spectacular sleepover last night. How’s she doing on this glorious Wednesday afternoon?”

“She’s good. Scrambling to finish her gown. I don’t know if she’s coming in tomorrow. I think her sister’s taking the day off to hang with her.”

Tarquin toyed with a red telephone box keychain on his desk and smiled. The leaving gift for Leia was neither expensive nor unique, but hopefully, it would be a cheeky reminder of their scintillating time together. “What time is her flight Friday?”

“Noon, I think.”

Bollocks. “That early?” A sinking sensation filled Tarquin’s stomach. I’m looking forward to tonight, but I’m dreading it, too. We’ll just have to make the most of it.

“Tomorrow is my stock-taking day,” said Simon, speaking louder over a passing motorcycle. “I’ll be up at six, so I told her she can come over at the crack of dawn if she has last-minute sewing to do…”

Which means leaving mine early. Again.

“…but I won’t take it personally if she doesn’t. I have a sneaky feeling she might want to spend that time elsewhere.”

With me?

“I think she’s smitten, Tarq.”

“Really?!” His pulse took off with a joyous leap.

“With your cat.”

Ah, shit. I fell into that one. “Ha! Very funny.” Tarquin couldn’t hold back his smile.

Simon snickered. “So, I did the obvious thing; I introduced her to Mrs. Chuzzlewit’s Instagram.”

Oh, mate. He pawed his hand through his hair. “Si! That account is a joke—started by your Freddie last Christmas!”

The jingly ring of a bell signaled that Simon had entered his shop. “Yeah, a joke you’ve posted to over thirty times. And now Freddie’s beside himself—your cat has six times the followers as Moriarty.”

“Well, to be fair, Chuzza’s prettier than Freddie’s cat. Her fluffy stripes, you know, they’re more exotic, more photogenic.”

“If you say so. Cats are not my thing—oh! Hang on.” Simon’s voice strayed from the phone. “Sorry, say again?” He released an exasperated huff. “Sorry, Tarq. Spencer’s moaning about her cat only having three followers.”

“And she’s surprised?” Tarquin cringed as he shifted his coffee mug. “It’s hairless and looks like a rubber rat! How can that compete with my Chuzza?”

Simon chuckled. “Listen to you! Keep this up and you’ll end up a scary cat-chelor selling Mrs. Chuzzlewit calendars on Etsy. I swear, you love that cat more than most people.”

“Can you blame me? She keeps me company, listens—well, sometimes—and loves me unconditionally. It’s tough to find a woman who offers all that.”

A beat passed before Simon responded. “Tarq…I’m really sorry.” All the playfulness in his voice vanished. “I wish Leia were staying…”

A familiar ache gripped Tarquin’s chest. “Yeah, me too, Si. Me too.”

After a late-night feast of lobster and steak high above London in the OXO Tower’s restaurant, Tarquin and Leia meandered along the south side of the River Thames, his mind swirling with their lively conversation about favorite childhood books (the Little Miss series beloved by Leia, anything Dr. Seuss for Tarquin) and bucket list travel destinations (Leia—Galapagos Islands, Tarquin—Antarctica). They laughed their way through