Love in London by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Five

Gabby

When Oz tells me it’s time for him to go, it’s like the world comes crashing down around me. I don’t want him to leave, but what am I supposed to do?

I’m the one who said I wanted this vacation to be my first slice of independence. I’m the one who insisted on coming here alone. And now I’m going to cling onto the first familiar face I see?

I know it isn’t like that, inside. It’s not the fact that he’s familiar that makes me want to spend more time looking at his face. Even though it happens to be the best face I’ve ever seen in my life. But that’s how it will look – and how it will sound even to him. Like I’m some dumb kid who can’t spend a single moment in an unfamiliar city on her own, after all.

Still, I’m desperate. I want to get to know him more – I do. As an adult this time, not as the kid who kept getting underfoot when he was trying to talk to her dad. And I don’t want today, this perfect moment together, to end.

I just have to think of a way to make it sound like I’m not just being a stupid, clingy kid before it’s too late.

“Thanks for checking on me,” I say. “I know dad kind of pressured you into doing it, but it was nice to see someone I know.”

“No problem,” Oz says. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle in this charming and unexpected way. Almost like he’s not used to smiling often at all, and it’s a brand new look for his face. Come to think of it, his eyes aren’t as lined as my dad’s, or other men around his age that I’ve seen. He looks much younger. In fact, I’d have a hard time guessing his age at all, if I didn’t know it. “The pleasure has been all mine.”

“Actually,” I say. Inspiration strikes and I can’t let it pass me by. I seize hold of both it and the moment. “You’re probably really busy, right? So it’s a big deal for you to take time out of your schedule like this. I should do something to say thank you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Oz says.

I can almost hear what he’ll say next, anything for Dean’s kid. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want him to say those words, to remind me that he only sees me that way. I speak fast, to cut him off.

“No, please,” I say. “I should do something. How about dinner?”

Oz blinks at me like I’ve said something so completely unexpected. Is it really so wild to think that I might be a person who eats dinner and that we might do that in proximity of one another?

“Dinner?” he repeats. “Tonight?”

Oh, god. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

I’ve made myself look like an idiot.

I just hope it’s not too late to take it back. I immediately start backpedaling, trying to figure out how to take the surprised tone out of his voice and make him look at me the way he was before like I’m someone worth looking at.

“Oh, of course, you probably already have plans,” I say, waving a hand dismissively and trying to ignore the blush that must, by now, be creeping over my whole face. “I was just being a little selfish, really. I still want to pick your brain a little more over the whole college thing. And London in general, to be honest. If I choose to study here then I need to know what the whole scene is like, and I’m just a tourist right now.”

“I don’t have plans,” Oz says, making my heart race. Here’s where it gets even more brutal, I think. Here’s where he puts a clear boundary in place, because why would he want to go have dinner with some stupid teenager, and I end up feeling like the smallest thing in the world, and it still won’t be small enough because I’m going to want to completely disappear. “I just think it’s a terrible idea for you to take me to dinner.”

I swallow hard. Excuses, ways to brush this off, anything to save face, start popping up in my head. I just don’t know how to pull them off.

“I’m the resident of the host country, here,” he says. “It should be me that takes you out to dinner. And frankly, I’m embarrassed it took me so long to ask that you had to do it first. Gabriella, will you do me the honor of your presence at dinner?”

I blink.

And then I laugh, in sheer joy and relief.

“I absolutely will,” I tell him.

“Come on, then,” he says, getting up and offering me his hand to help me do the same. “I’ll take you somewhere not far from here. There’s a great little place I know. I’m familiar with the chef, he can get us a nice table.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a thanks from me, if you go to all this trouble,” I say, my eyes wide at the offer and also at the feel of his hand in mine. He lets go once I’m on my feet, but I swear I can still feel the touch of his hand long after it’s gone.

Oz gives me a smile, and it nearly knocks me back down into my seat.

“Maybe it’s me that needs to thank you, for giving me some entertainment for the evening and a chance to go to a restaurant that I love,” he says. “Like I said – the pleasure is all mine.”

I don’t think he’s quite right in that statement.

Then again, he couldn’t possibly know how much pleasure it gives me just to be around him.

I smile, hoping he takes my blush for shyness instead of excitement at the prospect of being with him for even longer – and the thought of having pleasure together. “Then, lead the way,” I say, which is the most gracious thing I can think of and prevents me from embarrassing myself even further by getting too tongue-tied.

Oz really does lead the way out onto the street, but out there, we fall into an easy rhythm of walking side by side. A couple of times I almost feel the urge to reach out and take his hand again – to make it look like an accident or something, to just let our fingers brush and see how he reacts. But I don’t, because I know I’m getting way ahead of myself. Lost in a fantasy.

We make small talk as we walk down the street, the weather is cooler than I’m used to but warmer than I expected. It’s not raining, which just about destroys the stereotype of London I have in my mind. When I mention this, Oz laughs.

“You wanted it to be raining?” he asks.

“Well, only because that’s always how it looks on TV,” I say.

He chuckles again. “I can’t imagine coming here from sunny California and actually wanting it to be raining,” he says. He makes a half-turn to the side, putting an arm out to steer me, and for a second I have no idea why. We’re next to a big, ornate building that…

That seems to house a restaurant.

Here?

There’s a doorman at the door, who opens it up for us with a gloved hand and nods at Oz. “Mr. Patterson,” he says, his voice deep and sober.

“Thank you,” Oz says cheerfully, and as if this is a completely normal turn of events.

I’m stunned – so floored I can’t even react. We can’t possibly be going here, can we? I wasn’t expecting this – just a local place with cheap and cheerful food.

But now I’m stepping through the doors into a small space dotted with just a few tables, all of them occupied by people who look much better dressed than me – and I realize that this is real. We’re eating here, in this place.

And I try not to look horrified at the thought of how much all of this is going to cost.