She made a face.
“In the meantime, we pass the time.”
Wide eyes on his. “Pass the time how exactly?”
“Well . . .” He grinned. “I supposed we’ll have to make . . .” There went those wide eyes again, drifting to his face, lips parting. “Small talk.”
She groaned.
“Christmas carols?”
Another groan.
“Random trivia quiz?”
“Better.”
“Sitting in quiet and fantasizing about the food inside?”
A beat. “Fine.”
He tucked the towel around her shoulders, settled back. “Fine,” he said. “Let me tell you all about Melissa and her incredible—”
“Do not say French silk pie.”
“French silk pie.”
She swatted him. He laughed.
And the conversation flowed. No awkward pauses. No hesitations and weird blips. For hours, they just talked. About food and then movies and then TV shows—surprisingly, even though she said she worked all the time, she’d seen a fair amount of them.
Probably plane rides.
But eventually, their conversation lulled from their favorite places to travel into comfortable quiet, their sentences coming few and far between, the odd yawn punctuating a sentence.
“You cold?” he asked.
She’d slumped, her side pressed to his, her chin slipping forward to rest on his chest. That was pretty much all he could see of her, seeing how the rest of her was covered by the towels. “No,” she whispered.
“Tell me about London,” he said. “I’ve never been.”
“It’s a busy city, with such a variable set of buildings and people that it”—she yawned again—“it always seems like something new and . . . um . . .”
She trailed off, slumping against him, as sleep took her under.
Eight
Elizabeth
She woke slowly, her hip aching, her head in . . . someone’s lap?
Throat tightening, she stiffened, started to push—
“It’s just me,” Dale said softly. “We’re still trapped in the bathroom.”
Me.
One sentence, and she knew immediately who it was. Perhaps, that should have frightened her, but instead it just . . . sanded down a piece inside her she hadn’t even known was jagged.
But without that jabbing piece, she could breathe.
And not worry.
“Anyone come in?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said. “But I heard a few cars leave not too long ago. Someone has to come looking soon.”
Her stomach rumbled.
“Yeah, babe,” he said on a chuckle. “I’m with you.” He laughed again, the sound sliding down her spine, filling her with heat. “Should I try my lock-picking skills again?”
“Maybe I’ll gnaw through the door.”
He snorted. “I might join you.” His tone went grumpy. “The pie is definitely all eaten by now.”
“It’ll—”
The door opened.
Not the one trapping them in the bathroom, but one farther away, leading to the outside of the building. How did she know this? Because the hinges shrieked like an unhappy feline getting a bath . . . and because it was trailed by footsteps.
Footsteps.
Dale must have realized the same thing as she, at exactly the same moment because he burst to his feet. “Hello?” he called.
“Dale?” came a female voice, one that Elizabeth thought belonged to Kelly, though she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, since she’d just met the other woman earlier that afternoon.
“I’m here!”
“Where?” The voice came closer.
“Stuck in the shower! The handle broke, and we’re stuck.”
“The handle—” She stopped then sounded like she was just outside the door. “Who’s we?”
His gaze drifted over to Elizabeth’s, chagrin written across the lines of her face. “Well, it’s a funny story,” he said, “one I’ll tell you once we’re free.”
Silence.
“Turns out, I’m not a good burglar,” he added. “I’ve been attempting to pick the lock for hours.”
More silence.
“Kel?” Dale pressed.
“Sorry, was looking at the handle.” The door creaked but didn’t open. “Did you try the hinges?”
“What?” he asked.
“Did you try to take off the hinges?”
Dale froze and looked at Elizabeth, lips parting. “Um, no . . . we didn’t think of that.” He picked up the tweezers, lifted them to the hinge. “You don’t happen to have a screwdriver handy, do you?”
“One that will fit under the door?” Kelly sighed. “No, I don’t think so, but let me grab the tool kit.” A minute later, she was back, and with a little sweat and a lot of cursing, they managed to squeeze a small screwdriver beneath the gap in the door. “While you try that, I’m going to go get Rob.”
“Good idea,” Dale said, positioning the flat part of the screwdriver at the hinge. To Elizabeth, he explained, “Rob’s a cop. Might be able to kick it in.”
“If that gets us closer to the pie, I’m all for it.”
He grinned. “Besides being starving, I’m not complaining about being stuck in here with you. It’s been nice being trapped with you, Beth.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“No Beth?”
A shake of her head.
“And no baby, honey, or sweetheart?”
Another shake.
“So, what am I allowed to call you?”
“Elizabeth.”
He made a face. “You’re talking to a man with one syllable in his name. You’ve got to dumb it down for me.”
“Ridiculous man.”
“Probably,” he said, stepping closer, tucking a curl behind her ear, fingers lingering and brushing along her cheek, her jaw. “But I’m one who thinks you’re a pretty cool chick. One who’d like to know you more.”
Her breath caught, heat prickling over her skin.
She thought he was cool. In fact, she thought that he might be the first person in a very long time that she wanted to truly get to know, wanted to learn all of the hidden secrets. This was a man who could erase the loneliness.
Except . . .
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Disappointment drifted across his face. “Right,” he said. “Of course. You mentioned that.”
“And I live in England.”
“Of course.” He shifted back, dropping his hand, and turned to the door again to work on the hinges.
Now, she was the one feeling disappointment.
Acute and heavy and weighing her down.
For no reason. She didn’t know this man.
Except . . . maybe a piece of her heart did. Maybe it recognized him as a kindred spirit, the same way her body responded to the proximity of his, to his scent, his heat. Everything was telling her this man was more.
And yet, it just couldn’t be.
They lived a continent and an ocean apart. He was from a small town. She lived in London. They both had businesses to run and she, for one, had absolutely no time for a relationship.