I’d never get this opportunity again.
I sigh. “Fine. But just so you know, this was all Felicity’s idea,” I explain, looking Mr. Cooper dead in the eyes. They soften slightly, and he nods.
“I know.” He shoots his daughter a wry smile. “We leave on the 26th. Don’t pack too many clothes. I don’t want to be lugging five suitcases through JFK.”
Without another word, he walks away.
Felicity cackles maniacally. “I didn’t think he was going to say yes!”
I frown. “You owe me.”
She huffs a laugh. “For what? Taking you to Prague?”
I smile. “No. For humiliating me in front of your dad.”
I reverse out of the parking lot and begin the two-minute drive to Starbucks.
“He’s a big softie,” she chides, leaning back and placing her foot over her knee. “I would’ve worn him down eventually, but I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight.”
I try to tame the nervous butterflies that erupt inside of me at her words. It didn’t mean anything. Just because he was being nice doesn’t mean he likes me.
“I really wish my dad would meet someone,” she says out of the blue, humming as she scrolls through her social media feeds. I ignore her as I pull into a parking spot. “I mean, he’s had girlfriends, but he deserves a partner, you know? Someone to travel with. Someone who challenges him.”
“Yeah, totally,” I say absentmindedly.
“Anyways, it’s going to be fun. We can go to the clubs, explore the city, maybe get a little European dick—”
“Felicity,” I warn, chuckling.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re exclusive with Taylor.”
“I know. I just… I’m kind of over men who don’t know what they’re doing. I’d rather just focus on getting to college.”
“Mmm’kay. Well, we’re still going clubbing.”
I turn the car off and lock it as we hurry into the warm cafe, and I try not to think about spending two whole weeks with Mr. Cooper.
Chapter 3
Wren
* * *
Thankfully, my parents are very excited about the prospect of me spending two weeks with the Coopers. They bring up the learning opportunities being there with my history teacher, while also enjoying time with Felicity. Plus, I think they secretly want an excuse not to spend a week with Grandma Mildred, because they’ve decided to drive down into Long Island for just the day instead of the whole week.
As an only child, they’ve coddled me my entire life, and I think they’re starting to realize that one day soon, I’ll be moving away from our small, upstate New York community and into one of the biggest cities in the world. If Prague can prepare me for new experiences, they’re more than happy to send me—especially since they assume Mr. Cooper will be our chaperone.
I try to hide my excitement at the prospect of flying to Europe as Mr. Cooper drives us to JFK. The car ride is mostly quiet during the two-hour drive, and since it’s the early morning, we experience almost no traffic. We park the car in a long-term lot, and as we take the shuttle to our terminal, I check that I have my passport three separate times. I’ve never been out of the country—even though my dad is adamant about keeping our passports up to date—so my stomach is swirling with anticipation.
Much to Mr. Cooper’s chagrin, I managed to fit everything into a carryon and a backpack. I didn’t miss the surprise that registered on his face when he loaded my bag into the trunk earlier this morning. I may not be the best student around, but I’m an expert at packing, apparently. Felicity, by comparison, had two large bags to check.
Once we’ve gone through security, we grab something to eat and inhale our food quickly. We have a few minutes before we must board. Mr. Cooper—or Blake, he insists—stays mostly to himself as Felicity and I totter around excitedly. Once they call our section, we’re the first ones in line. I volunteer the middle seat once on the plane, seeing as I wasn’t even supposed to be on this flight. As we take off, I try not to stare at the way Mr. Cooper’s large hands grip the arm rests—or the way that motion highlights the tanned, corded muscles along his bare arms.
Felicity pops headphones into her ears, and I see her open her Audible app—no doubt listening to one of her romance audiobooks. I smirk as I lean back, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of Mr. Cooper—Blake—looking over at me.
“You seem calm for someone who’s never flown over an ocean before,” he mumbles.
“And you seem nervous for someone who has,” I retort, remembering the time he took Felicity to Paris a couple of summers ago.
I see a hint of a smile form on his lips, and then it’s gone. I pull my book out of my backpack and flip to the page I was on. I’m about three paragraphs in, when I hear Blake huff a laugh beside me.
“You know that book is historically inaccurate, right?”
I scowl as I look at the front cover. The Other Boleyn Girl. It’s one of my favorites.
“I don’t think anyone reads it to understand history. But it’s a good story, and I’m obsessed with all things Anne Boleyn.”
“I’m a Catharine of Aragon man myself,” he replies, rubbing his lips. “I find her family, and her tragic ending, so fascinating.”
I smile. “I took you for a Jane Seymour guy.”
“Is that so?” His eyes twinkle with humor, and my stomach flips over. God, why is he so beautiful? Dark, bold eyebrows, deep-set brown eyes, a sculpted jawline, full lips, and flawless, white teeth. He doesn’t look like he’s forty-two, aside from the few strands of silver hair sprinkled into his tousled, dark locks. He looks thirty—at the very most. And it’s not just me, either. Felicity gets mistaken as his wife all the time. I’m most certainly the only female at Regent Charter School who doesn’t have a crush on him.
“Yeah. She was a rule follower. By the book. She came in and did her job—bearing a son—perfectly. Until she died, that is.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Do I really seem that boring?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I bite my lower lip, and his eyes track the movement, staring at my mouth for a second too long.
How do I answer that? If I say yes, he could use that against me in class. If I say no, he’d know I was lying. Luckily, he saves me from admitting anything by sighing and sitting up straight.
“I need a drink.”
Now that we’re above ten-thousand feet, he presses the call button, and a flight attendant bounces over to us, batting her eyes at Blake. I have to try not to roll my eyes.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Can I please get a Jack and Coke?”
She nods. “Sure thing.” Looking at me for the first time, she must assume I’m with him—which is humiliating—because she clears her throat and stands up taller.
“And for you, madam?”
“I’ll have the same thing,” I say sweetly.
“She’s underage,” Blake snaps.
“I’m eighteen. And we’re over international waters, right?” I ask her, winking.