“Can I get you anything else?” The cute waitress looks over at Dylan. I can see that I’m not the only one he has this effect on. His sex appeal crosses over the generations. The poor girl looks like she’s in a trance. I feel bad for her, so I try to come to her rescue.
“This all smells amazing. Do you think we could have a refill on coffee?” I ask, holding up my half-empty mug.
“Oh, yes, of course.” She scurries off toward the café, nearly running into the table behind us due to the way she’s staring unashamedly at the gorgeous person across from me.
“Do you have that effect on all the ladies?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Dylan’s already equipped with a knife and fork and is cutting into his breakfast. As he pops a bite into his mouth, his lips closing around the fork, and I find myself in a trance a lot like our waitress—mouth slightly open, eyes glazed over.
“How’s your breakfast?”
“Oh, uh, good.” I look down at my untouched food and take a bite, moaning when the rich flavors touch my tongue.
I notice Dylan watching me, and I know that somehow I’ve got to get a grip on my rampant, irrational thoughts.
I’m sure after breakfast, Dylan will be off doing what twenty-two-year-olds do, and I’ll be able to get back to my itinerary and let whatever this is go.
It’s ridiculous. That’s what it is.
“Are you having fun, Mom?”
“Yes, baby. I’m having a great time!”
“Have you met any London people?” Noah’s voice is so chipper, and I feel proud, knowing he’s handling our separation so well. If he wasn’t happy and having fun, there’s no way I’d be able to enjoy myself. And I’m definitely enjoying myself.
“Yes, I’ve met a few people.”
“Like real Londoners?”
“Yes, real Londoners.” I laugh into the phone. I miss him so much.
“What’re their names?”
“I’m staying with Lucy. Well, renting one of her rooms. And she’s from here.”
“Does she sound like Harry Potter?”
Giggling, I nod my head and answer, “Yes. Well, actually, more like Hermione.”
His laugh echoes through the phone, and I wish I could bottle it up and carry it with me. I sigh at the thought, wishing he was with me.
“You okay, Mom?” Always in tune with how I’m feeling and wise beyond his ten years.
“Yeah, I’m good, buddy. Just miss you.”
“I miss you too, but I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah, a few more weeks. Think you can make it without me that long?”
He draws a deep breath, putting on the theatrics. “I don’t know. I might forget to brush my teeth … or wear dirty socks.”
“Haha. Funny. Listen, I’ve gotta go. Be good for your dad, and brush your teeth!” I say the last line louder and more pronounced.
“OK, Mom. I love you!”
“I love you too, buddy, more than the moon and stars!”
“More than the moon and stars,” he repeats.
And just that fast, he’s gone. The phone call ends, and I can picture him off running, on to the next game or adventure.
Speaking of adventure, I spread the map out on my bed and decide where I’m going to go today.
The last few days have been a lot like the first, except I’ve tried to limit myself on the time I spend with Dylan, but the crazy thing is, I really enjoy his company.
He’s funny, and we have a lot in common. He likes art. I like art. He’s a sucker for theater. So am I. He enjoys finding a new pub every night for dinner, and so do I.
It’s hard to find reasons to not hang out with him, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m tagging along or a hindrance to what he’d normally be doing had we not met.
There’s a knock at my door.
“Yes?” I call, continuing to look over the map.
When I hear the door creak open, I look up to find Dylan standing there in a gray T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans and, of course, his beanie. As much as I love the way he looks, I’d love to see what his hair looks like under there.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hello.”
“What are your plans for the day?”
“I’m just trying to figure it out.” I smile at him, thinking about what he told me on the first day. “Someone wise once said they wait to see what they feel like doing when they wake up. So I’m trying to take that approach.”
“Oh, a wise person, huh?”
I nod, smiling up at him.
“So, what do you feel like doing today?” he asks, changing his words.
“I’m feeling like a stroll to Portobello, maybe stopping in a few antique shops along the way. I definitely want to stop in Lucy’s shop. Oh, and I saw this cool bookstore the other day that only sells cookbooks!” I feel myself getting excited thinking about the day, my motions becoming more animated.
“Sounds cool. Do you like to cook?”
“I do, actually, especially when I have the time.”
“I heard you in here yelling at someone to brush their teeth earlier. Do you often give yourself those sorts of pep talks in the morning?” He smiles slyly, quirking an eyebrow.
I laugh at the mental image. “No, I was talking to Noah.”
“Who’s Noah?” he asks, his features morphing into something more serious.
“He’s my son.” I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned him until now, but truthfully, there hasn’t been a chance to bring him up.
Dylan’s genuine smile returns, brightening up his face. “Cool. How old is he?”
“Ten, going on thirty.”
“I bet he’s a cool kid.”
“The coolest.”
“Of course he is. You’re his mom.”
I smile widely, turning my face back to the map. I’m not sure why, but that compliment hits me harder than the first day when he called me beautiful. “Thanks.”
“You feel like company today?”
“Dylan, don’t feel obligated to show me around. I think I’ve got this thing figured out,” I tell him, holding up the map. Like I said, Dylan and I have been going our separate ways quite a bit. Yesterday, he went to Camden and went to a concert with some of his friends from college who are also traveling abroad. I took the tube over to a couple of museums and kept myself busy with books and sightseeing. I’ve come to realize I could be here for two months and still not have time to do everything I want to do. I feel like I could come back again and again and see a completely different city every time.
“I want to.”
We sit there for a few seconds, no words exchanged between us, just quiet understanding.
We enjoy each other’s company.
There’s no harm in that, right?
Walking down the street, starting our adventure for the day, Dylan has an extra bounce in his step and he might even be humming to himself. He makes me smile. The way he looks at life and approaches each day is inspiring … and, if I’m being honest with myself, intoxicating … addictive.
In a matter of days, I’ve found myself completely enamored by him, wanting to be in his company. That thought leaves me with the one that crossed my mind the other day when I watched the girl at the bookstore practically stalk Dylan through the entire store. She even followed us out onto the sidewalk but then trailed off when she realized we were headed back to the flat. I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t said anything, he would’ve been oblivious.
“So,” I begin, folding my arms in front of me, giving my hands a place to be. “Do you have a girlfriend back home?”
Dylan quirks a half-smile before answering. “No. I did have a girlfriend for a while, but we just wanted different things, and we broke it off about six months ago.”
“Ah, different things. Irreconcilable differences,” I offer. Those words have a little bite to them as I repeat what my lawyer claimed would be the grounds for mine and Grant’s divorce. Me, being me, and not wanting to fight,
agreed to it. But he knows it’s bullshit and I know it’s bullshit. Everyone knows it’s bullshit. And I guess that’s enough for me.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he laughs, cocking his head in my direction.
“That’s what my ex-husband claimed when we filed for a divorce.”
He pauses on the sidewalk, so I stop too, facing him.
“And was it? Irreconcilable?” he asks.
I deflect for a second, wondering at what point in the last few days I felt comfortable enough with Dylan to tell him my life story. When I look back up at him, he’s staring down at me with those other-worldly green eyes. And he’s comfort and ease and everything I’ve been looking for wrapped into a handsome package. “It was so irreconcilable,” I finally confess. “That wasn’t even the word for it.” The thought of Grant and his infidelity brings an unwelcome shade of black to my otherwise colorful day.
“Do you mind me asking what happened?”
I sigh and take a deep breath. There are still some days that I haven’t quite wrapped my head around everything that happened. If someone would’ve told me twelve years ago that Grant would cheat on me, I wouldn’t have believed them. But deep down, I know that our marriage was over long before the ink on the divorce papers dried. In a lot of ways, we were just better off friends.
“You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” I look over to see him pulling his beanie off of his head and stuffing it in his back pocket. My breath catches in my throat as he brushes his hair back with his fingers, shaking it out and allowing it to fall into disarray.
Beautiful.
The word actually almost leaves my mouth before I catch myself, but he is. From the unique coloring of his hair to his strong jawline, he’s something to behold, like a piece of fine art.
“What?” he asks, his eyes shining with his smile.
“Nothing,” I lie, because even though I know what I feel, I also know that it’s crazy. “And I don’t mind answering your question. Grant cheated on me. He’s a sports reporter, and let’s just say he hit a homerun in every city he went to.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dylan asks, anger laced in his tone, his features going from carefree to enraged in a split second.
Dylan looks at me with disbelief.
“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“No, I know you wouldn’t. I just can’t believe … I mean, he has you at home, and he does that? It just doesn’t compute.” His jaw is set tight, green eyes ablaze. “Besides, my sister was married to a cheating douchebag. I have zero tolerance for shit like that.”
“I have a zero-tolerance policy, too.”
“Just one more thing we have in common.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really sorry he did that to you,” he says as we begin to walk again, side by side.
“Shit happens.” I sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, still semi-stuck in thoughts of my life—where it went wrong and how right it feels where I am right now. “It sucks, but I got the best part of him.”
He slowly smiles when he realizes what I mean by that. “Noah.”
“Noah.”
I smile and nod. I love that he gets that, that he gets me.
Everything about Dylan is the polar opposite of Grant, and the biggest difference is not their age, it’s the way they view life. Grant has always been an every guy for himself kind of person, climbing his way to the top, and screwing people to get there. I was attracted to his ambition in the beginning, until the shine of it turned dull and I saw it for what it really was, self-serving and selfish. Dylan is someone who puts others before himself. In just a few days of knowing him, I’ve witnessed him giving a homeless person spare change, running down a man who dropped his wallet, and he always has a kind smile for a stranger. He’s so aware of himself and his surroundings, never taking a breath for granted.
When we approach our destination, he steps ahead of me and opens the door, lightly touching the small of my back as he ushers me inside. It’s a gesture that’s so common. It’s in every sappy book and romantic movie and I always wondered what the big deal was, but now I know. Because that small gesture just sent a flood of warmth all the way through my body, radiating from the point of contact.
“No regrets, then?”
“Definitely not. I think everything happens for a reason.” Like me stepping out of my comfort zone and hopping on a plane on a trip across the Atlantic. Staying in a flat in Notting Hill. Meeting Dylan Harris. Everything happens for a reason. I know I was meant to meet Dylan. I don’t know why or what the future holds, but I know he was meant to be a mark on my map of life.
“Me too,” he says, simply.
We smile at each other, knowing that once again, we’re on the same page.
As Dylan and I walk out of the theater, talking nonstop about the independent film we just watched, I look down at my watch and see it’s after two o’clock in the morning. We had opted for a double feature, but I didn’t realize it would finish so late… or early.
“What should we do now?” Dylan asks, walking close enough beside me that our arms are touching.
“It’s two in the morning, so I guess we should head back to the flat,” I say, laughing lightly, feeling so carefree and oddly energetic. Maybe it’s London. Maybe it’s the caffeine from the soda Dylan and I shared at the theater. Maybe it’s Dylan.
“Oh, but the night is young,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me across the empty street.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see! Are you hungry?”
I think for a second, trying to remember when we ate last. It’s been a while. “I could eat.”
“Good.” The smile on his face is full of mischief and mystery. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me down the quiet streets of Notting Hill. We don’t stop until we get to the entrance to the tube.
“Do you have a pass?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.
“Yes.” I pull mine out of my backpack and swipe it. Unsure of where we’re going, but full of excitement and anticipation, I regain Dylan’s hand and hold on tight.
During the ride on the tube, Dylan pulls me close into him. There are a few questionable late-night passengers riding with us, but never once do I feel uneasy. Something about Dylan’s close proximity settles my mind but also ignites a flame inside me.
When we arrive at the café, Dylan places his hand at the small of my back, again, a gesture that’s becoming the norm and I love it. The café isn’t empty like I thought it’d be, but it’s not crowded… perfect, actually, and unexpected, just like Dylan.
I had lofty dreams of London, but none of those come close to this moment. In a random café, way past my bedtime, with the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. It’s not what I had planned, it’s so much better.
We sit in a corner booth, both of us sliding in toward the middle.
“What’s good?” I ask.
Dylan begins to animatedly tell me how amazing their New York Dog is, but I can’t bring myself to order a New York Dog while I’m in London, so I opt for something more local—double dipped chips and beer battered haddock.
As we eat, conversation flows.
One minute we’re talking about movies, and the next, we’re discussing our favorite books.
“Tell me about your parents,” I prompt, thinking that we’ve talked a lot about me and my life, but I don’t know much about his family.
“Well, they’ve been married for thirty years,” he says, taking a drink of his ale before continuing. “My dad totally robbed the cradle.” His eyes light up as he recounts the days of his dad wooing his mom. He was her professor in college and immediately smitten with her, knowing that somehow he had to make her his wife. Listening to Dylan talk about their whirlwind romance makes me a little weepy. I can’t help it. The love is so evident, even in the words of their son.
“That’s beautiful,” I say,
wiping the corner of my eye with my napkin, trying to hide the fact that deep down, I’m a sappy romantic.
“No, I agree. It is.” He smiles. “It’s downright Hallmark-worthy.”
I laugh, nudging him with my shoulder.
Dylan goes on to tell me about his sister, Kelly, who’s twenty-five and engaged to be married again next spring to one of Dylan’s best friends from high school. Blake is four years younger than Kelly. Dylan has threatened his life and his manhood if he ever steps out on his sister, but I can tell from the way he talks about Blake that he trusts him.
“What about your parents?” he asks, stealing chips off my plate and directing the conversation back to me.
“Sharon and Roger.” I nod my head. “They’re your traditional parents. They married young but have always been in love. I thought the same would happen to me. I figured I’d find that one person right off the bat, marry him, and live happily ever after. Forever and ever, amen. I think the divorce was harder on my parents than it was me… or Noah. Actually, Noah has handled it the best.”
Dylan nods his head, listening intently. Just another thing I like about him. He’s not like most twenty-somethings these days, where his phone is glued to his hand. Actually, I think I’ve only seen him take it out a few times, and it’s usually to take a picture of something.
“Were they okay with you traveling abroad by yourself?”
I laugh into my napkin. “Absolutely not! My mom had a fit. She couldn’t understand why I couldn’t find a nice place to vacation within the continental United States.”
We sit in the booth for so long that my butt is numb by the time we pay and leave the café. But I could’ve sat there for another two hours. Every minute I spend with Dylan gives me life. I never tire of his stories of college and travel. I find myself hanging on every word, wishing the hours would multiply. I know I still have time on my trip. But I also know how fast time passes, so I’m trying to be more like Dylan and live in the moment.
“Do you think you feel up to a little something else?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.
What the Heart Wants: An Opposites Attract Anthology Page 10
