The Flirtation

by Kayley Loring

  “Of course,” he said, nodding. “I’d love to talk to you too.” He led me towards a corner, near the entrance. There were around two hundred people getting settled into the pews. There was the echoed rumbling of voices as people chatted and shuffled around—no one cared what that lady was saying to that man in the corner before the ceremony started, and no one would be able to hear—it was perfect. Luke put his hand on my arm for a moment, while I took a deep breath. “It’s good to see you,” he said, earnestly.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you.” I had to fight back tears. I hadn’t planned exactly what I’d say, because I didn’t want it to sound rehearsed or phony. And also because whenever I started thinking about it I got diarrhea. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

  His eyes flickered and looked around the room, before giving me his undivided attention.

  “Luke, I’m so sorry for the way I treated you before you left New York.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, listen, I need to—”

  “No I have to. I pushed you away, because I was scared, but that’s not an excuse. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship. I mean, I’ve never been in a serious adult relationship. I might be really bad at it. I might be crazy. But you make me feel like the best possible version of myself, and I want to be good to you and I want to be with you. Whenever possible. Wherever. If you’ll have me…”

  He exhaled and looked down. “Avery, I…”

  “Luke?” said a throaty female voice from behind him. “We’d better find a seat, darling, they’re starting.” Italian accent. Calm. Elegant.

  Fucking Chiara. It had to be. She was stunning and sexy, in that way that only Italian women can be. Her dark shiny hair was half-covered by a large fancy black hat. Just like the one that Andie MacDowell wore in Four Weddings and a Funeral. I kid you not. The way it looked on her, it made everyone else look dumb for not wearing a hat.

  “I’ll be right there,” Luke muttered, his eyes fixed on me. “Avery.”

  “Okay, right,” I said. “You’d better—I have to…”

  “Avery, wait.”

  “I just wanted to say that—I have to go.”

  I ran. I ran out the front of the church, and waved to Ingrid as she stepped out of the back of a Rolls Royce, looking spectacular and graceful and gracious as ever. I heard Luke call out my name once, but I just kept running. I had no idea where I was going, I just had to get away.

  Luke

  Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I couldn’t run after Avery, because I was by the entrance and the ceremony was literally about to begin. Bucket and his mates had taken their places at the end of the aisle, and Bucket had definitely seen me, and I could see Ingrid and her party out front. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. Please don’t leave London. Come to reception after. Chiara n

  I was not able to finish the sentence before sending it, because Chiara literally took my mobile from my hand and pulled me into a seat as the organ music began. Chiara had come to see me a couple of times in the past two months, and I’d gone out with her, in an attempt to keep myself busy. I felt numb. I’d let her yell at me and drag me around town on the weekend, but it felt like such a charade after my time with Avery. I’d told Chiara that I wouldn’t be able to join her in Corfu this particular weekend because I had to attend the wedding of a client, and then she just showed up at my flat two hours before I had to be at the church, and fifteen minutes later I’d received a text from Avery. I’d told Chiara that I had RSVP’d that I would be attending without a guest, but I could not shake her. Partly because she was a determined Italian woman, partly because I was a polite Englishman, and partly because all I could think about was what I’d wanted to say to Avery.

  The ceremony lasted about half an hour. It was lovely. I’m quite certain. I could only imagine how Avery must have felt and where she might have gone. I kept looking down at my phone, in Chiara’s hand. Her other hand kept a firm grip on my knee, to keep it from bouncing up and down. When Bucket kissed the bride, I was the first person to jump to his feet and clap. I wrested my phone from Chiara’s grip and was among the first in line to congratulate the family and bride and groom as I made my way towards Piccadilly. I told Chiara I had to go and not to follow me. I no longer cared if I was being rude—Avery’s happiness was at stake. Chiara spat out some kind of elaborate curse in Italian. At least I knew she wouldn’t yell at me in a church. She hissed, “Don’t ever call me again!” and I said, “I think that’s for the best.”

  Avery had not responded to my incomplete text. I sent her another one that said: Please call me. Where are you?

  I sent her one more text: Darling. I’m coming to find you.

  I was staring at my phone like a sulky, impatient teenager when I reached Buck in the lineup. I put the phone in my pocket and gave him a sincere hug. “I am so happy for you,” I said. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

  “I’m so glad you came! Where’s Ave?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest. She was here and then she wasn’t. I’m trying to find her.”

  Bucket sensed high drama, and nodded. “Got it. Go to her, man. We thought it was so cool that you both put the same advice in your seashells to us.”

  “Right, good,” I said. As if we’d done that intentionally. What do you know.

  What I’d written on that piece of paper, as I watched Avery dipping her toes into the water, backlit by a pink and orange sunset, was this: Always say “I love you” whenever you feel it. Don’t wait for the right moment. The right moment is always now.

  Chapter 22

  Luke

  I ran over to the reception location at Le Meridien across the street, but Avery was not there. I tried ringing her but she wouldn’t answer. I was fully prepared to do the mad dash to the airport, but then I remembered what Avery had said she’d wanted to do if she ever returned to London.

  I ran in the direction of Trafalgar Square, staying on the main thoroughfares, chasing after every hop-on hop-off double decker tour bus I saw, shouting out her name. It was the most manic, un-British thing I had ever done, and I didn’t care. “Avery! Avery!” I was Sylvester Stallone in Rocky. I was Tom Cruise at the end of every other movie. I was Ryan Gosling and every actor in every film based on a book by that author whose name I could not recall. I was very definitely not Hugh Grant. “AVERY!” I would chase down every red bus in London if I had to. It would have been so much more dramatic if it were raining, but you can’t have everything.

  Avery

  As I’d ran through Piccadilly Circus, I had considered running in front of a moving double decker bus, but then I slowed down and realized—I’d done what I’d come here to do. I had faced my fear and showed up and told Luke how I felt, and despite the outcome, it did not kill me. So I decided to enjoy the rest of my stay in London and actually got on a double decker bus at the corner of two streets, in front of a large theatre, and across from what I would later learn was Leicester Square. Tour buses were a great way to see Manhattan, and it would be a great way to see London, I didn’t care how touristy it was. Being up top, with the sunny sky and billboards above me, the beautiful old buildings at eye level, and the distinctly European hustle and bustle just below me, I got that feeling that I was on vacation again, that I was in the moment, and that everything was and would be fine.

  And then, from the European hustle and bustle below, I heard my name being yelled out. I stood up and looked around and saw Luke—my Luke—running alongside the bus, on the crowded sidewalk, dodging in and out of people’s way. “Avery! Yes!” He raised his arms in the air as he ran, victorious. “I was scared too! I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work! Let’s just be together for Christ’s sake!”

  I covered my mouth, but I couldn’t help but ask: “What about Chiara?!”

  “I never invited her there, she just showed up, I swear! I’ve missed you so much, will you just—get off that bloody bus and start being with me?!”

  I ran down to talk to the
bus driver, but he wouldn’t let me off the bus until the next designated stop. So I ran back up top to watch the love of my life run alongside us for seven more blocks until we’d reached The National Gallery. Good thing he went running every morning. Turns out it was all training for this!

  The whole bus was cheering for me and keeping the aisle clear so I could get off the bus as soon as it had come to a complete stop.

  I thought of my niece, and how she’d first reacted when she’d received Mr. Bunny as a gift. “I love you I love you I love you!” I screamed, jumping up and down as I ran towards Luke, arms outstretched. We were so beyond looking cool now.

  “I love you, darling, I adore you and I respect you and I love you.”

  He kissed me. We kissed, in the middle of Trafalgar Square, and it didn’t matter what time zone we were in, because time stood still.

  All of the tourists were filming and photographing everything already anyways, so of course they turned their phones and lenses on us. I looked forward to watching us on YouTube at some point, but not until I had stared into Luke’s sapphire blue eyes for hours and hours and made sure he knew just how much I adored him.

  Epilogue

  Luke

  I open up my Skype app and start a video call with Avery. It’s early morning where she is, and I know she’s still in bed. The call connects almost immediately, and I see her beautiful sleepy face on my phone. “Morning, darling,” I say. “Coffee, tea, or me?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Right, then. See you in a bit.” I hang up the phone, pour her a mug of coffee and a mug of tea, and I carry them both back up from the inn’s lobby to our room.

  We’re on an island off the eastern coast of Canada. We meet here (somewhat half-way between London and Manhattan), once a month, and each month we take turns flying to each other’s city. A direct flight to this charming place is just under six hours from London, and just under seven hours with one stop from NYC. It’s either that or Greenland, and the Wi-Fi is better here, or so we’ve been told.

  We’ve been doing this for six months. Maintaining a long-distance relationship hasn’t been all that bad for us—we’ve put as much effort into being awesome at it as we do our careers. We leaned into it. As Avery would say: “We are totally crushing this transatlantic relationship.”

  We’re working together on a couple of transatlantic mergers and acquisitions, so we do a lot of Skyping, and we do a lot of Skyping for other reasons too. Soon I will be moving to Manhattan, to work as a consultant at a prestigious firm that heard I might be interested in hopping the pond in a more permanent way, and made me an offer I could not refuse. Turns out I had so many New York-based clients, it actually made sense for me to move there. My mum and her husband and my sisters and their husbands are all only too happy to come visit us in the Big Apple.

  Time spent together with Avery in the same space is deeply cherished, but our time apart is just as romantic and sexy in different ways. We write each other epic love letters, sometimes electronically, sometimes via ye olde postal service. Avery occasionally worries that I’ll get sick of her when we move into our new flat together. When she does, I just remind her of the relationship advice we both gave to Bucket and Ingrid, and I tell her that I love her. If we keep doing that, I know that nothing will keep us apart, not distance or fear or her ridiculous old Snoopy pajamas or me stealing the covers and snoring.

  So far I have not made any promises to Avery that I haven’t kept, and plan to keep it that way. I will take her hand and jump into pools of water and have adventures in different worlds with her, always.

  The End

  You finished the book!

  Jolly good.

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