Page 4 of Don't Be in Love

“I’m not some womanizer. I don’t even know your name, matter of fact.” He narrowed his eyes. “You could be the threat here.”

I stared at him back. “Adelaide. But I’m not telling you my last name.”

“Alright, Adelaide With No Last Name, where are you from?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Yes, evidently the States, I’m not an idiot. I meant which one.”

“Massachusetts.”

“When do you fly back?” he asked curiously.

“I’m actually living in London right now,” I admitted.

“Where are you staying?”

“Plan on breaking in and rummaging through my things to find out my last name?”

He rolled his eyes. “I live in London as well. Kensington.” He waited for me to return the same response.

“Marylebone, is that close to Kensington?”

“I wouldn’t recommend walking, but it’s half the time via the Tube. Have you taken the Tube?”

“The public transportation? By myself? Definitely not.” I’d only been here two and a half months, so I wasn’t ashamed that I hadn’t tried the Tube yet. Sabrina was the only British person I knew but even living in London without her parents was a new beast for her.

“It’s easy. I don’t know much about Massachusetts, but I know the Tube is better than the subway in New York. What are you doing after this?” he asked with a cunning look.

“Are you recommending we go for a ride on the Tube?” I laughed.

“Why not? You can’t live in London and not know how to use the train system.”

It felt spontaneous to say yes. To put myself out there.

I may have moved across the world to live in a foreign place, but I still wouldn’t call myselfspontaneous.

Though … I guess this wouldn’t interfere with the rules. If anything were to happen it wouldn’t go anywhere. And I’d get a knowledgeable lesson on how to use the Tube from a local.

“Alright, let’s go,” I said.

3

Don’t Be So Sure of the First Name

You’re Given — Adelaide

“Why am I even surprised?” Mia laughed, walking into the kitchen in her pajamas the next morning, spotting me at the kitchen table with a glass of water andThe New Yorker. “You were out until almost two in the morning last night and are, somehow, still awake before everyone and look ready for a Pilates class with single moms.” She rubbed the gook out of her eyes.

Not knowing whether that last comment was a compliment or not, I said, “We start classes tomorrow! I couldn’t sleep.”

She sat down across from me, taking a big sip of her coffee with both hands. “So no immediate mention of last night? Because I know going on the Tube was not the only thing that happened. I want to hearevery single detail.” She leaned forward with curiosity.

Running to the Tube in my heels with Rye’s coat on my shoulders felt like a scene from a movie. He paid for both of our rides with his Oyster card and showed me how to pay with my own card for the future. The he latched onto my hand, pulling me onto the departing train before its doors could close, and explained all the colorful lines that made up the routes on the roof of the Tube.

One minute we were racing up and down the empty train, and the next, I was bumping into him when it came to a full stop. I perfectly landed on him in the plastic seat. My face hovered above his, giving me the ability to explore the angles of his cheeks, and the flecks of gold and valleys of chestnut brown appearing in his eyes when only inches away from them. Before I realized it, I was kissing him and going to his—

“Every detail of what! What did you guys do last night?” Sabrina yelled from the hallway in her charming accent. Her voice grew as she walked into the kitchen, pulling her short hair into a pony, and ruffling her bangs. Champagne-colored pajamas made of silk hung from her frame. The opposite of Mia’s gray sweatpants and a black Washington State University hoodie.