Page 97 of Don't Be in Love

Tower Bridge was outlined in white bulbs while the London markets were illuminated by Christmas trees and hot chocolate stands. Snow fell in slow motion, melting into the Thames River below. There was so much to look at. So much light pulling the eye in different directions. I wasn’t sure if John Constable, a painter known for his landscapes, would even know where to start.

I looked back and her eyes were still shut, leg bouncing away.

“Hey, look at me,” I said softly.

I squeezed her hand. She didn’t budge. Picking up my palm, I carried it to her face and paused instantly.

What am I doing?

I took in the features of her face in secret, absorbing the arch of her cheek bones and the length of her dark lashes. My heartpounded in unison with each part I memorized. Before I could get to her lips and torture myself more, I cupped her jaw.

Her eyes immediately opened. Surprise passed over her face before I opened my mouth.

“You’re going to miss it,” I told her.

“How pretty could it possibly be?”

“Very pretty,” I assured. “Come on.”

I stood and gave her my hand. She went a step further and held onto my arm as if I was courting her, nails digging into my bicep. Four steps and we were in front of the glass.

Her hold on my arm loosened slowly and then pivoted to the glass altogether as she admired the scene outside our personal snow globe.

“It’s gorgeous,” she exhaled. Her warm breath marked the glass.

“Was it worth it?” I asked.

“Worth being splashed with water and dragged out into the cold?”

I rolled my eyes. “Taking a chance. Being scared,” I clarified.

“You sound like Sabrina.” Fatigue sat in her voice.

“Why is that?”

“She tried to make the same argument with me before leaving for Paris—that I don’t take chances. That I let fear consume me.” Her finger tapped the glass where Big Ben stood.

“Why’d she say that?”

“Because she thinks I’m making myself unhappy by avoiding my love for James.”

My heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach. Thunderous pumping blood pounded in my ears.

My love for James.

“Your love for James …” I repeated.

She faced me, light bouncing off the right side of her face. “It’s ridiculous, I know. She thinks we’re in love with one another and that I’m trying to avoid it.”

The pounding quieted.

She turned back to the view.

“What makes her think…that?” I asked. A bitter taste sat at the bottom of my throat. I couldn’t fathom saying,What makes her think the two of you are in love?

Since the day James mentioned asking her out, we rarely spoke of her to maintain sanity. The need to question him on when he asked her, how he asked, and how she reacted, was insistent.

I assumed she must’ve said no since I never heard about a date. But Adelaide said no to many things, even to those she wanted. She was stubborn.