It was dark when I walked into my house. It felt empty. I had expected to see my mom waiting up for me. Instead, the only thing that greeted me was the ticking of the wall clock. I reached up and ran a hand over my lips, thinking about the kiss I'd shared with Corinth at the beginning of our date. The swirly-airy feeling in the pit of my stomach came flooding back as I ran through the events of the night once again. What a date. My excitement was a mixture of my feelings for Corinth and the giddiness of the unknown for my upcoming trip. My flight left at the crack of dawn and all of my belongings were already packed in one large bag, ready to go. Traveling light was the key to getting around quick. I'd planned on changing hotels to save money along the way and had done considerable research when it came to hostels in the area.
Three months was a long time to be away, practically forever. I'd never been anywhere by myself and the thought of having to figure out the airport, find a taxi and get to where I needed to go, suddenly threatened to overwhelm me—but the lights flipped on and brought me crashing back to reality.
Mom stood in the living room with her arms folded over her chest and a smile plastered on her face.
"Uh, hey," I said, giving her a half-grin.
She flung herself forward and grabbed my hands in hers. "I thought we could catch up on some Scrabble before you leave, what do you think?"
I turned to see that the coffee table was set up and ready to go. She had planned this out perfectly and it brought a smile to my face.
"I got us some soda and popcorn," she said proudly.
"It looks great. But there's just one problem with that."
She bit her lip and glanced away looking crestfallen. "What's that?"
"You're going down."
She gave me one of her rare hugs, almost squeezing the life out of me. It felt like having her back, the way she used to be when Dad was still around. And I'm not gonna lie, I started to have second thoughts about leaving her alone for so long.
"I'm going to miss you," she whispered.
"You going to be okay without me?" I led her to the table and we sat as I searched her eyes.
Mom raised an eyebrow in defiance. "As long as you stay in constant contact and promise to have a blast."
"That, I can do."
We shared another hug and I used the rest of my short night to squash her attempts at boasting that she had the best vocabulary on the block. That title still belonged to me.
***
My flight landed in London/Gatwick airport. Nine hours cramped between two people who kept giving me dirty looks the whole trip for having to use a seat belt extender was not a great way to start my travels. Fat girl problem number forty-five.
Jet-lagged and limping along with dull lower back pain, I yanked my luggage behind me in complete exhaustion. I wish someone would have warned me about how bad this feeling was going to be.
As I dragged myself through the automated airport exit doors and out into the cool summer air, I breathed deep for what seemed like the first time in forever. I swear the airplane oxygen had been alarmingly suffocating.
The weather was already shaping up to be way more pleasant than any of our summer's back home.
I fished my phone from my pocket, thinking about Corinth, but realized my phone bill was going to be astronomical, so I settled for a quick text, instead. The thought of his goofy corkscrew smile made me miss him already. In my text I told him I had landed and would touch base with him later. I texted my mom and told her the same.
Weaving my way in and out of the long line of tourists, I consulted my map and slipped into the taxi line right as someone spoke behind me.
"You'll be waiting a right long time in that line."
I turned around to see a man leaning against a light post watching me with interest, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. I almost let out a chortle when I saw his mustache. It had to be the longest handle bar 'stache I'd ever seen. The man wasn't tan and what little I could see of his teeth were heavily stained, but he had an honest face. He certainly seemed as relaxed as anyone I'd ever met.
"Sorry?" I asked.
"A Yank, eh. Where you from, then?"
I glanced around, still unsure about speaking to a total stranger. Something about him felt genuine, so I said, "Texas."
He gave me a wide grin and I wondered how he managed to keep the cigarette so expertly poised between his teeth. "Where you headin', love?"
I glanced at several airport security personnel across the way. He saw me looking at them and nodded in understanding.
"Relax, love." He threw a glance across the street and I followed his gaze, which had landed on an old faded yellow Beetle parked with one wheel on the curb. Black letters read: TAXI.
"You've got to be kidding," I said under my breath.
He gave me an offended look. "Course not."
I twisted around to glance at the ever growing line of people and sighed. This was probably going to be my best shot at getting out of here before the sun set, so I made my first big decision. "Um, well how much to The Swan hotel in Bromham?"
"Bedfordshire? That's a long trip."
"How much?" I repeated, fiddling with the strap on my duffle as Handlebar pretended to count on his fingers. It was for dramatic effect, but it wasn't going to work on me.
"That kind of trip... plus my time—it'll be 160£. It's the best deal you'll get for a jaunt that far." He shot a look in the direction of the long line, again. "Or, you can just wait in that queue."
I had learned a little about converting US dollars to the British Pound, but I was starting to get a headache from lack of food intake and I didn't want to argue too much, so I countered with what was probably a higher offer than I'd meant to pay. "I'll give you 125£."
Handlebar stuck his hand out for me to shake. "Done. Name's Paul."
I took his callused hand in mine and shook it. "Laura Collins."
The VW's right front fender was dented and bits of yellow rusted paint had flaked off in random places. Nice wheels. I guess as long as it ran, I'd be fine.
Paul grabbed my bag for me, threw it into the small trunk, and slammed it down so hard my teeth rattled.
I yanked the stiff door open. It gave a groan of protest as I pulled myself into the back seat. How long had it been since he had a passenger in here? I leaned forward and checked his driver ID in the window. It read: Paul Leonard.
"You ever been to England before, love?" he asked as he put the beater into gear and flung us out onto the airport tarmac.
I shook my head and gritted my teeth at how fast he was traveling. "First time." I pulled my seat belt on and hoped I'd made the right decision.
"Vacation?" he asked off-handedly.
"Something like that." This was far from a standard vacation.
"Don't mind me, Larna. I just like to pass the time talking. My radio's buggered." He tapped the dashboard lovingly with a finger.
Suddenly the feeling of being all alone hit me. I wished Corinth was here with me, navigating the mean streets of London. But I was finally here and taking charge of my life. This would be good.
Closing my eyes, I curled my fingers into the seat cushion trying to alleviate some of the anxiety and exhaustion that had settled into the tops of my shoulders. What was I thinking? Now that I was here, this seemed like a bad idea. I didn't like to do things by myself, I wasn't an expert traveler or an out-of-the-box thinker. I was just here to find my dad. This was the craziest thing I'd ever done in my life.
"Everything okay?" The voice sounded far away as I blinked my eyes open.
My head hurt and I was starving.
"You've been asleep for almost an hour." Paul glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
"I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep. Where are we?" I said, stretching out as much as I could in the cramped space.
"Just outside of London. Your snoring was something else," he said with a snort.
I shrugged and watched the countryside roll by. Everything was lush and vibrant and unpopulated. We'd made it through the entire city and I'd missed it.
A sign flew by that said – M1.
Little white specks dotted the hillsides as we blurred past and I realized they were sheep. If the VW had a window I would have rolled it down. Instead, I was trapped with the smell of stale cigarettes.
Feeling the need to fill the awkward silence, I asked, "You from here?"
I could hear the eagerness in his voice at the prospect of conversation. "Born and raised. I've been to the States before, though."
"Oh yeah, what part?" I didn't really care but it was a way to pass the time and he seemed excited to talk about the States.
"New York—reminds me of London." I watched in remorse as he started to light a fresh cigarette. I coughed hoping he'd get the hint, but he didn't notice. "I've never been to New York. I'd like to visit, though."
"Well worth the visit. So what does your name mean? Larna is interesting, I've never heard that before," Paul asked.
I shrugged and muttered, "I'm not really sure. I think my Dad must've known the grief it would cause me."
"What do you mean?" His questioning eyes met mine before he glanced back to the road.
"I just used to get teased a lot." I didn't know why I told him; it wasn't something I shared with strangers but for some reason, I felt comfortable around him. "Lardo Collins is what they call me."
"People are arseholes." Paul's voice had softened and his knuckles had turned white as he gripped the steering wheel in concern.
To my utter surprise, I found myself laughing at the genuine concern and conviction in his voice.
I didn't know him from Adam, but he seemed so upset that I'd been teased in the past that I couldn't help but feel my mood instantly lift, headache and all.
Our conversation lulled into silence as we flew down the highway. It was nice to have time to think, so I pulled my father's journal from my bag and examined it for the thousandth time. After awhile when I looked back up, Paul was staring at me with an odd expression on his face.
As soon as he caught me looking, he quickly focused his attention back on the road.
Forty-five minutes later, we pulled up in front of The Swan.
Everything was clean and fresh and new. The building was serene and peaceful. I'd seen pictures of it online but they didn't do it justice.
Large gray stones covered the siding, giving it a cottage-like feel. There were two-stories, and the vines and vegetation covering most of the second story reminded me of those quaint little Hobbit homes in Lord of the Rings. If Frodo Baggins had stepped outside and helped me with my luggage, I would've only been mildly surprised. Thinking about Hobbits and elves brought a smile to my face. Corinth would appreciate the building's façade. Once again, I wished he were here to appreciate this moment.
Paul, who was very un-Hobbit like, helped me with my meager belongings and I handed him the cab fare. "Thank you for your kind words," I told him with a shy smile.
"My pleasure, love." His mustache twitched; there was a glint in his eye as he stuck his hand out and I shook it for the second time. "It was nice to meet you."
"See you around, Miss Larna Collins." He gave me a wave and as he pulled away, he lit another cigarette. I had a feeling if he'd had a big ten-gallon hat on, he would have tipped it before riding off into the sunset. It was a comforting feeling that made me think about home. It wasn't uncommon to see the 'sea of cowboy hats' in Fort Worth.
As I stood outside of the hotel I took a deep reassuring breath, shouldered my bag, and stepped inside. I made my way to the lobby and I'm pretty sure I scared a passing child because my stomach growled its displeasure.
His mother gave me an odd look and shuffled away. Yes, I am Shrek.
The small lobby felt warm and cozy and I wished I could curl up next to the fireplace with a book and read all day. A small group of people sat at the bar near the front, enjoying their glasses of wine and beer.
At the front desk, a woman with graying hair tied in a bun, got off of the phone and nodded to me. Her name-tag read Sarah.
"May I help you?"she asked politely.
"Checking in—Larna Collins."
The clacking of her fingernails on the keyboard was the only noise in the lobby as I took a moment to admire my surroundings. The décor was rustic and homey, the furniture a mixture of old, dark leather armchairs and bar stools. I could see why my dad had written about it in his journal. This would have been exactly his sort of hangout.
"All I need from you is your form of payment and a passport, Ms. Collins. You're confirmed for a queen room for a fortnight."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She handed me my room key and a map of the surrounding area after she studied my passport. "Your room is located on the second floor. Would you like help with your luggage?"
"No, I've got it, thanks."
Sarah nodded. "Enjoy your stay."
Barely able to keep my grip on my duffle, I made my way to the elevator and let out a huge yawn. Maybe I should have opted for help. The elevator doors started to close, but at the last second a hand snaked out from the inside and stopped them from shutting all the way.
My mouth still hung wide as I stepped onboard, and in my usual graceful fashion, I finally noticed the man who'd stopped the elevator for me. Now I knew where the phrase tall, dark, and handsome came from—he was at least as tall as Corinth, maybe taller, and a wee bit older. My Good Samaritan was a heck of a lot more sophisticated than anyone I knew. His blue pin-striped suit was so exquisitely tailored I wouldn't have been surprised if he was superglued inside it.
He caught me staring and smiled. It wasn't exactly a good natured smile—it was an I'm-used-to-commanding-attention-smile. Some people exude confidence like they eat it for breakfast.
In a perfectly classy move, I whipped my head down hoping he wouldn't see my now reddening cheeks. If I had a super power it would be me controlling the amount of times I got flustered. My stomach flipped and, at the most inopportune moment, growled. "Um—sorry—it kind of has a mind of its own," I said.
I met his amused stare. His eyes were dark, so dark I couldn't tell where his irises ended and his pupils began. I could get lost in eyes like his.
"Ms. Collins, is it?" he said, surprising me. His voice was smooth with a slight accent I couldn't quite place.
He could have read me the phone book and I would have happily listened. Fascinated, I watched as he ran a hand through his dark curls.
When I could finally clear my throat, I said a little too breathily, "How do you know my name?"
The Good Samaritan bowed slightly. "Forgive me for being rude, I overheard you talking to Sarah. I thought I'd introduce myself."
Why he would bother introducing himself to someone like me was a moot point. He stuck his hand out—and because I'd never been good at shaking hands with good looking men, I bungled it by gripping his first four fingers in a clumsy squeeze.
He glanced down in amusement. "Gabriel Stanton. It's a pleasure."
I found myself struggling to find something else to say to drag the conversation out before the elevator dinged for my floor. "Nice to meet you."
Lame, Collins.
"I hope you enjoy your stay with—us," Gabriel purred.
Emphasis on us.
He touched the side of his olive-toned cheek and for the first time I noticed the outline of a four inch scar. It was the only thing that wasn't perfect on his symmetrical face. He saw me staring and dropped his hand. With a shrug he said, "Accident. A long time ago."
"I didn't mean t-t-o stare," I stammered.
Without warning, he stepped closer and I found myself momentarily too stunned to react. It was like he the shiniest piece of gold in a pile full of rusted metal. Maybe it was his cologne that left me feeling woozy; it smelled of yachts, trophies, secret clubs, mansions, the ocean and I'm pretty sure heaven.
He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the elevator doors opened onto my floor.
With a final glance, he stepped back and held his arms out toward the hallway. "I believe this is your floor, Ms. Collins. I'm certain I'll be seeing you, again." He moved deftly out of my way as I grabbed my bag and dragged it out behind me like a sack of potatoes.
"Would you like some help with that?" His eyes narrowed and for some reason he reminded me of a wild animal.
"Uh, n-n-no thanks." There I went again. My chest tightened, and I couldn't tell if it was from anxiety or me wishing I'd taken him up on his offer.
Before the doors slid all the way shut his smile grew wider, as if he was used to this sort of reaction.
***
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