Cole landed in Boston at around 7 a.m. Or rather at 2 a.m. EST. Which was instant jet lag, her body insisting that there should be morningness, when it was still the middle of the night. She had set an alarm for an hour before landing, which had given her time to shower and de-rumple, but she still stumbled off the plane like a zombie who had partied too hard. She couldn’t tell if it was her brain being porridged or the inherent sameness of airports, but it didn’t really feel as if she had flown across the world or that she was in another country. At least not until she had to talk to people who sounded like they had left their r’s in seventeenth-century England. And then the realness of it all became almost uncopeable-with. Once her passport had been checked, luggage retrieved, and she had been welcomed to the USA, she was whisked along gleaming concourses, past travelers and lingerers and an honest-to-goodness Dunkin’ Donuts stand, and finally bundled
By the time dawn filled the room with fresh gray, Harper was still sleeping and Cole was beyond exhausted. Sodden with it like heavy rain. She dozed off and on through the morning, but by early afternoon one of the nurses had pretty much ordered her out of the hospital, telling her she’d be useless if she didn’t get some proper rest. Not sure where the hotel was, or even if she was capable of walking, she got the limo back. And discovered the place was literally just up the road. Except she was too knackered to be embarrassed. She crawled out of the car and wove her way to the front desk. Signed things and received her keycard and some other shit in a blur of words she barely understood. Lift.Corridor.Room.Bed. Face. She groped for her second phone. Hit the shortcut for Aiden with a barely functional finger. He picked up immediately. “Are you all right?” “I’m sorry,” she slurred, “I dunno wha time it is.” She heard him m
He had made Cole smile. When ten minutes ago she wouldn’t have imagined it was even possible. Of course, it was immediately followed by a shard of guilt that she was smiling and flirting and being comforted while Harper was alone in a hospital bed. Although she also knew that was just her brain being mean to her. Harper wasn’t going to get better or worse depending on how miserable she was. But, then, thoughts were thoughts and feels were feels, and, if she were in Cole’s shoes, their power to influence each other was less than zero. “How’s London?” Cole asked. “Much as you left it, I suspect it. Warmish, with some scattered showers.” “How’s the humidity?” He thought about it. “About sixty percent—now why is she laughing?” “Because you are legit terrible at small talk.” “And you,” he said crisply, “are legit terrible at going to sleep.”“You’d better get on with lulling me, then.” He gave an un-lullful snort. “Is
When Cole returned to Harper’s room, she found her propped up in bed, appearing calmer but with redness around her eyes and nose. She offered her an awkward grin, and she mirrored it with her own awkward grin. They had never fought before, at least not about anything more serious than Disney princess, so this was unfamiliar territory. Neither of them could determine if it was solid ground, eggshells, or broken glass beneath their feet. Finally, Harper spoke up. “I’m really sorry, Cole.” “Honestly, you don’t have to be,” she replied. “You’re not the boss of me. I can be sorry if I want.” Cole placed her hands on her hips. “I might be the boss of you. How do you know? Do you have paperwork?” “Girl, you’re barely capable of being the boss of yourself.” “So harsh.” But they were laughing, and it felt unnervingly fragile yet good at the same time. “I’m shit scared, you know,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear.
In person, Poppy Carrie was an impossible mixture of normal and extraordinary. She turned up wearing jeans and boots, a cream cashmere-silk sweater, and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses—nothing about her at all screamed "famously beautiful person." However, looking at her for too long made it hard to breathe. She had this dreamy, summery English loveliness, with corn-gold hair and eyes like freshly turned earth, and a shy scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. There was definitely a trace of Harper around her cheekbones and in the generosity of her mouth. She had come from LA, accompanied by her boyfriend, Colt Dawson, a six-foot-something hunk of weathered manhood who had a ranch in Montana and worked with horses for Hollywood. They had apparently met on the set of Madame Bovary. Cole quickly gathered this information from frantic internet searches, hoping to find something to say to Colt as they sat together in the waiting room, giving Nik
She stared at Poppy—so composed in her cashmere, with her tea. “You don’t seem like an angry person.” “Therapy. And”—she gave a slightly wry smile—“Colt, oddly enough. She understands wild things. Sometimes he just takes me out into the middle of nowhere, and I screams until there are no screams left. Then we lie in the bed of her truck and watch the sun set and the stars come out.” “That sounds way better than therapy.” “And there’s always action movies.” She made an absolutely ferocious face and mimed firing what I presumed was an automatic weapon. “Eat this, motherbitches. Very cathartic. Especially if you have an unholy vendetta against blue screens.” Cole burst into rapturous applause. “And the award for best motherbitches goes to…” “Now you know why I’m an actor, not a writer.” Poppy put down her gun. “But you are, aren’t you? Nikki said you were a journalist?” “Well, I’m working on it.” Cole was doing it again. She took a breath a
The next day, Cole said goodbye to Harper, made sure it wasn’t stupid o’clock in England, and rang Bellerose. He answered quickly, just like always. “Hello, Cole.” “Knitted anything cool?” “I sincerely wish I hadn’t told you that.” “Do you make your own yarn and stuff as well, or do you buy it?” “My yarn is none of your business. Now, is there something you need?” Cole couldn’t quite contain an eager squeak. “I’m ready to come home.” “Aiden will be delighted. When would you like the jet?” Oh dear God. She was never going to get used to being able to order a plane like a pizza. “As soon as possible?” There was a pause. Presumably Bellerose was… actually, she had no idea. Calculating stuff? Organizing things? “You will be departing at nine a.m. tomorrow. Be at the airport in good time.” “Yay. Thank you.” Since Bellerose couldn’t see her, and she was in a city where nobody knew her, she skipped abo
"Come on,” Aiden said, releasing Cole at last. Once again, her body decided that the best place for her was in a wobbly heap on the ground, but he grabbed her hand just in time and pulled her, along with her case, toward the exit. Into the waiting—oh fuck—limo. And onto his lap. Where they kissed again. Again. Again. Forever. As the streets of London unraveled around them in ribbons of gold. Finally, they stopped. Mainly, she thought, for breathing purposes, rather than any particular desire to separate their mouths. “I’m going to put a collar round your neck,” Aiden murmured, “and chain you to my bed.” Thankfully Cole knew how to interpret this. “I missed you too.” She thought he might laugh. But, instead, he pulled her against him so tightly that she flailed and squeaked like a squeezy toy. “Oh Cole.” “It me,” she wheezed. “My Cole.” He pressed his face against the crook of her