He laughs softly, then steps closer to me. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Addison,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Trust me.”
I blink. It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them. It’s not a line. It’s a promise.
“Fine,” I say, heart pounding for possibly an entirely different reason. “But if I faint, it’s on you.”
“Noted.”
The queue isn’t long, though I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse. It doesn’t allow me much time to psych myself up for this, but it also doesn’t give me time to think of a way to back out. Before I know it, we’re stepping into one of the glass pods and the doors close behind us. There’s no going back now. I grip a railing like I’m holding on for dear life.
“See, we’re barely moving,” Oliver says beside me.
“That’s worse!” I say, forcing out a laugh so I don’t cry. “It’s so slow and I can seeeverything. Ihatethis.”
To my surprise, Oliver doesn’t laugh. Instead, he moves behind me. I feel his chest brush against my back as he anchors himself, placing both his hands on the rail, one on either side of me.
“Breathe, Addison,” he says softly, his voice brushing my ear. “In… hold… out.”
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to get air into my lungs. It takes a few tries, but I start to match his rhythm.
“That’s it. You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
And weirdly, I believe him.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers.
When I open my eyes, the city opens around me like a secret. The view is stunning. The Thames sparkles, glittering like broken glass. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding.
“You see it now?” Oliver murmurs, his cheek brushing mine.
“I see it,” I say softly, the tension leaving my body with every exhale. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“Of course,” he says nonchalantly, though I can see him fighting a smile in the reflection on the pod. My body relaxes, but he doesn’t pull away, and I don’t let go.
We find a small pub not far from the London Eye, tucked down a narrow street. It’s old, charming, and smells like a mixture of beer and fryer oil.
“Alright,” Oliver says, pulling my chair out for me. “Time to get you some proper fish and chips.”
He orders our lunch and two pints of beer without even asking, and I don’t protest. It just feels like he knows me already, like he could order for me and actually pick something I’d like.
The food arrives, and it smells incredible. It looks even better. Crisp batter, thick golden fries, and the mushy peas I’m still a bit suspicious of. I dig in as Oliver watches me expectantly, like he’s waiting for my assessment.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing my food. “This is really good.”
“Good.” He reaches for a little bottle of malt vinegar and shakes it over his plate, and without asking, over mine too.
I wrinkle my nose. “Seriously?”
“Trust me.” His smile curves, slow and confident, like he already knows how this ends.
I pop the vinegar-soaked fry into my mouth like it’s a dare.
Fuck. It’s delicious.
“Damn it,” I mutter playfully.
He smirks. “I told you.”
As I chew, I glance up at the wooden sign over the bar.The Red Boot.
