Page 10 of From LA to London, With Love

As we headed back home, Sophie muttered “Oh shit” under her breath and furrowed her brows. I followed her gaze down the path. A woman was walking toward us with a stroller, waving. My heart sank.

Please don’t recognize me.

I knew if I kept spending time with Sophie, she'd eventually find out who I was. She’d inevitably ask me what I did for a living—I was surprised she hadn’t already—and despite my panicked white lie earlier in the day, I wasn't in the habit of lying to people. But I’d been hoping to put that moment off for as long as possible.

The woman, petite, tanned, and blonde, looked overdressed for a walk in the park, wearing a floaty floral dress, strappy shoes, a big floppy hat, and heavy make-up. I wondered how she knew Sophie. Based on appearances alone, they seemed like very different people. I tugged my cap lower, putting my face into neutral.

“Sophie, I’m so glad I ran into you! Look, I just want to apologize again for yesterday. I really didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about it.” The woman’s tone implied she thought Sophie had completely overreacted to whatever had happened.

My curiosity was well and truly piqued. What on earth had this woman said to offend Sophie?

Sophie gave a forced smile and turned to me, ignoring the woman’s halfhearted apology. “Chris, this is Cynthia and baby Harriet. We’re in the same mothers’ group. Cynthia, this is Chris. He’s just moved into the neighborhood.”

She looked at me.

I held my breath.

Please, please don’t recognize me.

For a second, I thought that the cap, beard, and sunglasses combination had done the trick, but then that all too familiar look of recognition flashed across her face.

Fuck.

CHAPTER FIVE

SOPHIE

MY HEART SANK when I saw Cynthia walking toward us. She’d given me another feeble apology, and now she was staring at Chris with a strange expression on her face.

“Oh my god!” Her voice sounded odd, her eyes wide. Was that surprise or terror on her face?

My heart started beating double time, an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach.

What the hell was going on? Did Chris have a spider on his head? I looked at him. No spider. A shiver went through me. Oh god, I hope he’s not a criminal on the run. Perhaps my initial concern that he was a creep was well-founded. It would be just my luck that the first person I’d met for ages who I actually clicked with would be shady.

While a hot, rich white American man seemed like an unlikely choice for a new friend, I’d really been enjoying his company. Conversation with him was easy, he didn’t ask me intrusive questions, we shared a similar sense of humor, and he was…well, he was very easy on the eyes as well. Not that his looks were relevant, given I wasn’t interested in dating. Definitely not. And unlike my existing friends, he actually seemed to be available during the week. I’d sensed he was holding something back, though. A few times, he’d started to say something and then stopped abruptly before changing the topic. Could that relate to whatever was causing Cynthia to behave so strangely?

“Sophie, you never mentioned you two were friends!” She looked at me, astonished, her eyes flashing with excitement.

Okay, excitement at least meant he wasn’t a serial killer. But what—who—was he, then? Why was Cynthia smiling, pink-cheeked, and smoothing her hair with a shaky hand? I didn’t like the feeling Cynthia knew something about Chris that I didn’t, especially given it was clearly something important.

“It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m a huge fan. Would…would you mind if we took a selfie? No one is going to believe I just ran into you on a walk unless I have some proof.” Cynthia’s voice was shaky with nerves.

I let out a breath. He must be famous. Hampstead had its fair share of celebrity residents, but I hadn’t seriously considered the possibility he might be one of them. He was obviously rich and good-looking, but he just seemed so…normal. I guess that also explained the cap and sunglasses combo. He wasn't hiding from the cops—he was hiding from the public eye.

While relieved he wasn’t a criminal, disappointment washed over me. A hot, rich, famous white guy seemed an even more unlikely candidate for a new friend. I thought we’d hit it off, but how much could I really have in common with this man? And why would someone like him want to hang out with me?

“Sure. But, um, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention you ran into me here. I’m hoping to lay low for as long as possible.” Chris sounded friendly, if slightly forced.

“Actually, Sophie, can you take the photo?” Cynthia handed me her phone without waiting for a response, barely looking at me. She ditched Harriet in the pram, bounded over to Chris, and struck an artificial pose that would be more at home on the red carpet than a dirt path on Hampstead Heath. Lips pouting, one leg in front of the other, one hand on her hip, and the other around Chris.

“Just a sec.” He removed his cap and sunglasses, revealing a thick, well-groomed head of brown hair. That cap certainly wasn’t hiding a receding hairline or a bad haircut.

I stared at him, wracking my brain as to who he could be, but came up blank. I’d been so busy in the last few years, with moving back to London, starting a new job, IVF, and now Elliot, I hadn’t kept up with pop culture. Given Chris’s good looks and Cynthia’s reaction, he was presumably an actor, musician, or reality TV star, but that was as far as I got.

I snapped a few photos of them and handed the phone back to Cynthia.

“We should head home,” I said abruptly. Elliot had started to fuss, and my stomach was still queasy not knowing who Chris was.