Page 164 of Until the Last Star Fades

“That’s just butterflies! You know what, I’ll make you some anyway. You don’t have to eat them.” Maggie ran a hand through her auburn pixie cut. The short style suited her so beautifully, she had decided not to grow her hair back to shoulder length. “When you get to London—” She stopped herself. “Listen to me, ‘When you get to London’…oh, Riley! Your first transatlantic flight—to a job in England—at the BBC! Proud mom alert!”

I couldn’t be more homesick, and I haven’t even left yet. “Thanks, Mom.” Riley took a deep breath. We’ve never been apart. You’ve always been a ferry ride, a bus trip, a local phone call away. “California always felt like a big leap, but this…being on my own…” Her eyes began to sting. I knew I was gonna crack sometime. “What if you get sick again? I’ll be so far away.”

“Oh, honey.” Maggie swooped down, giving Riley a hug. “I haven’t felt this good in seven years! And London won’t feel so far with FaceTime and texting. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She kissed her daughter’s temple. “It’s your time, Riley. It’s time to put yourself first.”

“But I’ll miss you so much…”

“I’ll miss you, too, but I’m more excited than sad. You’ll see everything you’ve dreamed of and more. The world is finally getting to meet Riley Hope, and it’s going to love her.” She brushed her daughter’s hair from her eyes. “You won’t feel homesick for long—not in London, not with Ben! You’re going to have the time of your life!”

Riley hadn’t told her mom about Ben’s St. Paddy’s meltdown or his drunken claim that Maggie would ‘never forgive him’. If she didn’t know what Ben was talking about herself, there was no point worrying her mom about it.

“I hope so.”

“I know so!” Maggie sniffed away her own tears and smiled, giving Riley a squeeze. “Now, c’mon—let’s check you in online and find space for Puffin.”

Sixty-Eight

London, five days later

The double-decker buses, the iconic red phone boxes…for Riley, London was like a postcard come to life. It was also rainy, extremely crowded, and lonely, but when in Rome… Stiff upper lip, ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, and all that bollocks, as Casey would say. Tightening her scarf as the sun played hide and seek with the clouds, Riley tried to ignore the jitters in her stomach. I’ll make my time here count, regardless of what’s to come.

Walking with purpose along a southeast London street, she pulled her phone from a new Strand tote and double-checked her directions. Three days into her life abroad, her track record for getting around was laughable. Despite living only ten minutes away from Elstree Studios, she got lost on her first day and got turned around heading home on her second. Thank God, it’s Saturday and I can start fresh—in more ways than one.

Laughter and music coaxed her around a corner. A bustling market tucked between a railway viaduct and a high wall sparked a surge of adrenaline through her veins. Is this it? Her already racing pulse beat faster underneath her parka. But the sign hanging above the entrance says ‘Ropewalk’…? Strolling toward the lively hang-out with its colorful flags and bunting waving over the heads of hungry shoppers, she spotted a chalkboard leaning against a table: MALTBY STREET MARKET: SATURDAY 10-5, SUNDAY 11-4. Ben’s here…somewhere.

Piper had told Riley stories about London’s outdoor markets but being immersed in one was a delight for the senses. So many accents! And it smells SO GOOD! Sizzling steaks, grilled cheese, freshly made waffles drizzled with maple syrup. People crammed the narrow alley and flocked around its tables, their vendors peddling artisan coffee, Scotch eggs, Japanese gyoza, tandoori breads, and so much more.

Standing here, it’s so real now. Am I doing the right thing? Surprising him?

On Tuesday, the day of her departure, it’d still felt like a good idea. Ben had finally reached out via text. He brushed off St. Patrick’s Day as “a bender gone off the rails” and apologized, swearing off drink for the foreseeable and saying how mortified he was for getting in such a state. He claimed he could “hardly remember a thing,” so whatever might have required her (or Maggie’s) forgiveness never came up—and Riley didn’t push him, afraid if she found out, she’d be a tear-soaked mess on her long overnight flight. Since her arrival in London Wednesday morning, they had continued to text, but she’d declined his FaceTime requests, blaming long hours at work—a white lie that kept her location secret…until now.

Zigzagging through the throng, Riley searched for Ben’s adorable bedhead hair, his easy smile, his ‘Love Bites’ table sign, but no luck. Did I miss him somehow? She dodged preoccupied eaters with messy burgers and got stuck behind a large group of slow-walking tourists devouring shrimp po’ boys, their every…plodding…step stoking her agitation. Jeez, can I get around them? Squeezing past, a cheeky laugh stole her breath.

It’s him… Her heart, beating out of control, catapulted into her throat.

She darted through a break in the crowd, following the sweet sound and…found him, half-hidden beneath a gray Tottenham Hotspur beanie with a cluster of customers swarming his table. Oh, Ben! You look…so well. So happy. So gorgeous. Afraid he’d spot her, Riley ducked behind two tall guys reading a London map, keeping her presence secret as she watched Ben smile and laugh and hand over baked goods in exchange for colorful British five- and ten-pound notes. I’m so proud of you! Look, you’ve got customers—lots of ’em! A heady rush of memories came flooding back: her hands lost in his messy hair, his kisses tenderly tracing a path down her neck, his promise in Central Park to always be there for her.

But then a tall blonde and her two friends were served next, and Ben dialed up his charisma to eleven, playing to his female audience with smiles, compliments, and offers of free samples. The women were all over him, touching his arm and complimenting him, their obvious interest in her boyfriend reminding her of St. Patrick’s Day and those words that kept her up at night.

“It just happened…forgive me?”

But what happened? The question gnawed at her relentlessly.

Purchases in hand, the flirty women reluctantly moved on from his table, and Riley got a clear view. Ben, comfy in a puffer vest, hoodie, jeans, and an apron, used the lull in business to reorganize his dwindling stock: a few cookies and a lone slice of raspberry cake. Riley snickered. Nice blue plastic gloves, Ben. Very fetching. He turned away and popped open a container of something decadent, his back to the market’s foot traffic and Riley.

You can’t stand here forever. Talk to him. Stepping out from behind the human wall, she approached his table, clearing her throat.

“All right, love?” Back still turned, Ben spoke over his shoulder and sliced through a pan of cakey brownies. “What can I get ya?”

It’s now or never. She swept her hair from her face and smiled nervously. “Do you have anything with American peanut butter? I hear it’s the dog’s bollocks.”

Ben froze mid-slice. “Riley…?” he whispered, turning around.

Their eyes met.

Ben. Her breath caught in her chest.

Dropping the knife, a smile took off across his cheeks, his eyes disappearing into happy-go-lucky crescents. “It’s YOU! Holy sh—” A plastic-gloved hand flew to his mouth as he gave her a lingering once-over. “Blimey O’Riley, you’re really here!”