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I can’t even fight back the smile that brings.
He gestures for me to sit, so I do, drawing my knees up.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks, already heading toward the kitchen.
“Just some water, please,” I reply.
While he’s gone, I take the opportunity to study the room. It feels lived in, warm. I spot a telescope propped up against one wall, a stack of vinyl records on a shelf, and numerous books scattered about.
Returning with two glasses of water, London sits down beside me, handing one over. Our fingers brush in the brief exchange, and an electric current of familiarity and something more courses through my hand.
“Thank you,” I whisper, glancing down.
For a moment, we simply sit in silence, sipping our water. The night’s events, the emotional rollercoaster, seem to catch up with me all at once.
I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand.
“Hey,” London says softly, nudging my shoulder. “If you want, the guest room is all set. You can rest.”
I nod, appreciating his understanding. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
He guides me to a bedroom upstairs. It’s not his old bedroom, which makes me wonder what if he’s sleeping in there now. The room is softly lit with a comforting amber hue. The bed looks inviting with its fluffy pillows and blankets.
“Get some sleep,” London says, pausing at the door. “We can talk more in the morning.”
I nod, already feeling the pull of sleep. “Goodnight, London.”
A ghost of a smile curves his lips. “Goodnight, Lily.”
As the door softly clicks shut, I’m left with my thoughts, the comfort of his house, and the overwhelming realization that, amidst the chaos, I’ve somehow managed to find a safe haven.
I undress down to my t-shirt, folding the rest of my clothing on a chair in the corner, and slide into the soft bed.
Despite the allure of sleep, the events of the evening replay.
Over, and over, and over.
Amidst my emotional storm, a single question keeps pressing on my mind—one that I hadn’t dared to ask myself yet …
What would it be like to be loved by London?
CHAPTER29
Lily
Muffled raindrops patter against the window pane, lulling me from a comfortable sleep. As I open my eyes, soft morning light filters through light gray curtains, casting a gentle glow over an unfamiliar room.
For a moment, my insides clench and my heart skips a beat. Then, the events of the previous night rush back in fragmented memories. I close my eyes and let the waves of guilt and hurt and hope wash over me.
After a few moments, when the brunt of it has subsided, I sit up, rub my eyes, and glance around. The guest room in London's house is a blend of nostalgia and unfamiliarity. As much as we explored this house, I don’t think we ever went into this room when we were kids.
The walls are adorned with pictures of London’s family and even some photos of shared memories from our childhood together.
I pick a framed photo up off the nightstand beside me and smile. We’re dressed up for Halloween. Me dressed as Hermione and London as Ron. How he even has this photo is beyond me.
Back then, I thought it was strange that he’d pick Ron over Harry. We had so many mock fights about it, but all he’d tell me was that he liked Ron better.
My heart constricts again—but this time, in a way that stirs up my suspicions.
