Page 16 of From LA to London, With Love

Sophie.

Well, it was too late now.

* * *

“Do you know what you’re doing right now is a criminal offence?” Sophie asked.

We were walking through Hampstead Heath toward The Hill Garden and Pergola, which Sophie had suggested as a picnic location. I’d been trying to distract Elliot, who was getting antsy in his stroller, by singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It (Clap Your Hands)”. Elliot wasn't impressed.

I looked at Sophie and raised an eyebrow. “Hey! I know I’m not the greatest singer, but I didn’t think I was that bad!”

Sophie laughed. “It’s got nothing to do with your singing skills, although now you mention it...” She grinned. “No, in all seriousness, Hampstead Heath has a number of bizarre “byelaws” which ban things like singing, playing games, tree climbing, training dogs, and mending chairs. They’re all written in old-school Edwardian language. I’ve never heard the no-singing rule being enforced, but you can’t be too careful,” she said conspiratorially, looking around as if a cop might jump out of the bushes at any moment.

I chuckled. “That’s just what I need. After a few rough months in the press, I get arrested for singing! I can see the headlines now, ‘Jailhouse Rock: Chris Trent sings his way to prison.’”

Sophie laughed. “So, how’s the accent coming along? Have my tips been helpful?”

“I think it’s improved a little, but to be honest, I’m pretty worried about it. If I screw up, I’ll embarrass myself in front of millions of people. After the last few months, the idea of being publicly humiliated again makes me sick. On the plus side, it’s great motivation to get it right.” I wouldn’t usually be so open with someone I’d just met, but it felt natural with Sophie. But was it really a good idea to let my defenses down, especially with someone I didn’t know that well? The last time I’d dropped my guard with Vanessa, it had gone terribly wrong.

“That does sound stressful.” Sophie’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “If you ever want to practice with me, I’m more than happy to. I promise I won’t laugh.”

“Thanks. When it’s a bit better, I might take you up on the offer. And you are helping, anyway. My dialect coach said just listening to Brits speak would improve my accent.”

“I’m glad I could be of service!” Sophie said in an over-the-top posh accent. “On a related note, how are you doing understanding us Brits? Have you had awkward moments when you’ve been stared at blankly or completely misunderstood someone?”

Given my hermit lifestyle, there hadn’t been much opportunity for cultural or language-based misunderstandings. But I didn’t want Sophie to know that, apart from my walks with her, I’d barely left the house. Relief, mixed with embarrassment, hit me as I remembered I had, in fact, had one such misunderstanding on my first day in London.

“Actually, yes,” I said, wincing.

Now it was Sophie’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I saw that wince! Come on, tell me!”

I took a deep breath. “So, in my defense, I’d just landed in London. I hadn’t slept at all and was feeling pretty rough. I’d booked a serviced apartment while looking for a house to rent, and it was on the first floor. I couldn’t wait to dump my bags, have a shower, and crash. But when I got there, the key just wouldn’t work. I started vigorously rattling it and shaking the door, thinking it was jammed. I was so desperate to get in, I was…Well, let’s just say, more energetic than I’d usually be. I’d almost taken the door off its hinges when I heard a woman’s voice inside yelling that she’d call the police if I didn’t stop.” I rubbed my forehead, remembering how embarrassed I’d felt. “So, it turns out, what we Americans call the first floor, you Brits call the ground floor. I’d tried to get into an apartment on the wrong floor and scared the shit out of the poor woman living there. I still feel terrible about it. She must have thought I was trying to break in. I was too embarrassed to face her, but I slipped a note under her door the next day, apologizing for the whole thing. Luckily, that’s been it so far.”

Sophie covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh. “Oh no! That poor woman.”

“I know. So, what was your funniest misunderstanding when you were in the States?”

“Hmm.” Sophie furrowed her brow, looking completely adorable in the process, before her face broke into a smile. “Okay, this one is maybe not the funniest, but will be an important lesson for you. So, once, my American boss sent around an email saying that the dress code for the office holiday party included pants for women. In the UK, pants means underwear, not trousers, so I was pretty concerned that they needed to tell staff to wear underwear and started wondering how wild that holiday party was going to get! I was disappointed when it turned out to be a rather staid affair.” Sophie pulled a face. “Just something to keep in mind if you’re talking with the costume department about your pants, or things could get awkward!”

I chuckled but kept note. I didn’t want to be in the news for a sexual harassment claim, especially with everything else that had been going on.

“We’re here!”

Caught up in our conversation, I hadn’t been paying any attention to our surroundings. But now, I looked around. Sophie’s warning that London’s streak of gorgeous weather wouldn’t last hadn’t yet come to fruition. It was another beautiful day, the grass was bright green, and lush vines hung from the stone pillars and arches of the Pergola. Sophie had mentioned this was a popular wedding spot, and I could see why. The Hill Garden was overgrown, the Pergola and stone terraces were crumbling, and the overall atmosphere was one of faded grandeur.

Mitch was right—this was kind of romantic.

Was this a date after all? I looked at Sophie, who was busy unstrapping Elliot from the stroller. I sighed. I wasn’t picking up any signs she was interested in me like that.

We chose a grassy spot next to an ornamental pond full of reeds and water lilies. I spread out the picnic rug I’d bought this morning and started unpacking the food from my backpack.

“So, I got a bit carried away at the deli and bought enough stuff to feed a family of eight, but I couldn't help myself. It all looked so good.” Fresh sourdough, a selection of cheeses, a duck terrine that looked amazing, a few salads, and a fruit platter I’d put together myself. A flush of red heat spread across my face. Had I gone to too much trouble?

“Yum! This looks incredible. Thanks so much. What a treat!” Sophie lifted Elliot out of the stroller, plonked him on the rug next to her, and gave him some toys to play with.

Elliot seemed to be warming to me—we made eye contact, and he graced me with a gummy grin.

We tucked into the food with gusto.