Page 74 of From LA to London, With Love

As soon as we parted ways, with plans to set up another meeting soon, I called Jenny.

“Jenny, I fucked up. Big time. Can you please book me the next available seat to London. I don’t care what seat it is—it can be in economy right next to the god damn restroom—I just need to get back ASAP. And could you possibly look after Alfie for a few days as well? I don’t want to drag him over to London if it turns out Sophie won’t have me back. The little guy’s been through enough already. Not a word to Sophie, please.” I suspected they’d been keeping in touch.

Jenny did an excited squeal.

“I’m on it! And I’m always happy to hang out with Alfie, especially if it results in you and Sophie getting back together! I’ve heard there’s a good dog-friendly yoga studio in LA that we can try.”

A few hours later, I was sitting in economy, right near the toilets, in between an overweight, middle-aged couple from Ohio who were having a loud conversation about whether they should get chickens. I’d offered to switch seats with them so they could sit next to each other, but they’d declined, explaining that the husband only sat on aisle seats for easy restroom access, while the wife only sat on window seats because she liked to look out the window. So here I was, squished between them, my six-foot-two frame folded uncomfortably into the tiny space, barely able to move. I’d been recognized before I even boarded the plane, so there was also a steady stream of fans approaching me, wanting to chat or asking for selfies. Some people didn’t even ask, snapping photos of me stuck between the couple. Admittedly, I probably did look quite comical. I was almost looking forward to seeing those photos on the internet tomorrow.

There was a lull in attention from fans, so I put my headphones in and shut my eyes, hoping my body language would send a clear message that I should not be disturbed.

I was trying to brainstorm what I should say to Sophie when the man sitting next to me said firmly, “No, you don’t, lady. This nice young man is just sitting here, trying to rest, minding his own business, and you think you have a right to invade his personal space—and mine, for that matter—and get in his face with your phone?”

I opened one eye slightly to see the Ohio husband blocking a woman in her thirties with his arm. It looked like she’d been trying to squeeze past him so she could sit on my lap for an uninvited selfie. I felt a rush of gratitude for the man.

When the fan left, I opened my eyes and looked at my Ohio companion, smiling. “Thank you for that. I really appreciate it. And I’m sorry about all the interruptions. Hopefully the interest will die down soon.”

“No problem, son. I’m Ken, by the way, and this lovely lady on your right is my wife, Karen. It’s just not right, the way these people are treating you, like you’re some zoo animal rather than a real human being.”

By the end of the flight, my body ached, I felt delirious from lack of sleep, and I’d become an expert in chickens and best buddies with Ken and Karen, whom I’d told all about Sophie. When we were finally off the plane, I gave them both warm hugs before rushing off to catch a cab to Hampstead.

“Go get her son!” Ken yelled after me as I raced toward the exit.

It was early morning in London. Hopefully, by the end of the day, I would have found Sophie and made things right.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SOPHIE

IT HAD BEEN two days since I’d spoken to Chris’s dad, four days since Chris left, and I still wasn’t feeling any better. If anything, I was worse.

I dragged myself out of bed and over to Elliot’s cot, forcing a smile on my face. My head pounded. It was becoming harder and harder to pretend everything was okay.

When I made it downstairs, Mum offered to keep Elliot company so I could have a shower.

“You look terrible,” she said, not very tactfully. “Hopefully, a shower will help, and Dad will get a coffee ready for you.”

Mum and Dad were clearly starting to suspect something was wrong. I’d caught them exchanging worried looks on a number of occasions, and they’d been more attentive than usual.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I got ready for the shower. I really did look terrible. My face was simultaneously puffy and drawn, my eyes bloodshot, and I really needed to brush my hair. I’d never felt a breakup so badly before.

I went back downstairs after the shower, feeling slightly more human, wearing baggy tracksuit pants and my favorite hoodie. Dad, looking sympathetic, gave me a coffee. I slumped on the sofa, glad Mum was still entertaining Elliot so I had some time to get caffeinated before I turned my attention back to him.

The coffee didn't work as well as I was hoping, so I bundled Elliot into the pram and set off for the Heath, hoping a walk in the cold air would reinvigorate me.

We’d reached the top of Parliament Hill and were about to head back down when I thought I heard my name. I looked around, but no one seemed to be paying me any attention. I heard my name again. Had the stress of the last four days been too much, and I was losing my mind?

In the distance, someone was running toward us. At first, I assumed it was someone out for their morning jog. But as they got closer, I realized they were yelling my name and running a lot faster than your average jogger. It was more of a short distance sprint. They were tall, with brown hair and a fit, muscular build. They looked a lot like…Chris.

My stomach somersaulted. It’s not him, Sophie. Calm down. Chris is in LA.

But I couldn’t help staring at the person as their features came into focus. As it became undeniably clear that it was, in fact, Chris.

What the hell was he doing here? If he was coming to officially break up with me, surely he wouldn’t be running that fast up a hill and yelling my name. My heart started to pound as he neared me. Shit. I wasn’t prepared for this.

People around me were starting to stop and stare.

He finally reached us, panting and sweating, his hair tousled, his clothes crumpled. A murmur went around the onlookers as they recognized Chris. A number of people pulled out their phones and began to film.