Found in Us (Lost 2)

“A pretty street.” The corners of her lips lift, and I kiss off the sassy smile. “You should know it. It’s one of the most famous mews in London.”

The mews are small streets snaking through the city, famous because they’re so quiet and peaceful despite being in the heart of London.

As we walk onto the cobblestone street lined up with colorful houses on each side, I have to give it to Jessica. This street is definitely worth a visit. It’s not just quiet, it feels like we’re not in London anymore. Mistletoe hangs from the outdoor wall lights of a house, and Jess asks me to take a picture of her under it.

“Why would they already have mistletoe?” she asks on a grin. “It’s only September.”

After I snap the picture, I join her, taking one of both us.

“You know what they say about mistletoe.” I kiss her thoroughly. She smiles against my lips, threading her fingers through my hair. “I love you, Jessica,” I murmur as I move to kiss her cheek. She buries her nose in my neck, which she usually does when she wakes up in the morning. That’s one of my favorite moments of the day. Waking up next to a woman was something I'd avoided for years, but I love having Jessica in my bed, and my house. “I know it’s quick. I don’t know when it happened, but I love you.”

She says the words back so quietly that I almost miss them, but then she moves her mouth to my ear, and repeats them. “I love you too, Parker. You’ve grown on me, you stick-in-the-mud Brit.”

I hear the smile in her voice and wrap my arms tight around her. “Thanks for making me pull my head out of my ass and making me enjoy this beautiful life with you.”

“Thanks for trusting me enough to let me in your life.”

I swallow hard at her comment. I should come clean about something, but I don’t want to spoil this moment. It’s too beautiful, and raw, and I don’t want to upset her. Soon though, I won’t be able to avoid having the conversation.

Chapter Twenty

Jessica

No good deed goes unpunished. My boss seems to live by those words. No matter how nice I try to be toward him, it comes back to bite me in the ass. He isn't satisfied if he doesn't make Fiona cry at least once a day. And though I don't shed a tear, I have a growing suspicion it won't be long now before I kick him in the groin. The only thing keeping me from doing that is I pity him too much. He talks almost daily with his divorce lawyer, and his asshole mood is more pronounced after those calls. Fiona keeps saying once the divorce is over, he'll return to his normal self.

But as soon as I leave the office, I'm catapulted to a world where mundane worries such as work don't matter anymore. Parker takes good care of that. I smile, a bubbly feeling forming in my chest, as it usually does when I think of him. Ever since we said the L-word three weeks ago, I feel closer to him. Last week he did something—a small gesture—that meant a lot to me. I’d been keeping my toiletries in a bag I carried around with me, not really having any space to put them in Parker’s sparsely furnished bathroom with just two shelves. He cleared one of his shelves, making a place for my stuff. I didn’t even ask him to do it. The next day, he also freed some space for my clothes in his closet.

My cell phone buzzes.

"How did the presentation go?" Parker asks.

"Fantastic. The guys from the museum in Barcelona were ecstatic about my proposal, and even Mr. Norton seemed pleased." Loud honking blares from behind me.

"Where are you?"

"Westminster Bridge."

"What?" Parker asks sharply. "You walked from the museum over there? Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up."

"You know I like walking a lot. Besides, I knew you were in a meeting. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Well, the meeting is over now. I can come over and—wait, why are you at Westminster Bridge, anyway?"

I step off the bridge and look at the giant Ferris wheel in front of me with a grin. "I wanted to get on the London Eye. But I'm too late," I add with disappointment, realizing the capsules aren't moving anymore.

"We'll see about that," Parker says. "Can you go inside a coffee shop or something and wait for me there?"

"Sure, there's one right next to it," I say, stifling a laugh. I slip inside a coffee shop just below the Ferris wheel on the Thames shore.

"What?"

"Are you going to use your CEO voice to sneak us onto the London Eye?" I whisper as a smiling cashier points me to a table.

“Maybe."

"It'd better work."

I order hibiscus tea and hold the cup for dear life, warming myself. Okay, so maybe walking for so long in this end of September weather wasn't the greatest idea, even though I'm wearing boots and a knee-length wool dress. I shiver and take another sip of tea, watching the small ship anchored on the opposite shore of the river float in the twilight. My fingers itch to have a cigarette between them—a habit I've refined over years of smoking. But I made a promise to Parker I'd try my best to quit smoking, and lately, I’ve kept that promise. There's nothing more effective to keep me away from cigarettes than remembering his promise. Those sweet and unexpected words that warm me every time I remember them: I promise I'll make them worthy.