The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

“No—army. Why?”

She flipped the photograph over to see the back, then shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t give a name. But someone wrote, ‘Sweet dreams, darling’ on the back.”

I moved to stand behind her chair and looked at the head shot of a young man wearing an RAF uniform, a sense of déjà vu settling over me. The portrait wasn’t static like most military photographs of the era. Not with that crooked smile and those laughing eyes. The faint shadow of freckles across the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones. The tilt of the head that made it appear as if he were in conversation with the viewer.

“He’s . . .”

“Pretty hot,” Arabella said, turning to look at me. “Is that what you were about to say?”

“I was attempting to think of something more refined.” I smiled, thinking of what Sarah Frances had said about a boy she’d admired from afar in high school. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, that’s for sure.”

Arabella gave a delicate snort. “Ah, yes. Much more refined.” She turned her attention back to the photograph. “He certainly is a stunner.” She leaned a little closer. “Except . . .”

Our eyes met in mutual realization. Before I could slap a hand over her mouth, she blurted, “He looks just like Colin! Or rather, Colin looks like him, as this gentleman obviously came first. But it’s uncanny, isn’t it? Even down to the freckles across the nose and the chin cleft.” She had a familiar gleam in her eyes, and I tried to telepathically warn her not to say what she was about to say next. It didn’t work. “Which means you think Colin’s quite hot!”

“I didn’t say that, Arabella,” I warned, looking everywhere except at her cousin. It wasn’t that I didn’t find Colin attractive. I would have had to be blind not to. I just preferred to remain in neutral territory, where I never burned hot or cold for anyone. I didn’t want to be tempted into a relationship, because the outcome would never change, no matter how much I’d wish it could.

“It could be my grandfather, David,” Colin said. “Sophia’s husband. Nana has always said I favor him. I never met him and only have pictures of him as an older man, so I have no idea.” He came to stand behind me, and I was suddenly very conscious of how tall he was, and how much heat seemed to radiate from his body. He reached for the photograph. “I’ll snap a photo and text it to my parents, although I’m not convinced there’s a resemblance.”

My gaze met Arabella’s, and I rolled my eyes.

Our phones buzzed at the same time. I ignored mine, but she looked at her screen. “It’s my assistant, Mia. A bit of an emergency, so I must dash.”

“No worries,” I said. “I’ll finish sorting through all of this and let you know if I find anything.”

“And don’t forget the editorial meeting at three o’clock. I’d like to go over some of the ideas you discussed with Adam, the museum director. He’s very excited about this collaboration, and I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“I’ve got to run, too,” Colin said, pushing back from the table. “I’ll take George for a walk first and then be off.” The large dog lifted his head at the sound of his name and seemed to smile. I realized with a start that he did, actually, resemble his namesake, Prince George, what with the big eyes and expressive eyebrows.

“You should go with them, Maddie. Clear your head.” Arabella smiled innocently.

“I have so much work. . . .”

“You’re welcome to come with us, Madison. It’s a nice day. George and I can show you Regent’s Park.” I couldn’t tell if he was asking out of politeness or if he simply wanted to show Arabella that he could be cordial.

I should have said no. But it really was a beautiful day, and I’d been inside working all morning. I told myself that I would have gone by myself, anyway. Colin being with me didn’t mean anything.

We said our good-byes to Arabella, then left, George eagerly leading the way. My phone buzzed once as we went down the stairs, then again five minutes later as we entered the park.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

I looked down at my phone, remembering telling Colin about my mother. How I’d known he somehow understood more than most. “It’s my aunt Cassie—my mother’s sister. She wants me to come home at Christmas for my sister’s wedding.”

“And you don’t want to go?”

I started to say no but stopped, my hesitation surprising me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. But there were some things in life too painful to contemplate and therefore easier to avoid.

Instead I said, “I don’t like the winter. It might snow.”

“It snows a lot in Georgia in the winter?” An almost-smile appeared on Colin’s lips as he glanced at me. George spotted a squirrel and barked, pulling Colin forward in an attempt to reach it.

I shook my head. “No. Not really.” I watched the squirrel scamper toward a playground. A lone child sat on a swing, spinning it, twisting the chains tightly before lifting his feet so that it spun wildly as he threw his head back in joy. I remembered that feeling from my own childhood, the time before I’d had to grow up. Maybe that was why I opened my mouth and said, “Mama loved the snow but had never seen more than a few snowflakes. She died the night of one of the rare big snowstorms in Georgia. It was like she waited to check that off her bucket list so she could die.”

I wasn’t sure why I’d told Colin that. I never shared details about my mother. But there’d been something freeing about it, the way telling someone about a nightmare made it suddenly less scary. And because he’d said he was sorry when I’d told him she’d