London Calling by Darby Baham

Author:Darby Baham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-07-14T16:25:24+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Yes! You made it,” said Olivia as she swung open her front door to let me in.

Greeting me with the kind of smile I desperately needed—big, genuine and specific to me—she took my coat and stopped to snicker as we both immediately noticed the differences in our outfits for the night. Liv, who had explicitly told me to put on what she called “whatever clothes,” stood in front of me wearing an oversize T-shirt, a pair of gray biker shorts and fuzzy slippers. In contrast, I’d come over in a matching two-piece nude pink lounge set complete with knit joggers and a crop-top tank. In my defense, it was a very comfy and cute outfit—I’d thought perfect for a stylish girls’-night-in affair. Clearly, I’d misread the invitation a little.

“Were you wondering if I would?” I asked, stepping into her hallway.

“Honestly, I had a fifty-fifty bet going with myself on whether you’d text me some absolutely ridiculous reason for not coming, like your dog ate your keys and you just couldn’t very well leave your flat now, you know.”

“The dog I don’t have,” I said, giggling at the way her brain worked.

“Like I said, it was going to be a fantastical excuse if you came up with one, but you didn’t! You came.”

Liv’s smile continued lighting up her face even as she paused to hang up my coat in her front closet. Meanwhile, I slipped off my shoes and closed the door behind me.

“You might not know this about me yet, Liv, but I’m a woman of my word,” I said. “I wouldn’t say I was coming and then flake.”

“You didn’t actually say yes, though, right?”

Liv turned back to me and stared at me with a mischievous smirk as I suddenly realized she was spot-on. She’d totally finished our conversation before I ever even had a chance to say no, and yet there I was, standing in her flat despite my initial attempt at a protest. Tricky, tricky.

“Fair,” I said. “But now I know your MO.”

“Whateva. It got you here. That’s all that matters.”

As we walked farther into her apartment, my nose caught the distinct whiff of baked mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce. It could only be one thing, I surmised. I just hoped that she’d picked something up to par, even if it could likely never live up to Lou Malnati’s sausage-and-spinach pizza in Chicago.

“Did you get what I think you did?” I asked, rubbing my fingers together in anticipation.

Olivia didn’t say another word, just grinned and raised her eyebrows twice as if to imply yes as she turned and kept walking into her partially lit living room. I dutifully followed behind her and moments later found myself staring in awe at the full-on immaculate spread laid out on her rounded silver coffee table, somehow spotlighted by the end table lamp that only offered enough light so that it was possible to see each other in the room. There, presented with tons of confetti and balloons and silverware, was

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