My Five Night Fling (London Nights Series Book 1) by Maci Dillon

Author:Maci Dillon [Dillon, Maci]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

KASSIDY

Day five in London.

My last day.

This time tomorrow, I’ll be on my way back to Australia.

A fleeting sadness threatens to overwhelm me.

Jumping out of bed, once again, I’m determined to take this day by the horns and make it my bitch. But I have no idea how to spend the day yet, aside from visiting the wax museum with Jarett.

Standing in the middle of the room with one hand on my hip, my index finger on the other hand repeatedly tapping on my lip, I’m lost in thought when my favorite voice pulls me from my daydream.

“Earth to Kassidy. I said I have to go take care of some business.” Jarett sweeps in and kisses me lightly on the cheek.

“So, no church then?” I drop my bottom lip like a petulant child, and my eyebrows draw together. “I was wanting to go with you,” I joke.

“I assure you, love, if I were a praying man, I already know what I’d be asking for. But I don’t need to step foot inside a church to tell me that.” With that, he envelops me in the tightest hug and kisses me lovingly.

For a moment too long.

Now I want to rope him up and throw him back down on the bed and ride him into next week. Instead, I wave him goodbye at the door and agree to meet up with him in the early afternoon. I’m not sure what business he has to deal with on a Sunday, but I guess artists and art dealers work twenty-four seven.

Tomorrow, I fly home and have a full day off after I touch down on Australian soil before I head back to the office on Wednesday. The time off has been more than I dreamed of, though I’m looking forward to getting bogged down in creatives again.

Not so looking forward to saying goodbye to Jarett.

During my last few hours alone in London, I hit the pavement, intent on walking wherever my feet take me—along cobbled lanes, over stone bridges, through narrow lanes, and past shop fronts filled with English bakery goods and greasy chips and vinegar I’ve grown fond of but are tough on the hips. I wander through small off-street boutiques and bric-a-brac stores until I find myself out front of the cutest little parlor, their shop window filled with antiques and scarves.

Scarves for days.

A childish excitement has me bounding up and down on the spot wondering how much I can fit in my luggage without paying for excess weight charges. Once I walk inside, any thoughts I have about excess luggage go flying out the door.

Scarves and neck warmers hand knitted with thick, soft wool and summery cotton fashion scarves, ones I can wear in Australia, overwhelm me.

Their range extends to leggings of all patterns and colors, gloves, and beanies, not to mention the sarongs and a colorful array of boho-style dresses. I’m in heaven. My love for fabric and intricately woven colors is bred into me by my grandmother. I waltz around the shop silently, sensing Grandma with me as I run the plush delicate materials through my fingers.

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