That’s the goal, and all of those side hustles I can do solo.
Including this one that Emily’s offering up on a silver platter.
“Hmm. Working remotely in the art market? Yes, I think I can be convinced,” I tell Emily and she beams. “But I’m still giving notice.”
“I know. And I’m still keeping you. I always find a way, Heath.”
That she does.
A month later, I walk Jo to work, press a kiss to her lips, then hand her a coffee cup and a brown bag. “Now, play nice with the others, and be sure to share your cookie,” I tell her.
“Don’t you mean biscuit?”
“Look at you with your sexy British lingo,” I say, and she clutches the bag. “Be sure to share your biscuit.”
“As if I’d share my treats,” she says then stretches on tiptoe to kiss the tip of my nose. “And you play nice with . . . the books.”
“I will.”
She goes into the office, and I turn the other way, popping into Nigel’s shop to pick up a new paperback. He has the newest Rhys Locke, and he waggles it to tempt me.
“I got this for you. But the question is . . . do you even deserve it?”
I growl. “Piss off.”
He cracks up, slaps a palm on the counter. “There you go. A bastard, as always.”
“And free to be one now,” I say drily. I reach for a pair of socks—the ones with the unicorn saying This meeting is fucking bullshit. “I’ll take these too.”
“For Jo,” he says, in a hearts-a-fluttering warble. “Speaking of—when she comes by the shop, I never wonder if she deserves something, like I do with you. Hell, I don’t even charge her when she buys her books and candles and cards from me. She’s so bloody pleasant I just give her my wares. The question is—how did you convince her to be with such a grumpy bugger?”
“Books,” I say. “We fell in love over books.”
“Now that makes perfect sense.”
I say goodbye, and he returns to his Sudoku while I head over to the library. There, I drop off my latest bounty with Alice.
Her eyes light up as she investigates the books Jo and I have gobbled up in the last month. “Ooh, a Hazel Valentine and a TJ Hardman. I do love a good romance.”
“As do I,” I agree.
She arches a brow. “You? You love a good romance?”
“Is that so impossible?”
“Doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”
“I don’t only love a good romance. I love a great one too.” I thump the stack and leave her to them. Heading into the library proper, I find a quiet table, turn on a green lamp, and flip open my laptop.
I work on a research project for Emily for a few hours, savoring every silent second that I’m there.
With the art consulting portion of my other things done for the day, I check my phone on the way out and head to the Seven Noses in Soho. Griffin’s adding the art installation—nose statues set into walls—to his tours, and he’s hired me to take photos for his website. That’s one of my side hustles too: taking photos for him and for other London tour companies, highlighting the usual suspects and the hidden gems of this great city. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about unusual sights in London.
Or maybe I’ll keep them all for myself and my Jo.
I spend an hour or so in the gallery, taking hundreds of pictures then editing them that afternoon.
In the evening, I meet Jo for dinner.
“Riya, Freddy, and I had this brilliant idea about creating a video series for a new artist,” she tells me over curry. We eat and talk, and then walk along the river, stopping to kiss by a bridge.
“Take a picture,” she tells me.
I do as she asks, and she sends it to her friends.
A month later, we go out early on a Saturday morning and check out flats that have both a bedroom and an office. We find one at the edge of Covent Garden, overlooking a small park.
“This one could be perfect,” she says as we head up the creaky steps behind the leasing agent.
When we reach the flat, Jo goes straight for the window, then points animatedly, her eyes twinkling. “Look!”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I join her in peering out the window. I chuckle, then kiss her nose. “Ducks.”
“Like I said, it’s perfect for you. A room with a view of a duck pond.”
I turn to the agent. “We’ll take it.”
A couple weeks later, we move in together, and I set a framed photo on the mantel—one of many shots of her and me.
EPILOGUE
Jo
I’ve been counting down the days till this trip and now it’s here. Heath and I fly to New York for a long weekend to visit friends. I show him around Central Park, then we visit my former stomping grounds.