Shadows of the Past (15 page)

When we've finished with the open stalls, we window-shop the surrounding stores. We pass quaint bakeries, quirky coffee shops, and a variety of pubs and restaurants including the Indian food restaurant we dined at last night. I pause at a salon built inside what looks like a little greenhouse.
 

Unconsciously, I reach up to feel the bulk of hair I carelessly pulled on top of my head this morning, imagining doing something different to it. I haven't even trimmed my hair in the four years I've been in Europe. Truthfully, I haven't done anything to it since before I got pregnant. It's crazy long, heavy, and takes forever to do anything with.

"Don't cut it." It's as if Oliver can hear my thoughts.
 

"What?"

He steps forward and his hand comes out like he's going to touch my hair before he drops it back to his side. "You looked like you were thinking about cutting it." He shrugs. "Your hair is gorgeous. You shouldn't cut it."

"Seriously? Are you forbidding me from cutting my hair? You know I’ll cut it just because you told me not to, right?" The fact that he likes my hair, that he says it's gorgeous causes a warm feeling to spread through my chest.
 

Oliver is fidgeting now and it's hard for me to hide my glee. He always seems so collected, and never unsure of himself. "I'm not that silly. I wasn’t forbidding, just requesting you don't and making an argument to save your locks."
 

“Well, then, we’ll have to see.” Without waiting for his reply, I step into the shop.

“Wait, what are you going to do?” Oliver lingers on the other side of the door like he can’t come inside. I wave at him through the glass. He makes a face and kicks a rock.

 
I turn around and tell the girl at the desk what I want her to do. It takes a little longer than I’d thought. I feel kind of bad about that, but when I walk outside he's still there. Oliver is leaning against the wall waiting for me and holding two cups of cocoa.
 

The stylist only cut off about two and a half inches from the bottom and added lots of layers. It feels much lighter and I no longer look like a sit-com monster. I had it washed and styled, so now instead of the knot on top of my head, it falls down my back in gentle waves.
 

I turn in a slow circle before speaking.
 

"Does it meet your approval? Still long enough for you?"

"Kayla," he stops to clear his throat, "it looks beautiful, but then it always does. Even when you try to hide it." He's completely serious and I was expecting him to say some smart-assy back.
 

“Thanks. My hair isn’t hanging in my face anymore, and look,” I point to my hair, “she added some chunky bangs.”

“You look beautiful. She did a nice job. Are you glad you cut it?”

“Yes.” I beam and look over at him, feeling totally awesome. “Are you glad it’s still long?”

“Yes, very glad.”

I smile as we walk back up the street, sipping our drinks and window-shopping. By the time we reach the other end it's late afternoon. I had such a good time; I didn't realize how quickly time was passing.
 

Oliver checks his watch like he didn't realize it either. "We'd better get back to the castle," he says finally. "We have to leave shortly."

CHAPTER 24

When we walk up, the helicopter is sitting on the lawn where it dropped us off yesterday. Oliver leaves me to speak with Liam and collect our bags. Soon, we're on our way back to London and I can’t say I’m excited. I don't want to go back to reality.

"Hey," Oliver says, cupping my cheek and turning me to face him. "We'll come back again. There's plenty more I want to show you."
 

That’s sweet, but I need to run soon. I won't let my past catch up with me. I don’t know what to say so I nod and smile.

The trip back feels shorter than the ride to the castle. It's not long before we're in London and headed for my flat. Oliver walks me up, kisses me gently on the cheek, and allows me to step inside. I shut the door quietly, not wanting to interrupt anything Emily might be doing, but when I walk into the living room I can't help but gasp. A recording of the musical Cats is playing and Emily is dancing along with the figures on the screen while they sing.

"Emily?" I gape at her and stand there.

She freezes, not turning around, but says in a strangled voice, "Kayla?" Then, in a stronger voice, "I wasn't expecting you until much later." She has that awkward got-caught smile.

"Oliver," I have to cover my mouth to stifle my giggles. I try again, "Oliver, uh, had some work to do tonight so we came back a little earlier.”

She cuts off the TV and turns to face me, her blonde hair matted to her forehead where it's come loose from her ponytail and her cheeks flushed. I don't know how much of that is from exertion and how much is from embarrassment.
 

Emily flops down on the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes and laughing. "Oh. My. God. I can't believe you just saw that."

Sitting beside her, I pull her arm away so I can see her face. "So, you like the musical, too?”

"I love that musical. I always wanted to be one of the dancers, but by the time I was old enough to even think about auditioning, it wasn't playing anymore." She shrugs, "So, sometimes I act it out in the living room. No judgment."

I put my hands up in front of me. "No judging here. If you want to dance like a cat, that's you're prerogative." Emily throws a pillow at me, but she's smiling so I know she's not upset.

"Oh, by the way," she starts, "A man called here for you yesterday."
 

She's studying me, like I'm supposed to know who it was, but I can't think of anyone who would be calling to talk to me here. Oliver was with me, and she'd know if it was Reggie.
 

"Did he say who he was?"

"No. He just asked for Kayla O’Mally and when I said you weren't here, he thanked me and hung up."
 

A shiver runs down my spine. Crap. He found me.

I stammer, making up and excuse, "It was probably one of those prank calls, the ones that tell you that you were bequeathed money by a Nigerian prince. I wouldn't worry about it." Emily doesn't look fully convinced, and I feel bad about lying to her, but I can't exactly explain why someone would call for me.
 

"I'm really tired..." I stretch and yawn. "I think I'm going to go ahead and go to bed. See you in the morning?"
 

Please, don't ask questions.

“So, I’ve got a question.”

Damn. That didn’t work. I smile at her.
 

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Did he seriously take you somewhere in a helicopter?”

That surprises me. At the same time, I’m glad she’s not asking about the caller. “How’d you know?”

“Oh, a little birdie told me.” She looks like she has a juicy secret, but the way she phrased it makes me freak out. The color must have drained from my face because she adds, “Just joking with you, Kayla. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’m heading to my room for the night.”

"Sure."
 

After I’m in my room, I close the door and suck in air. If she knows about the helicopter, then maybe the guy tailing me found out that way, too. Crap. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open the voicemail app and see the unread message, but I can't bring myself to listen.
 

I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling for a while before deciding to text Oliver:

The bed at the castle was way more comfortable than mine.

Just when I think he's not going to respond, my phone buzzes.

You think that one was comfortable? You should try mine ;)

Nice try. Good night, Ollie.

Sweet dreams, American Girl.

I fall asleep with a smile on my face, although I'm not sure if it's from the visual of Oliver in bed or the majority of the events over the last two days. The night at Thornbury Castle was magical, and Oliver makes me feel content, happy even. I have to figure out a way to thank him.

CHAPTER 25

Saturday, Oliver invites me to go to Kensington Gardens with him and Barkley. I gladly agree. It's still warm enough that a light jacket is sufficient, so I slip into my black hoodie and head out.
 

When I get to the Gardens, Oliver and Barkley are waiting for me just outside the gate so we can walk in together. This time, he keeps the dog on his leash and holds it in such a way that he can't get away.

"I guess you learned your lesson, huh?" He looks at me quizzically, not understanding what I'm trying to say. I bump his shoulder with mine and say, "If you let your dog get away from you, girls like me end up following you around."

Now he grins, leaning over to say, "Maybe that was my intention the entire time." Pulling back, he winks at me.
 

We continue walking down one of the paths until Oliver suddenly veers off to one side, following Barkley into the grass and pulling a tennis ball from his pocket. Reaching down, he unclips the leash and throws the ball across the field.
 

Barkley takes off after the ball immediately, leaving us to stand side-by-side and watch him bound through the grass. It's still fairly early, and this section of the park isn't very populated, so there's plenty of space for Barkley to run around and get rid of some of his excess energy. A few other pet owners are doing the same further down the field.
 

Barkley bounds back to us, dropping the dripping wet ball at my feet. It’s coated in thick, shiny slobber. “Oh Barkley, man, you have a drooling problem.” I pet his head and pick up the ball in my hand, and toss it. “Like father, like son.”

“Snap, that was quick wit. Here, have a piece of cheese.”
 

“You’re not serious?” I look over at him and he pulls out a little baggie and hands it to me. “Oh, my God! You’re keeping cheese in your pants?”

“For you, I’d keep anything in my pants.” I try not to laugh when Oliver’s gaze meets mine. He shoves the bag in my hands. “Just say thank you, Oliver.”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t eat this. I have doggie slobber on my hands.”

“That’s why? I thought you were going to protest because it was in my pocket. If that’s the case, allow me.” He takes the bag back and opens it, removing a bite-sized chunk of cheese. “Allow me?”

I open my mouth, half expecting him to shove it up my nose. I have a stupid smile on my face and I’m sure I look ridiculous. Barkley’s back with his ball. I pick it up and toss it again.

Oliver continues to throw the ball for Barkley until he tires, finally lying down on the grass and gnawing a bone that Oliver pulls from his other pocket. Then, Oliver leads me over to a tree and sits against the trunk. He takes my hand to pull me down so I'm sitting between his legs, resting my back against his chest. We stay like this in companionable silence with the dog on the ground beside us, watching people go by for a while—at least until my stomach starts to growl.

Embarrassed, I sit straight up, hoping Oliver didn't hear it. Of course he did, so he stands, pulling me up as well and clips the leash back on Barkley.
 

He takes my hand, walking back to the park entrance. We head for a little shop with pastries and cocoa. I’m becoming a chocolate addict.
 

Oliver quickly unwinds the leash, handing it over to me so he can go inside.
 

"Um, why don't I go in and get it?" I panic just a little, afraid Barkley will get loose and I'll be responsible for Oliver losing his dog. It’s like holding a horse on a leash.

Shaking his head, Oliver smiles at me. "You'll be fine. Barkley likes you, and he knows when I come here he usually gets something. He's not going to jeopardize that."
 

Then, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, he disappears into the store. Barkley's eyes stay trained on Oliver until the door shuts beside him and I tense, waiting for him to pull me down the street.
 

Instead, Barkley sits beside me, calmly waiting for his master to return. I feel Barkley’s eyes on me. I look down at him.
 

“What up, dude? Are you thinking what I’m thinking? I bet we could get you a saddle, then me and you could run amuck through the park, maybe ride the carousel? Eat a few birds. Birds don’t like me very much.” The dog nods, as if he has the same problem. “I feel for you, man.”

We're both watching the door when Oliver comes back outside carrying a tray with two large drinks and a bag. We take a seat at one of the small outdoor tables and Oliver pulls our breakfast out. He hands me one Danish, unwrapping the other two for himself.
 

When Oliver gets up to toss the garbage, I sneak Barkley a piece of my pastry. He practically swallows my hand, causing me to squeal. I’m covered in slobber and laughing when Oliver returns.

“Put her there, chum!” I grin at him while extending my hand.

Oliver laughs and shakes his head. “No, thanks. I have enough doggie drool on me as it is. Washroom is inside, love. I’ll wait for you.”

“Ah, you foiled my plan!” I tease, pushing up from the table to wash up. “Your dog is a bottomless pit, by the way. And he thinks birds are flying rats, too. Just saying.”

Oliver chuckles as I disappear inside. I wash and hurry back. We take what's left of our cocoa and walk along Kensington High Street looking in some of the shops as Oliver walks me back home.
 

When we stop in front of my place, I don't want to leave him. Oliver is easy to talk to and nonjudgmental. Our relationship is natural and I don't have to force myself to spend time with him.
 

Oliver walks me up to the front door of the building, bending to kiss my cheek before he says, "Goodbye, American Girl. I'll see you later this week."
 

“Bye, British Dude. Check you later.” I make a clicking sound with my tongue and head inside with a dopey grin on my face.

Just before I shut the door, I hear someone call my name. I spin around, shocked to see Oliver coming toward me, his breathing heavier and it's clear he ran up the stairs.