“Oh, you look beautiful, as always. Look, here’s one of that place we ate dinner that first night. The one in the theater district.”
Dad has a comment for every photo. The doorman at our hotel, a series of big red buses, us in front of the nearest tube station. “These are from the walk we took to Piccadilly Circus that evening, remember? Here’s the two of you in front of that statue.”
I glance at the photo of me and Kat on the cement steps, but something in the background makes me gasp. “Wait, stop.” I look closer, a chill running up my spine. “When did you take this one?”
Dad puts the slide show on pause. “Well, they’re in order, so that would have made it the second day of the trip.” He looks at the photo up on the screen. “That is a nice sunset, isn’t it? See how the sky is all pink behind the buildings? It almost matches the neon of the signs on the other side.”
But I’m not looking at the sunset or the signs. I’m staring at a guy about five feet behind us, casually leaning against the statue, but staring right into Dad’s camera. If that was taken on the second day, then it was a full four days before I actually met him at the Tower. I’d thought I might not recognize him, but my heart races as I look at the random stranger with the curly hair and sharp brown eyes lounging in the background of the photo. Griffon.
Four
“I don’t know where the camera is,” Kat says. “It’s probably still in my carry-on bag—like most normal people, I don’t unpack my suitcase the second I get home.” She shoots me a look as she heads toward her room, but I don’t want to get into it with her right then. I’ve waited up late for her to come in, alternately glad that I have a photo of Griffon and totally freaked out that he’s there at all. Maybe it is just a coincidence. After all, lots of people go to the tourist spots in London. Happens all the time. And then we met him at the Tower because that’s where he was staying. I’m just going to tell myself that over and over until I believe it.
I follow her to the back of the house, lowering my voice so as not to wake Mom. “Well, can I see it?”
“What’s the hurry?” Kat kicks her shoes off and flops down on her bed.
“I … I just want to compare your shots with some that Dad took, that’s all,” I say.
She studies me for a second. “All right,” she says, hauling herself back off the bed. “Let me see if it’s in here.” She rummages through her bag and tosses the camera case to me. “But don’t delete any. I’ve got some good shots of Owen in there that I want to put up as a screen saver.”
Owen. “Have you talked to him?”
“He’s been messaging me.”
“So he knows how to get ahold of you?”
She looks at me funny. “Yeah. Why? He’s a totally hot guy. A totally hot Scottish guy. You never know when he’ll end up on this side of the world.”
Of course she’d be in touch with him. Why haven’t I thought about that before? There’s a glimmer of hope stirring somewhere down deep. Owen is only one step removed from Griffon. I hesitate, but I have to ask. “Does he ever talk about Griffon?”
“Sometimes. I know that they’ve been friends forever. I guess Griffon went home right after we did, but he gets to go back during the summer.” Kat smiles. “I wish we could go back this summer. Do you think Dad can get another business trip to London? That would be so cool.” I can see that she’s already imagining herself with Owen in a chic London flat along with two impeccably dressed blond children sporting adorable British accents.
I turn the camera on and try to sound like I don’t really care. “Do you think he ever talks about me?”
Kat puts her arm around me, but it feels more condescending than sisterly. “You really liked him, didn’t you? Those curls were amazing. Made you want to run your fingers all through them.” She looks over my shoulder at the camera display. “No. I don’t think he mentioned you. At least, Owen didn’t say anything.”
Something about the way she glances away from me tells me she’s lying. Maybe Griffon did mention me, but not in a way she’d be in a rush to talk about. I shrug. “Not like I really knew him or anything,” I say. “We only hung out for a little while.”
“Yeah,” Kat says. “You didn’t exactly meet him on your best day.”
I don’t answer, just start flicking through the photos, searching the backgrounds for any sign of Griffon. There’s Kat at Buckingham Palace, Kat on the London Bridge, me at the symphony, and the pictures of Owen at the Tower, but nobody in the background that looks even a little bit like Griffon, at least as far as I can see. I’m relieved. Mostly.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Kat asks.
“No,” I say, handing the camera back to her. “But that’s a good thing.”
“So you have no idea where he lives?” Rayne asks. “Not the city or the state, or anything? I thought I trained you better than that.”
I smile at her. Rayne is always trying to pull me back from the edge of Loserville. I’ve spent so much time with the cello the past few years that it’s like I’ve been dating it instead of boys. Rayne’s trying her best to help me make up for the time I’ve lost.
“No. He could find out my info through Owen and Kat, but it looks like he hasn’t bothered. It’s … awkward. I mean, I fainted right into him. He was just being nice by getting me something to drink. Nothing more to it.”
Rayne shakes her head and takes a sip of her extra-hot soy latte. “I don’t know. If you’re talking about him at all, that means you’re thinking about him. A lot.” She looks over at me. “You are, aren’t you?”
I don’t want to have this conversation, but it feels like if I don’t share just a little of the feelings swirling inside I’ll go crazy. I printed out the picture from Dad’s camera and have it in my folder, but I’m not ready to show anyone. Not even Rayne. As much as I don’t want to admit that I think about Griffon so much, I can’t lie to her. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess I do.”
“Then you should totally tell your sister to have that other guy give Griffon your number,” she says, the excitement building in her voice. “Maybe you two are destined for each other. Ooh, can you imagine how romantic it would be to tell your grandchildren how you met? The Tower of London—where he rescued you.”
“Come on, Rayne,” I say, looking around to make sure nobody else in the café is paying attention. “Settle down. For all I know he lives all the way out in New Jersey and is a total creep.” Rayne’s mom has pumped her head full of hippie ideas about destiny and auras and ridiculous things like that, and she’s always making a big deal about every little coincidence. Nothing is allowed to just happen. Everything has a hidden meaning.
Rayne reaches up and unties her necklace, handing it to me. “Here,” she says. “You need this more than I do.”
I look at the light pink stone that hangs on a black cord. “Thanks, but pink isn’t really my color.” I never wear necklaces. The feeling of weight around my neck is always a little suffocating.
Rayne stands up and ties the cord around my neck. “Like it or not, you need it,” she says. “It’s rose quartz—the symbol of universal love. It attracts positive energy, and that’s what you need right now, I can feel it.”
I lift the stone and feel it thunk back against my chest. Despite its pinkness, it is pretty, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “Thanks,” I say. “Let’s hope it works.”
“Some people are just meant to be together,” she says. “Their spirits search the world for their match, and when they find it, everything else melts away until they’re united.”