“Okay.” I smile as I sink into the seat.
Eddie runs back behind the bar, makes me a drink, and puts it down in front of me. “Thank you.”
“I finish at one,” he tells me.
“I’ll be in bed long before one, bubba.”
He smiles goofily at me.
“What?”
“You called me bubba.”
I swoon at the cuteness of this boy. “Of course I called you bubba. You are a bubba.”
He laughs and goes back to serving. I pick up my drink and take a sip. I glance up and lock eyes with Christopher. He’s sitting at the other end of the bar.
What?
We stare at each other, and he gives me a slow, sexy smile.
My heart somersaults in my chest as if in slow motion. He gets up and walks over to me.
“Grumps.” He smiles softly.
“Hi.”
He leans down and hugs me, and I close my eyes against his big strong shoulder. His aftershave wafts around me.
I miss him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I couldn’t reach Eddie. I was worried. What about you?”
“Same.”
We stare at each other as this beautiful familiarity falls between us. I gesture to the stools. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”
“Okay.” He pulls out his stool, and we both sit down. Nerves dance in my stomach.
Is this truly happening? What are the chances of running into each other on the other side of the world?
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Okay,” I lie. “And you?”
He shrugs. “Been better.”
Oh . . .
My eyes search his, and I just want to hug him and blurt out that I love him and beg him to take me back.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
“A week ago.”
I frown. I thought he was stupidly busy?
“I found out that Eddie is an orphan and lives on the streets,” he says softly.
“What?” I frown.
“He’s all alone, Grumps.”
My face falls as I look over to Eddie smiling happily as he serves someone. “Where are his parents?”
“Never knew his father, and his mother died when he was eight. No surviving relatives. He was in the foster care system but was put with assholes and ran away when he was eleven.”
“Are you serious?”
He nods sadly.
“My god, poor Eddie.”
“He can’t read or write,” he says softly.
My eyes well with tears.
“I’m taking him home with me.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. He’s making decisions about his long-term future without consulting me?
Because we’re over.
“He’s going to come and live with me in London.” He shrugs. “That’s if I can get him out of the country.”
I stare at him, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion.
“He doesn’t have a passport or a birth certificate. I’ve got my friend Sebastian Garcia helping me. You know, the one you met?”