Rory chuckled and returned the hug, then puffed his chest out a little. Luckily, magically, Adelaide’s aggressively friendly disposition was seen as American charm in London, not a bunny-boiling red flag. It’s so good to meet you! Can I hug you? I’m going to hug you. How had she not recognized him from his photos? Oh my gosh, hi, I’m Adelaide, she said. How had she not connected the dots sooner? she wondered. She closed her mouth and stood up, steeling herself as she strolled over to approach him at the bar-two empty Pimm’s pitchers in her hand and no shoes on her feet (they’d been giving her blisters all day).Īdelaide’s jaw dropped for a split second. Stop drooling over that stranger, her friend said. He was wearing a scarf and a blue button-down and Adelaide loved him instantly-all brown curls and razor-sharp jawline. Late that afternoon, tipsy and tanned, she saw him. They drank bottomless pitchers of Pimm’s and lemonade and basked in that elusive little thing called the sun. It was perfect.Īt one point that semester, Adelaide threw on a navy dress covered in tiny white anchors and joined her friends at an open-air pub along the River Thames, eyes peeled for the Oxford versus Cambridge boat race. Who knew that was even possible? Her responsibilities were minimal and Hyde Park was at her doorstep. My baseline emotion is just contentment here. It’s crazy, she’d tell friends over Skype. She’d always had a soft spot for the city, having lived on the outskirts for a few years growing up, but she’d never known that a metropolis could become a booming, integral character in your life. Two and a half years before she packed up her Brooklyn apartment and moved into that Highgate flat, Adelaide spent the most carefree semester of her life studying abroad in London.
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