Terry McLaughlin - A Perfect Stranger

“‘Help, thief’ works for me.” He stood and slapped gutter grime off his jeans. “That’s Mr. Thief to you,” he told the boys.

“I’m Sydney. Sydney Gordon. And I’m so, so sorry about the misunderstanding.” She got to her feet and made a grab for her Bugs Bunny nightshirt, but he beat her to it. “Thanks,” she said, “but I can finish this myself.”

“Now I know why chivalry is dead. Women like you keep knocking it on its ass.” He shook out the nightshirt and stared at Bugs. “I was only trying to help you with your luggage.”

“I just figured that out. And I really am terribly sorry.” She retrieved the shirt and stuffed it into her case with shaky hands, averting her eyes and wishing she could stuff herself down the nearest sewer grate.

Before she could offer another apology, a balding, rumpled version of Mr. Thief stepped through the hotel entrance and ambled down the steps to join them. He stopped behind the boys and watched her knight in shining shiner pluck her butterfly print panties from the bus fender.

“You’re losing your touch, Nick,” said the stranger. “You don’t usually have to work this hard to get your hands on a woman’s panties.”

“She thought I was a thief.” He ran a hand through his thick hair and chuffed out an exasperated-sounding breath. “Do I look like a freakin’ thug?”

The newcomer studied the bruised face with a frown before shoving a wide hand at Sydney. “Hi. Joe Martelli. The criminal’s brother.”

His brother. She took his hand and pasted on a faint smile. “Sydney Gordon. How do you do?”

“I’m doing okay.” He frowned at Nick. “Where have you been? The desk clerk said you checked in hours ago. And what happened to your eye?”

“I walked into a door.”

“What about the lip?”

Nick flicked a glance at Sydney. “It was a double door.”

Time for another abject apology. “Nick, I—”

He cut her off with the wave of a hand and glanced at the boys. “Looks like Ms. Gordon has her stuff about ready to go now. Can you guys help her carry it in from here?”

Matt shoved his camera back into his fanny pack and slipped his fingers through the handle of her big suitcase. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

“Thank you, Matt,” said Sydney before turning to face the Martellis. “It was nice meeting you. Both of you.”

Joe grinned. “You, too.”

“Yeah.” Nick’s grin widened but ended on a wince. “Nice.”

Sydney winced, too, and then turned to flee the scene of her crime.

TWO DAYS SINCE botching her response to Henry’s proposal, two hours after jolting into Heathrow, two steps from escaping the crowded shuttle, and she’d decked the first person she’d met in London. As a chaperone, she was setting a lousy example for her students.

But why waste daylight hours wallowing in the latest disaster? There were bound to be plenty of sleepless nights ahead for instant replays of her most embarrassing moments. Right now she should be cataloging her impressions of London as she followed Matt and Zack through the hotel entrance: clipped boxwood in planters, beveled glass in leaded panes, Etonian accents and hints of lemon oil and lavender in the air. She paused to absorb the English atmosphere through her pores.

I’m here, she thought for the umpteenth time since the jet had skidded onto European soil, and the thrill shivered through her, quicksilver and ice. I’m really here.

Sydney took a deep breath and brushed at the sticky bangs on her forehead. Time to get her act together. She had to ace this chaperoning gig. Her recent stint as a long-term sub hadn’t provided her with many chances to showcase her talents for thorough preparation and making the most of every educational possibility.

Talents she’d be working her tail off developing during the next two weeks.

“Syd!” Gracie Drew, fellow faculty member and tour roommate, waved to her from the reception counter. Gracie’s fuchsia-and-lime Hawaiian-print shirt glowed like a neon abstract in the crowd of teens and chaperones. “Hey, Syd. What took you so long?”

“You don’t want to know.” She pulled the strap of her weighty tote from her shoulder with a sigh. “But I’m here now. And ready to collapse in our room.”

“Better keep the meltdown to a minimum,” said Gracie, handing her a room key. “Heard we’ve got a meeting with the tour director in the Palladian Lounge in twenty minutes.”

Matt and Zack dumped Sydney’s luggage at her feet and turned to melt into the crowd.

“Hold it, fellas,” she said in her official chaperone voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Zack shrugged. “I dunno.”

“How about your room?” Gracie pulled a stick of Juicy Fruit from its foil pack and folded it into her mouth. “Ms. Gordon and I’ll come around to check on things in a while.”

The boys headed toward the elevator, and Sydney sighed and shoved wavy bangs from her eyes. “Hope we can get everyone fed and settled early tonight. The tour company packed the itinerary pretty full tomorrow.”

“Guess they figure they’re going to cram some culture into these kids or die trying. Good thing they’re giving us a couple of free afternoons to—hey.”

Gracie smiled and beckoned to someone behind Sydney. “Here’s another teacher I want you to meet. Great guy. You’ll love him. From Philadelphia. Came in with one of the groups on the earlier shuttle. Joe, come and meet Sydney.”

Sydney figured it was pointless to hope that Gracie’s acquaintance wasn’t the same Joe who had already seen her underwear. She gritted her teeth to keep a smile in place and turned to find both Martellis staring at her, hands tucked into pockets and wearing matching slouches.

“Hi, Sydney,” said Joe. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“And this must be Nick.” Gracie took his hand and gave it a quick, hard pump as she stared at his face. “Looks like you ran into some trouble.”

“Not me,” said Nick. “I ran away as fast as I could.”

“Smart move.” She smiled. “I’m Gracie Drew, North Sierra High. That’s near Tahoe, on the California side.”

“Glad to meet you, Gracie.”

Nick cocked his head to one side and stared at Sydney for several long, loaded moments. “Hello, Sydney.”

Her smile stretched to the snapping point.

“Well…” Joe rocked back on his heels. “Looks like we’re all going to be spending lots and lots of time together. One big, happy family. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“May I help you carry your things to your room?” Nick asked Sydney.

“Thank you, but it’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he said. “It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”

He grabbed her suitcase handles and headed toward the elevator, snaking through the crush as she followed in his wake. He stopped and pushed the button, and then leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Maybe we could meet for dinner tonight. I could dump your plate in your lap, and you could toss my drink in my face. For old times’ sake.”

“Sounds delightful.” She ignored the way the throaty rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate along her spine. “Maybe some other time.”

“Okay,” said Nick. “‘Some other time’ works for me.” And then he flashed his subtle, crooked smile, and his dark eyes glinted with something that may not have been muggerish but assaulted Sydney’s nervous system all the same.

Oh, dear.

NICK EDGED HIS WAY through scattered clumps of tourists at noon two days later, aiming for the rim of St. James Park facing the gates of Buckingham Palace. He wasn’t looking for a different perspective on the Changing of the Guard; he was looking for a patch of grass suitable for a nap. He selected an empty space, stretched out on his back, linked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.