“This is a real start to your trip, innit?” a uniformed police officer says kindly, offering Holly and River paper cups full of black coffee inside a small room at the Notting Hill station. “Fresh off the plane and you get knocked over by two blokes on the street who’re as bent as a nine-bob note.”
Holly and River exchange a look. A female officer enters the room, her dark hair swept into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. “You must be gutted, lass,” she says in a distinctly Irish accent. “So sorry about your purse and phone and all your stuff. Was your passport in the bag?”
The room they’re in has a wall of windows that looks out onto a hallway that’s surprisingly busy at four in the morning.
“No, my passport is back at the flat we’re renting.”
“Thank Job for that,” the first officer says. “Okay,” he pats the table and stands, “let’s get this report filed and see if we can’t turn up your stuff, shall we?”
Holly answers as many questions as she can about what was in her purse and about the two men who took it. She doesn’t remember their faces well, but the rough-looking rose tattoo on the neck of the guy who’d knocked her to the ground stands out distinctly, as does the black Adidas track suit worn by the guy who’d waited down the street. It isn’t much, but it’s all she’s got.
Once the report is filed, Holly and River leave the station and are greeted by the first signs of daylight. The late spring sky is turning from ink to pink above them, and River takes Holly’s hand in his.
“Sorry about your purse and your phone,” he says, leaning over and kissing her on top of the head.
“Sorry about your hat.” Holly puts one hand on her bare head, giving River a glum look.
“Eh,” he shrugs, “it’s just stuff. We’ll live. And hey—you know what the good news is?”
“What?” Holly asks hopefully.
“It’s breakfast time. We can probably find some beans on toast to soak up that disgusting coffee we just drank.”
Holly makes a face. “I’m not sure about the beans on toast bit, but I’d say amen to the disgusting coffee part.”
They walk along the sidewalk, watching as the early morning vendors open shop for delivery trucks. The tired-looking proprietors trade signatures for stacks of newspapers, boxes of freshly-made bread, and bundles of clean linens for bistro tables.
“Hey, I have an idea,” River says, stopping at a red light and turning to her as they wait on the street corner.
“I’m all ears.”
“Let’s make this a ‘yes’ trip,” he says, his eyes dancing. “Starting now.”
“A what?”
“A ‘yes’ trip—we have to say yes to anything that comes along.” He looks up and down the street eagerly. “If a guy walks up to us right now and asks if we want to buy a cheap Rolex from inside his trench coat, we say yes. If we go to a restaurant and the waitress asks us if we want a squid omelet for breakfast, we say yes.”
“Ew,” Holly says, wrinkling her nose. “Cheap watches and squid omelets?”
“Okay, bad examples,” River says, letting go of her hand and holding both of his hands up in defense. “More like this: a lady asks you to be a model and you say yes. Why not? Or, wait—was her card in your purse?”
“No, it’s on the dresser back at the apartment.”
“Perfect. And some douchebag steals your purse and leaves you without a phone—”
“And without my cash, my lipgloss, and my favorite sunglasses.” Holly pouts.
“We’ll buy lipgloss and sunglasses,” River reassures her. “But he took away your tether to the island and to work. Say yes to that, Holly. Say yes to three weeks of rambling around a whole new continent without having to think about whether Mr. and Mrs. Weinershnitzelheimer from Tulsa are happy in the Seashell Suite.”
Holly snorts at the name of the imaginary guests. “Yeah, the Weinershnitzelheimers were a real pain in the butt,” she says, getting in on the joke.
“Exactly! And don’t worry about the next village council meeting while we’re here. Heddie and Bonnie will get everything lined up and set the agenda, won’t they?”
“Yeah, I’m sure they will…” she says, looking at the sidewalk as she contemplates what three weeks with no contact really means.
“Listen,” River says, taking both of her hands in his as the light changes and gives them permission to walk. They ignore it. “We took this trip to find out whether there was really something here for us to work with. We left the island behind to see if this, this thing between us really has wings, right? So let’s dedicate three whole weeks to finding out. What do you say?”
Holly thinks for a minute. She lifts her eyes from the sidewalk and meets his gaze. “I say what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve still got your phone, so you aren’t cut off from your life.”
“It’s off,” River says immediately, pulling his iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans. He holds down the button and powers it down. “As soon as we get back to the flat, I’ll bury it in the bottom of my suitcase and I won’t look at it for three weeks—I promise.”
“Hmmm,” Holly ponders this. “I trust you, but I feel like it would be safer in the bottom of my suitcase,” she says. “That way you won’t be tempted to check your email or look at Facebook or anything.”
River laughs. “Oh, I think I can live without social media for three weeks. No problem there.” He looks into her eyes. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “You’ve got a deal.”
They grin at one another on the street corner as black cabs and early morning commuters whiz by. The light to cross the street changes again, but still they stand there, smiling like loons.
“So, what do you say to that squid omelet?” River asks.
Holly sighs, letting the idea of this ‘yes’ trip permeate her whole body. “I guess the only thing I can say to that is yes.”