Page 26 of For Better or for Ransom

“You know what I mean,” Miquel dismissed him.

Luke sighed and agreed to meet the next day at whatever place Ex Number One was proposing. What was it about that city that everything needed to be organized around a meal of some kind when it could perfectly just have been a phone call or—even better—a bloody text message?

Sol would tell him that he needed to be more in touch with his Italian side and that he was a total Londoner. But Luke saw no problem in being a total Londoner—especially if that meant avoiding Ex Number One at all costs.

16

Sunday, March 17, 2024

Sol

Are you coming with us?” A fully dressed (sadly) Luke asked Sol the following morning.

She was still just wearing one of his T-shirts and having breakfast, seated on one of the bar stools at her kitchen island, while Luke was sipping English Breakfast tea.

“You know how you mentioned there’s no need to see Miquel every time we’re in Barcelona?” she asked Luke, inhaling her own cup of tea. Breakfast was her favorite meal.

“Yes.” He was looking at her with warm eyes. Yet she knew he wasn’t pleased. But his displeasure had nothing to do with her and, she suspected, everything to do with the aforementioned ex.

“There’s no need for me to see him again this time. Tell him hi though.” Sol wasn’t in the mood to endure Miquel’s mansplaining ways. Divya and Luke needed his help, let them deal with him. And if he proved to be difficult, she’d handle him for them.

“I already told him hi for you, yesterday.” Luke’s words were clipped. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the breakfast date with Miquel.

She couldn’t suppress the smile. He must have realized he was being a total grump, since he threaded his fingers through his dark curls to subdue a rebellious strand and smiled back at her. He was standing in front of her across the kitchen island, clutching his cup of tea as if his life depended on it. It probably did. Luke had enough knowledge of the city to get his tea at home just in case the breakfast place wasn’t up to his standards for tea. Knowing Barcelona's lousy tea scene, it probably wasn’t.

“Be careful. I think Miquel is on a fishing expedition,” she warned Luke.

Luke raised an eyebrow in question. He truly was sexy even if he was pissed.

“I think he wants to write about Leonardo. Be very clear about you talking to him off the record.”

“So be very clear about me wanting some help from him, but me not providing anything in exchange?” He flaunted his sexiest smile now.

“Exactly.” She couldn’t keep from grinning with pride. She’d taught him well how to deal with the media. “Now, come here.”

He got closer, curiosity in his features. She fisted his dark shirt and pulled him toward her. She moved her legs to make room for his body as she was still seated on the bar stool. She pressed her lips against his lightly, then she let him go.

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

She licked her lips, bit her lower one. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“I don’t mind making Miquel wait.”

“I thought you loved being on time.”

He gave her one of his mischievous smiles. A thrill shot through her. “I love you more, cara.”

···

Luke

Miquel had asked Luke and Divya to be at Bodega Sant Miquel at ten—Luke noticed that Ex Number One had chosen a bar named like him. His ego knew no boundaries. Still, the detective was well aware that Barcelonians didn’t normally have business meetings on Sundays. But if he was supposed to be grateful about the gesture, he wasn’t. He’d had to cut the goodbye with Sol short, after all, not wanting to make Divya wait for him.

The Brits made their way to the spot in Eixample at the agreed-upon time and, of course, Ex Number One and officer Mercè Roig were still not there.

Luke wasn’t even surprised. Divya and he chose one of the square marble-topped café tables, and while they sat, Luke said, “Let’s order some food.”

“Shouldn’t we be waiting for everyone to get here?” Divya hadn’t realized yet that their breakfast companions could take a while because time was an extremely fluid concept in that city—particularly on a Sunday.