They stepped off the jet bridge at Newark, the stale airport air greeting them like a pause between songs. Two hours until their final flight. Ryder’s hand slid naturally into Isobel’s, their fingers lacing like they’d always been meant to find each other.
“Want to grab a bite?” His voice carried that soft Tennessee drawl sharpened by years of Manhattan steel, a combination that made her heart leap every time.
“Yes,” she said with a grin. “I’m starving.”
They shared a quick meal before drifting toward their gate, their bodies attuned to one another’s rhythm, as if the crowd parted just for them. Above the desk, the sign glowed in block letters: London.
Isobel’s eyes widened, her lips curving into an astonished smile. “We’re going to London?”
Ryder’s grin matched hers, dimples carved d
