“No ums, no buts, no nothing. I worked in restaurants my whole life until I had you, remember? I’ll be just fine.” She pats my arm. “You deserve a break. Have some fun while you’re gone, okay? Your flight leaves on Wednesday. I’ll drive you to the airport before I go to work.”

I try and fail to say something in response. So instead, I stumble the few steps back to the counter and stare at the flight information on her phone screen.

She stands up and points to Dad’s urn in the living room. “I thought of everything, Harold. Aren’t you proud? I’m the one telling people to slow down and take a break now.”

She shuffles down the hall. “Better start packing, anak,” she hollers from her bedroom. “Only two days until you leave!”

I’ve got no choice. It looks like I’m going to London.

Chapter 7

I shove my carry-on in the overhead compartment and fall into the window seat. Leg one of my journey is down. Five hours in the air from Hawaii to Seattle, a three-hour layover at the airport, and now I’m finally on the plane to Heathrow.

I’m crossing my fingers for a smooth rest of the journey. It’s been good so far. No crying babies, no delays, no bad turbulence.

I take a sip from my water bottle and pull a book from my purse. A fun, light read that should take up a chunk of this nine-hour flight. I crack it open to the first page, barely paying attention to the passengers shuffling through the aisle next to me. Everyone seems to be operating under some unspoken guise of decency I don’t often see before a long-haul flight. People say, “Excuse me” and “Oops! Sorry!” when they accidentally bump into someone. Everyone is taking care to move out of the way to let others through, so as to avoid jamming up the aisles. A guy at the front of the plane even stops to help an older woman lift her suitcase into the overhead bin.

I let out a happy sigh. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe this trip will be the reset I need, the break from real life that will help me feel refreshed and return home reenergized.

Everyone takes their seats on the plane, and I turn back to my book. A heavy plop noise pulls my focus away. I turn to my left and see a backpack sitting on the seat next to me. When I look up, I almost drop my book. There’s Callum James standing above me, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

“What the . . .” My voice is a rasp. It’s the best I can do while my body struggles to process this influx of information.

Callum will be sitting next to me for the next nine hours.