“Okay, now you’re going to have to explain this to me; what are flapjacks? I would definitely think that was a pancake.”

Malcolm broke in.

“I believe you’d call them granola bars, or something close to them?”

Vivian laughed.

“I’d be confused, too.”

Miles grinned at her.

“The kid in my school was very confused.” He reached for another pastry. “What’s California like? Are there really palm trees everywhere like on TV?”

Vivian laughed.

“Not quite everywhere, but we do have our fair share of palm trees. I live in Northern California, so it’s not quite as warm and beachy, but still warmer than”—she gestured to the windows—“this.”

He eagerly asked her more questions about California, New York, and other places in America, and she answered them as well as she could. She steered the conversation away from both art and universities as much as possible, and she didn’t think Miles noticed. At one point, Malcolm put his hand on her thigh and squeezed, and she covered it with her own.

“Okay, is it true that—” Miles broke off and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Oh damn.” He looked up at her. “Sorry, I mean . . .”

She laughed.

“Miles, I’ve heard ‘damn’ before, it’s okay. Is something wrong?”

He stood up.

“Yes. I mean no. I mean it’s just I was supposed to meet my girlfriend a quarter of an hour ago. I have to go.”

She walked over to the door with him.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. But I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you, and I hope you have a very happy New Year.”

He smiled at her and reached out to shake her hand. She was about to lean in for a hug, but okay, she’d shake hands instead.

“It was great to meet you, too, Ms. . . . Vivian.” He glanced at Malcolm, who she could feel behind her, and back at her. “Bye.”

“Bye, Miles,” they both said, as he walked out the door.

They were silent until they heard the elevator ding. Then they looked at each other and laughed.

“How did you do that?” he asked her. “He was all geared up for another fight when he walked in here, I could tell. And you just . . . gave him tea and offered him pastries and got him to sit down and relax?”

She grinned at him.

“I’ve had lots of practice in making friends with surly teenage boys—and girls.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. “I just figured the two of you needed a little time-out where you could relax around each other so you could both find a way to put your weapons down. I’m glad I could help.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And did you notice that he forgot to leave your key here?”

Malcolm jumped up and looked at the counter, then turned around and stared at her.

“I didn’t even realize that. Vivian, I may need to break into the glass today—I think you deserve to wear some of the crown jewels just for that!”

She stood up and fluffed her hair.

“Well, I’d better go get ready for that, then. I don’t want to be late for my coronation!”

What would have happened if Vivian hadn’t been there? Malcolm wondered. Would he and Miles have had another fight? Would Miles have just thrown the key at him and left again? One thing was for sure: they definitely wouldn’t have made up. The stony expression on Miles’s face every time he’d looked at him had told him that.

Though . . . there were a few times, when they were all sitting at the table together talking about travel and U.S./British relations and everything else, where Miles had looked at him like he’d used to, like they were sharing a joke.

He wanted to get that back for good.

Midway through their tour of the Tower of London, Vivian looked at him.

“You need to apologize to Miles, you know.”

What? She’d taken that from what he’d told her?

“The hell I do,” he said. He stopped himself and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was . . .”

She laughed.

“Oh, I know what you meant—you meant what you said. But I meant what I said, too. This fight with Miles is killing you, I can tell. I’ve only known you a little over a week, and I know he’s the most important relationship in your life. You can’t destroy it like this; you and I both know that. Apologize to the boy. Talk to him. Ask him questions about why he wants to do this.”

He dropped his hand from her back. He thought she would be on his side here.

“I know why he wants to do this! Because he has this youthful infatuation with the idea of being an artist, and he hasn’t thought it all through!”

Vivian nodded slowly.

“That’s one perspective. But you told me Miles said he feels like he needs to be passionate about this, that he doesn’t want to waste any moment of life, that he’s feeling his own mortality because his father died young—I’m not saying I agree with him, but after seeing what my sister has gone through, I understand what he’s saying. Talk this over with him; he’s obviously really thought about it. See if you can come to some sort of common ground. But don’t just expect him to bow to your will.”

This is what came of opening yourself up to people. He never should have told her about their conversation in that much detail.