September 13th, 1990

September 13th, 1990

At home, England

Even although it was only one night, I loved having Rachel here.

We attempted to have breakfast in the garden, but halfway through, it started bucketing down.

“Ugh,” I groaned, scrambling to clear the table.

“Nothing like soggy croissants!” Rachel said, helping me move everything inside.

“I hate British weather, it drives me batty! We were outside for all of what, fifteen minutes?”

Rachel nodded. “One thing I enjoyed about being in New York was eating outside. I loved the restaurants with the huge windows that open to the street.”

“Me too but you can’t do that in January.”

“Oh yeah,” she giggled. “That’s true.”

“Unlike in LA”, I said. “Where you can eat outside year-round.”

“Sounds blissful. You really love it there, don’t you?”

“I love where David lives, the beach is amazing.”

“Sounds incredible, I must get to California.”

“Yes! You! Must!”

She laughed. “I’ll wait ‘til you move out there.”

“Who said anything about me moving?”

“I think it’s inevitable.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh, your face lights up when you talk about David and after seeing pictures of him last night I can see why.”

“He’s not too shabby, is he,” I smiled.

“I need to find a guy like that.”

“They’re ten a penny in LA!”

She cracked up laughing. “Quick! Help me pack!”

“Kidding aside, I think you would really enjoy the West Coast, it’s very laid back and has kind of a magical quality to it.”

“I need some magic,” she sighed.

Don’t we all.


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