March 14th

Logan reclined his seat until he was a few degrees shy of supine. Restless and frustrated, he nuzzled his head into his pillow a few times in an attempt to burrow his head farther. It helped. A little. A very little.

He rearranged his feet for maybe the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes before taking a deep, steadying breath. He'd already exhausted all his usual relaxation tips. The glass of wine had done nothing to settle his nerves, and although the overhead lights had been dimmed, sleep was far from coming.

His ever-attentive—if slightly flirtatious—flight attendant had enthusiastically been seeing to his every need. Now he watched through hooded eyes as she approached him again, much to his dismay. He read the name embroidered on her smock, having already forgotten it.

"Mr. Echolls, is there anything I can do for you?" Alexa asked, her smile wide, her mouth pursed slightly in an obvious attempt to accentuate her full lips.

Logan barely noticed. He just wanted to be off the damn plane already. And they were only still over Nevada or Arizona. Curse Philippa and her meddling. She wasn't on his list of favorite people these past few weeks, though it was through no fault of her own. He knew he was being petty, but he was tired. He was bored and restless. He was in limbo, and lack of control was something he was unaccustomed to. And then Philippa had meddled...again. He'd been perfectly content with his plan to spend his birthday surfing with Dick. They'd drive down to Baja like they'd done so many times before. They'd surf the day away, and then at night, they'd find some dive bar right on the ocean that served locals shitty fifty-cent beers. It would have been just what he needed. But Philippa had somehow convinced his assistant that he'd be overjoyed by a surprise birthday trip to London. So Melanie had made all the arrangements and packed him a bag, and now here he was.

"Another glass of wine to calm your nerves and help you sleep?" Alexa offered, pressing her chest forward as she leaned partially over him.

"I'm fine," Logan said without smiling. He busied himself with digging the sleep mask out of the little bag they'd provided and fiddled with it so that Alexa would leave. He didn't want to encourage her and his thoughts were busy elsewhere. More specifically they were with someone else. Someone still in Europe. Someone who'd checked in with him a few times but remained uncharacteristically quiet.

Logan had found himself halfway to LAX on more than one occasion these past few weeks, without so much as a toothbrush, ready to jump on a plane to Italy to remind Veronica of just how much he loved her. Luckily, each time he'd called Philippa to talk him off the ledge. To remind him that Veronica needed time without men.

Veronica needed to be in control, Philippa had explained. She needed to process. Logan's logical mind understood, but his heart...well, his heart wanted to not waste another moment not together. His heart wanted him to show up on the doorstep of whatever room she was staying in and declare himself. Because he knew what happened when one thought they had time. When he'd dropped her off at TSA, he thought he'd said what needed to be said, but now...well, there was just so much more to be said. Logan didn't want to risk his future—their future—another minute.

***Flashback***

February 14th

Logan suddenly wished he'd parked his car in long-term parking. It was farther away and they'd have had to take a shuttle. Elevators. Walkways. He'd have more time with Veronica. As it was, he'd parked the car in the hourly lot just across the way, and now, seven minutes later they were walking through the automatic double-doors of Bradley International Terminal. He stalked silently alongside her, rolling her heavy suitcase behind him even though it had four wheels and could easily be pushed. He winced slightly as the bag bounced loudly across the metal tracks of the threshold, and then the TSA security line was plainly in sight.

Logan turned to the right, leading her toward the ticketing agent, grateful that international travelers had to check in at the desk. Though the first class line was short, it would buy him a little time at least. Veronica yawned as the approached the counter, drained. Logan had no doubt she'd sleep well on the plane. Most of the long drive to LAX from Neptune had been quiet. She'd even dozed off for a bit.

But now that they were here, he wasn't ready to let her go. Things didn't feel settled. He of all people knew what leaving things unsaid could do. And, while he knew she needed to go—and go alone—a wave of doubt washed over him. Earlier that morning, Veronica just not being with Duncan had been enough, but now he was greedy. Now he wanted more. She belonged with him.

He stayed close to her while she handed over her passport, and then he hauled her heavy bag up onto the scale to be weighed and tagged. His hands now idle, Logan was unsure of what to do with himself. He cracked his knuckles and, recognizing it as one of his nervous ticks, he dropped his arms. His right hand unintentionally made contact with Veronica's arm, brushing down the length of it before coming to rest by his side, their fingers just millimeters apart despite their height difference. He felt a shiver run down her spine and forced himself not to smile. He loved that she was affected by him. He cautiously closed the distance between their hands with only his index finger, running his digit across the top of her knuckles lightly. Covered though she was by her Stanford hoodie, Logan imagined tiny goosebumps rising on her arm the same way they were rising on his. She kept her eyes on the agent over the counter, but he heard her small intake of breath. God, he loved her. He loved her and she was so close, and she was leaving. He knew she was coming back, but not when or how, or what she'd think of him when she returned. And he didn't have any idea what he could say now to ensure that she'd come back at all. Come back to him.

"Thank you, Ms. Mars," the attendant said, handing over her boarding pass, luggage stickers and passport. "Have a safe flight."

Veronica nodded at the agent and then turned slowly to face Logan, a sleepy smile on her lips. "Security is that way," she indicated with a tilt of her head to the right.

Logan nodded slightly and reached to take her carry-on bag off her shoulder. She relinquished it to him which allowed him to rest his hand on her shoulder for longer than was necessary. Unable to stop himself from touching her in some way, Logan boldly caught her hand as she pulled her arm through the strap of the bag and folded it in his, keeping their fingers entwined as he led her in the direction she'd indicated.

He led her along slowly. There was no need to rush. Her plane didn't leave for quite a while, but he also knew that holding here longer wouldn't change anything. As much as he was reluctant to let her go, it was inevitable.

It didn't take long to reach the security checkpoint. Logan briefly entertained the notion of buying a ticket to anywhere that would get him through security to steal a few more moments, but he hadn't brought his passport. They'd have to say goodbye here.

Logan took a step to the side of the roped-off area to let people pass around them. He'd been wracking his brain trying to think of something to say. Something that would make a difference. But now that the moment was here, it all seemed futile. He had to let her go and hope she came back to him. If she didn't, he'd have to somehow live with the fact that she wasn't with Duncan. Somehow.

"So, this is it," he stated plainly, his eyes darting from one of her cornflower blue eyes to the other, still seeking the right words. "You have everything you need?" he asked lamely.

"For now," she affirmed with a strong nod as she took her bag from him. "Thank you for the ride...for the ticket," she said, indicating the paperwork in her hand sandwiched between the pages of her blue passport, "For...everything, really. I'm sorry everything got so complicated."

Logan dropped hold of her then. His empty hands making him nervous again, he shoved them both into his back pockets. "Of course, Veronica," he started, looking everywhere but at her for a moment before settling his gaze back on her face. "You're my best friend," who I happen to be madly in love with, he added silently. "I want you to be happy."

"Me too," she told him, though Logan was unsure if she meant herself or him. Before he could think much on it, a searing heat flowed into his chest as Veronica placed a palm to the center of his chest, right over his heart. The connection between them was undeniable and Logan immediately pulled one of his hands out to capture hers, pressing it harder against him. Veronica leaned forward and let her forehead rest against their stacked hands. The breath she took was uneven. "I'm going to miss you," she told him shakily.

The lump in Logan's throat nearly choked him. He wanted to keep her. To possess her. To kiss her senseless until she understood how much he loved her. He wanted to drag her from that airport to his place and spend the next twenty-four hours showing her all the ways he could love her.

Instead, in an effort to comfort her, he brought his free hand around her back to hold her closer and pressed his lips into the top of her head. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath as well. They stayed that way for an indeterminable amount of time. It could have been five minutes. It could have been thirty. Logan didn't care because the world around him ceased to exist.

They were broken apart by a hard shove from behind him, pushing Logan into Veronica and forcing himself to let go of her so he could steady her with both hands. An elderly gentleman began apologizing profusely, and Logan and Veronica both turned to smile their understanding. But the spell was broken.

"Goodbye, Logan," Veronica said, adjusting her bag onto her shoulder and then turning away from him.

"Goodbye," he croaked and then cleared his throat, waving to the back of her head like an idiot.

Veronica moved to get into line, and Logan took a few steps backward until his shoulder blades hit a wall behind him. He'd wait here until she got through security. Until he couldn't see her anymore.

After one long blink, he felt a woosh of air and looked up to find Veronica standing in front of him once more. She stared at him silently for a moment, her eyes boring into his. She looked flustered and unsure of herself. She looked young. After a second, he found his voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a little worried.

Veronica didn't speak, she just rose up onto her tiptoes and placed a feather-light, sweet kiss to his lips. His hands automatically came to rest on her hips, pushing the bag that rested there behind her so he could touch more of her.

"I couldn't leave things like that," she said miserably, reaching up to capture his face in her hands. "I've gotta go, but I'll be back. I just have to...I dunno, do...whatever it is I need to do," she said cryptically. Logan didn't think she understood what she was feeling any better than he did. Neither of them moved. He didn't know whether to push her away or pull her in and kiss her again. In the end, he decided to let her go.

Reluctantly, he moved his face from her hold. He plastered on his best socialite, not-a-care-in-the-world smile and used the hands holding her hips to give her a gentle push.

"Go, already," he quipped.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

'Me too,' he silently uttered, but he knew that wouldn't help her. "Um, you almost married Duncan Kane today. Nothing in my life has ever been scarier than that. And you've met my father."

Veronica's eyes went wide and she suddenly looked wide-awake. "I can't believe you just said that!" She gave him a playful shove.

"I can't believe you just almost did that," he countered.

"I take it back, Logan Echolls, I'm not going to miss you at all," she huffed hottily.

Logan did his best to look wounded. "Then I'm ensured of at least a few weeks of peace and quiet around here." Logan pointed over her shoulder. "Now, go!"

Veronica rolled her eyes and began walking backward toward the roped-off area.

"And don't look back," he warned her. "That's so passé."

Veronica groaned but turned to the security agent, handing over her passport and boarding pass. She waved over her shoulder at him after she was cleared to pass. It made him grin. She was going to be okay.

Logan kept his eyes on her as she went through the security line and snickered as the TSA agent stopped her bag and threw away the bottle of water she'd probably forgotten was in there. Just as she was about to disappear from sight, he caught her sneak a glance at him. She laughed at herself, clearly annoyed by her own inability to not look back. And he chuckled too, throwing one hand up in a wave. She was far away now, but he saw her turn fully toward him and blow him a quick kiss. It was such a cheesy and un-Veronica thing to do that he was taken slightly off-guard. He wondered if it would be too lame to pretend to catch the kiss, but by then she was gone. She'd disappeared around the corner, off to far-away lands. So he caught her kiss after all—because he decided he was okay with cheesy...and she'd never know anyway.

***End Flashback***

Logan wiggled again against the too-firm pillow. This was going to be the longest flight of his life if he didn't get some sleep. These transatlantic red eyes were torture enough without being restless the whole time. And tossing and turning wasn't an option. Logan took some deep cleansing breaths, but tuning out the chatter of his monkey mind at that moment proved to be impossible. Not that a busy mind was anything new for him. Especially since New Year's Eve.

He'd managed not to think of her every moment. Veronica. He'd even made it most of the day sometimes. He wasn't obsessed, it was just...unfinished. He didn't like loose ends. And he didn't want things to end. Not to mention that leaving everything in her court could mean waiting a long time. And there was the slight issue of just missing her. Even though they'd been at odds and everything had been horrible, he'd gotten used to her being around again.

Truth be told, he knew that the time alone was good for him. He'd done a lot of yoga and surfed. His yogi had come over for extra sessions. Most of all, he'd worked on not falling back into old patterns of self-loathing. Old habits die hard, and it wasn't in his nature not to berate himself constantly. Second guess himself. In his heart of hearts, Logan knew that Veronica was better off without Duncan Kane, but now that the frenzy was over, he was questioning his motives. Questioning whether it'd been his spoiled self that didn't want anyone else to have what he couldn't. He'd always been selfish. Hell, he'd been raised to be selfish. He'd been raised to be ruthless and unforgiving. But Veronica...it took a lot of self-talk and reflection to be sure that he wasn't only thinking of himself, and that, although he was the villain of Duncan's story, Duncan had dug his own grave. He just hoped Veronica got there too. He didn't want her to look back on this and see a spoiled rich kid who wanted the shiny toy. He loved her. He would have let her go if Duncan was right for her...would have made her happy. At least Logan hoped he would have. And he prayed she knew that.

Veronica. Was it too much to hope that she'd be in London? As if on cue, his phone pinged with a new message. He saw Veronica's name and clicked it open immediately.

Veronica: I'm sure to have spotty wifi this weekend. La Scala is calling my name. Taking one last adventure to Milan for the weekend before I go home next week. Will forward you the details. Beware of birthday tidings planned by Lucy and Ethel. I'm sorry I won't be there to rein them in. Happy Birthday, Logan. I miss you.

Logan facepalmed. Philippa. Who knew what Philippa had planned. He was hoping she'd reserved a nice weekend for the two of them tucked away in some small village in the Peak District with esoterically ironic books and expensive wine. But now Lilly was involved, and all he envisioned was himself stuck in town clubbing with a few hundred of his closest 'friends' . The thought of a loud night turned his stomach. Lilly was Lilly, but Philippa was his closest adult friend. She of all people would understand that he didn't want a big to-do this year. At least Logan hoped that she would. Wouldn't she?

Shit.

With a groan, Logan began trolling through Philippa's private social media account—the one that was only for less than two dozen close friends and family members—for clues. Nothing. Clearly, Lilly was in London because the page chronicled their adventures around town—mostly shopping and eating. Less than two weeks ago, she and Lilly had gone to Venice to meet up with Veronica for a few days. They'd texted him several times with pictures of them all at Piazza San Marco, in front of the Rialto Bridge, and even one with the trio in a boat with a striped-shirt singing gondolier on the canal. The twinge of jealousy had been short-lived. He was so happy for Veronica. At the very least, she was experiencing life. Having an adventure.

So on the one hand, he'd probably have a weekend of crazy. But on the other hand, Veronica missed him . He could get through this weekend and Veronica would be the light at the end of the tunnel. Logan wouldn't ever admit how warm and fuzzy that made him feel inside. But then he suspected it went without saying.

But there were a million things he now wanted to ask her that he couldn't. Or wouldn't. He kept his reply short.

Logan: Thanks for the heads up. I'll have a getaway Uber on standby.

After a few seconds, he didn't like how impersonal that sounded.

Logan: I miss you too, V.

Logan turned the WiFi off on his phone and placed it on the small table next to his chair. He would sleep better not knowing what was in store for him.

Logan buried his chin deep into his wool Ferragamo scarf as he got out of the Uber on Aubrey Street. He dragged his leather duffel and messenger bag out from the backseat and tugged them both onto one shoulder and looked up at his London home.

Neptune—with its beaches and sprawling mansions—would always be his hometown, but the life he'd made for himself in London was just as much him as California would ever be. He loved it here.

People always had their eye on him—just as much here as they had been in California. But in London, they weren't waiting for him to do something wild and crazy. He wasn't a spectacle. Here he was a philanthropist.

He'd gotten his life together in California, but it wasn't until he'd gotten here that he'd turned everything around. Come into his own. Found a good therapist. Looked inside himself for answers rather than looking around to find someone to blame. The rebel without a cause of his youth was gone, and yet he was still the same Logan, somehow. He hadn't changed so much, really. He just had learned to cope. And this house was the culmination of all that.

Logan trudged up to the door of his house, fishing in his messenger bag for his keys. He tumbled the lock and let himself in. The lights inside the house were off, and Logan half expected Philippa to jump out and scream 'surprise!' at him when he entered the foyer. She didn't, though. Only silence met him. He couldn't decide if he was disappointed or not.

Logan carefully set his bags down in the alcove near the front door and removed his scarf and gloves. He tossed them on top of his bags and began moving through the main floor, flipping on lights as he went. The house was immaculate, as usual. He had a housekeeper who came weekly to keep things in order. A peek into the refrigerator confirmed that she'd stocked up with the basics.

It was more house than he needed here, really. Jonathan Winthrop-Scott had insisted that Logan be able to entertain in a house of his own as part of his schmoozing for the foundation. Logan had found this place within a month of house-hunting and fallen in love with it. It fit the bill nicely for wining and dining the London elite without having the feeling of a museum-like the decadent mansions he'd grown up in. No, this place was homey. There was even a green space in the back. He'd always imagined bringing Veronica here. Or at least envisioned her here. Once upon a time.

He shook the thought from his head. He was determined to keep his thoughts of Veronica strictly in the realm of reality.

Logan heard the buzz of his phone and followed it's sound until he saw the device on top of the kitchen counter where he'd left it. When he unlocked it, the deluge of texts he saw there made him simultaneously groan and laugh.

Philippa: Have you arrived?

Lilly: Are you here yet?

Lilly: I'm going crazy

Philippa: She's driving me mad. I might need a break.

Lilly: I think I need to blow this popsicle stand

Lilly: There is such a thing as too much togetherness, Logan

Philippa: She's insisting we watch a marathon of The Newlyweds.

Lilly: All she watches is Eastenders.

Philippa: You *know* how I feel about Jessica Simpson.

Lilly: And some stupid show called Peaky Blinders. Don't get me started.

Philippa: And I need my regular Cillian Murphy fix. You know this.

Philippa: I'm very close to giving her your key and chucking her into an Uber.

Lilly: Philippa has a key to your place and I'm coming with or without permission

Philippa: Please?

Lilly: OMG Logan I'm begging you

Lilly: Please!

Logan considered letting them duke it out, but he honestly was surprised the dynamic duo had lasted this long together without a Veronica buffer. He decided to put them both out of their misery and texted them individually telling Lilly to come over. He'd been alone long enough anyway. And maybe they would conspire less effectively separated, which was ideal. The idea of keeping them apart for his own safety intrigued him, and he happily went back to the entryway to retrieve his bags and proceeded to drag them up the two flights of stairs to the master bedroom. He was sure the guest bedroom was ready for Lilly, but he could check it on the way up.

March 16th

The morning of Logan's birthday started like any other day. The light streamed through his window, waking him up naturally. He stretched, and rolled onto his side and breathed in the familiar, yet oddly out of place, scent of vanilla. He cracked one eye open to find blond hair spread across the pillow next to him. It seemed right and yet...Logan popped up to sitting, waiting for everything to slowly come into focus.

"Lilly!" he grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

Lilly groaned and rolled over to face him, not at all concerned. Her eyes were half-open for a moment before they drifted closed again. "Like here here, or here?" she asked. "This is too deep for so early. Why are any of us here, Logan?"

Logan was more annoyed that he ought to be, he knew. "Here in my bed, specifically," he clarified through set teeth.

Lilly yawned. "Oh, that," she said obtusely.

"Yes, that," he said, rubbing at his tired eyes. "You have your own bed. Downstairs." He really shouldn't be annoyed with her. It really didn't matter where she slept. But when one gave Lilly Kane an inch...she took three miles. He didn't want her saying anything to Philippa. Or Veronica.

Lilly was still half asleep. "I got scared."

"Lilly, you're pushing thirty. No one our age gets scared in bed," he drolled, flopping back down to lay in the bed.

"I do. I was all alone and this place is big and creaky. I heard noises," she continued sleepily. "We're in England with all the Rippers!"

Logan laughed at that. "You're crazy!" he told her. "There aren't multiple rippers."

"Oh, yeah? What about Jack the Ripper?"

"Long dead," Logan pronounced.

"What about the Yorkshire Ripper?''

"I know nothing about him, but clearly he's not in London."

"And the Ipswich Ripper?"

"That's not a thing," he told her. "But still not London."

"He is so a thing," she told him, slightly more awake now. "Fine, fine, what about Paul Spector," she added.

"Now that one isn't even England. And he's fictional, Lilly," Logan groaned. "What is your obsession with British serial killers?"

"I've had a lot of time on planes lately. I like podcasts," she told him. "It seemed safe to listen to them because I don't spend much time in England so I didn't have to be afraid."

Logan scoffed. "That backfired," he said with a snort.

"Yes, obviously," she retorted.

Logan, no longer annoyed, bent his knees, turned sideways in the bed, placed his feet on Lilly's side, and gave her a rough shove, straightening his legs completely until she slid off the bed with a loud thump.

"You're worse than Duncan," Lilly declared, fully awake now. She stood up and gave him a murderous glare and then reached across toward him. Logan braced for impact, but Lilly surprised him by pulling his own pillow right from underneath his unsuspecting head and hurling it at him.

Logan couldn't help but laugh as he caught the pillow easily and tucked it back under his head, which only seemed to vex her more. She stomped petulantly toward the door of his room.

"Love you, Lil," he called after her.

Her only response was to flip him the bird as she crossed the threshold into the hallway.

"Can't imagine why Philippa kicked you out," he called playfully before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes again. The yoga class he wanted to take didn't start for forty minutes and he could sleep for at least another fifteen.

"Happy Birthday!" she called out sardonically before he heard her stomp down the stairs.

When Logan left his house twenty minutes later, he found Philippa's car idling in his driveway. How was it possible to be surprised and so not surprised at the same time. She hadn't informed him of her plans for his birthday yet, so apparently she had arrived in person to get things started. Well, if she thought he was going to skip yoga, she had another thing coming.

He approached the car quietly and pulled the door open, sliding into the passenger seat to find her wearing workout attire. He was impressed. But not impressed enough to let his guard down.

"Morning…" he said carefully.

"Happy Birthday, dear," she said casually before handing him a take-away cup of coffee. "I'm your chauffeur. Will it be Evolve or Urban Flow this morning?"

Logan laughed at her knowledge of his usual local studios. "Evolve," he told her, closing the passenger-side door and throwing his mat into the backseat. "I'd planned to walk, but thanks for the lift."

"My pleasure," she returned, with a casual flick of her wrist. "You've been with Lilly for twelve hours now. I figured you could use some rational conversation and centering," she quipped.

"Be nice," he warned her as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I am being nice," she cooed innocently. "Hence the 'lift'." Philippa raised one eyebrow and then shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb.

Logan shook his head and settled his view on the road before them. Finally, after a moment, he took a deep breath and exhaled evenly. "So what are our plans for the day?" he asked carefully. "Should I be afraid?"

Philippa put a hand on her chest and gave him her most affronted look. "It's your day, Logan, and I, for one, am offended that you think I'd plan something that you wouldn't absolutely adore."

"Uh-huh," Logan said. He turned his attention to his coffee and gave her another minute to come clean, but she wasn't breaking. "Please just tell me. You know I hate surprises," he reminded her.

Philippa just shook her head.

"How will I know how to dress?" he pressed, knowing that would crack her a little at the seam.

"Honestly, Lilly and I just want to take you to dinner. It will be quiet and low-key."

"So we're talking...at least fifty of my "closest"," Logan used air quotes, "friends?" In his mind, he was calculating how long it would take to run away to Milan.

"I told you, no. It's a quiet affair. Just the three of us," she insisted.

Logan wasn't buying a word of it. Philippa could pull together a group of fifty in less than an hour. She was the queen of social gatherings. She put him to shame, and Logan was confident that he knew how to work a room.

Philippa's phone began to chime and she answered it through the car's Bluetooth.

"Hey, Dad," she answered.

"Darling, good morning," Jonathan Winthrop-Scott's voice boomed over the car's speakers.

"I'm just driving Logan to morning yoga," she told her father, "say hello."

"Logan!" he chimed. "I was waiting a few hours to call you. Has Philippa got you up and moving at the crack of dawn?"

"Yes, she has, but I'm a willing participant," Logan told the older man.

"Well, that's good. Glad to hear she isn't dragging you about at all hours." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I spoke with Sir Patrick Stewart at the club last night and your name came up. He and Mark Darcy, a top human rights barrister, were discussing the new ideas you had emailed to Patrick and me last week for the foundation. When I mentioned you were in town, he wanted to invite you for drinks early this evening."

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but Philippa beat him to it.

"But you've forgotten that it's Logan's birthday, Dad," she told him. "Lilly and I are taking him out for a small, intimate supper." She stressed the words small and intimate while giving Logan a smile and a nod.

Logan shook his head. Liar. Good thing he adored her.

"It'll be quick," Jonathan promised them both. "Twenty minutes tops. Mark Darcy just wants to meet Logan. He's so impressed with all we've accomplished."

"Absolutely not," Philippa interjected again with a sharp jerk of her head to one side. "Sorry, but Logan is busy before supper."

"What time are your plans?" her father asked.

Logan found himself beaming despite all his efforts to hide it. Jonathan's call was going to bring everything out into the open. No more surprises.

"Yes, what time are our before dinner plans," he asked, giving Philippa a shit-eating grin.

He heard Philippa murmur "so cheeky" under her breath which just made Logan smile more.

"I'll phone you back, Dad," Philippa said quickly before hanging up on her father.

" Before dinner plans, huh?" he goaded.

With an un-ladylike growl, Philippa relented as she pulled into the last spot in the carpark near the studio. "Fine! Fine, fine fine. If you're determined to ruin my plans, so be it…"

At that Logan almost felt guilty. Almost.

"We are meeting at half five for our final dance lesson," she growled at him. "It was supposed to be lovely and just the two of us. Then we will have time to go home and change and get ready for a nice dinner just the three of us at eight. You, me and Lilly," she stressed, speaking very slowly.

Logan still wasn't convinced, but he would play along for now. He retrieved both their yoga mats from the backseat and handed Philippa's to her. "Thank you," he told her. "Dance lessons sound nice." They were kind of a kick in the pants because they'd been for Veronica, but he knew Philippa saw them as something they'd done together. She meant well.

Logan opened his car door and jogged around to open hers. "So if the dance lesson is over at six-thirty, then I should have enough time to meet your dad for drinks around seven and then I can meet up with you and Lilly at the restaurant by eight."

Philippa took a sip of her tea and gave him a sad look. "Yes, fine. I suppose that will work. But you need to be on time, mind," she warned him.

"As to not ruin the fifty people I barely know waiting there to yell 'surprise!'?" he asked, doing jazz hands up near his face for effect.

"You've met most of them," Philippa relented. "And Casey." Philippa rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly having spent too much time with Lilly. "It's only twenty," she said petulantly. "No more!" She tossed her empty tea container into the rubbish bin with more force than was necessary and walked very straight-backed into the studio. "Always spoils all my plans," he heard her grumble.

Logan tried not to look overly-smug as he texted Jonathan to tell him he'd be able to make drinks after all. He couldn't believe he'd bested Philippa Winthrop-Scott. That alone had already made it a wonderful birthday, indeed.

310c Earl's Court

Logan checked the address again and spun in a slow circle, studying his surroundings more closely. Dancing had been as much fun as he'd remembered. Philippa's ability to take his mind off things was uncanny. Her sincere demeanor had gone a long way to putting him at ease about her plans for the evening. He'd showered and changed quickly after he'd returned home, but he'd been too antsy to sit any longer. Since the weather was so unseasonably nice that evening, and London traffic was always difficult to navigate, he'd chosen to take the Tube and walk to meet Jonathan tonight. He was a bit early for his meeting, but he liked to be early. It let him feel in control of things. But now that he was here...where the heck was he?

The address was correct. It matched the one on the door. He was definitely in the right place. But something was off.

The nondescript brick building's facade was shorter and plainer than all the rest, mostly residences, running up and down the square. It had but one window which was covered on the inside with a shade. There was motorbike parking in front on the street and a single lamp lit up the doorway of the building. The frost-paned glass panel in the door said Evans & Peel Detective Agency, and, while the area wouldn't be considered by Londoners to be at all dodgy, noir wasn't Jonathan Winthrop-Scott's usual preference for drinks with top English barristers.

Logan considered calling Jonathan but since he knew he was in the right place, he instead pushed through the door and poked his head inside. It was empty of people, so Logan stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him. It was an old office of some kind. The type you'd expect to see in the 1950s in Chicago. Next to the desk was a bookshelf turned to the side, revealing a "hidden" room behind it.

Logan crossed the room and stepped through the bookshelf door. It was definitely not a detective agency. It was a bar or pub. The place was dimly lit with exposed brick walls and heavy-looking stained-wood furniture. Candles burned on tables, keeping the ambiance.

Logan squinted and saw a neat bar along the back wall lit up by lightbulbs that hung on long cords from the ceiling. As he made his way over to the bar, he passed what looked to be a library card catalog cabinet and wondered at its function here. He shook his head in disbelief, the place was incredible. He'd never seen anything like it.

A tall dark-haired man, who Logan presumed to be a bartender, stepped out from behind a heavy red curtain behind the bar.

"Oh, hullo!" he greeted, but then his face turned somber. "I'm sorry to say we're closed for a private party tonight," the man said regretfully.

Oh, now everything made sense. Well not the venue, but the fact that it was empty.

"Right," Logan said, scratching his head and reaching for the phone in his pocket. "Sorry. I had planned to meet someone here. I guess there's been a mistake. I —"

"No mistake," a familiar voice said from behind him. "I just should have known you'd be early."

Logan paused. It couldn't be. But it had to be. He whirled around, his heart in his throat. And it was.

Veronica.

Veronica stood before him like an apparition. Except she wasn't a ghost. She was real. She studied him carefully, her expression almost shy. He took a moment to admire her. She was beautiful. She wore a red satin dress that hugged her curves and looked nothing like the tweed pantsuits and Stepford wife skirts he'd seen her in for weeks before she'd left for Europe.

Momentarily speechless, Logan shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and stood in place, gaping.

"Happy birthday!" she said softly, her hands, which had been folded uncomfortably in front of her waist, then raised up near her face as she twinkled her fingers. "Surprise."

I'm sorry this took so long. Really, I am. Life changed in such a way that I just didn't have time to write for a while...and then 2020 happened and I suddenly had all the time in the world (and nagging friends - love you)!

Special thanks to my fearless beta, kmd0107, and to jmazzy for making memes of this story in limbo to shame (I mean *encourage*) me to wrap it up. ;)