Just Carly
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 3: London
Ready. Probably.
Thursday, January 9 2014 · 10:43am · London · Private
Just checked the mirror again. Same face as the last three times. Hair down, white top, denim skirt, tights, boots. New coat. I look like me, which was the idea before I started making it complicated.
He said eleven. Going downstairs now doesn’t mean I’m desperate. It means I’m allowing plenty of time for the elevator. Seventeen minutes should cover it.
Deep breath. Here goes nothing. Just my heart on the line.
He’s here.
Friday, January 10 2014 · 12:43am · London · Private
Paul is asleep beside me.
I’ve turned the brightness right down on my phone. I’m lying on my side, which makes it hard to type, and he is spooning up behind me with his arms around me. I’ve managed to get to my phone without waking him, although I nearly dropped it on the floor when I picked it up off of the nightstand. That would have spoiled the moment.
His bag is here. I keep looking at it over by the chair.
He went and got it himself. Brought it back here. Put it down like putting his bag in my room was an ordinary thing to do.
I think that was when I finally believed he was staying.
There’s so much I want to write about today, but every time I start remembering something, it reminds me that he’s here and I lose my place.
He came. He stayed. And I’m so happy I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep.
I was downstairs far too early. Then I spent fifteen minutes wishing I’d stayed upstairs, because sitting in a hotel lobby waiting for someone gives you far too much time to imagine them not coming.
When he arrived, he went straight to reception. Started asking for Carly Williams, then corrected himself and asked for Kayla Valentine. I can’t imagine how weird that is for him.
I walked over before he’d finished asking the receptionist. She pointed to me, and he turned around. And there he was, looking at me, and all the things I’d thought I might say disappeared. I told him I hadn’t been sure he’d come. He said of course he had. He’d said he would.
He started apologizing again.
I hugged him before he could finish.
That may be understating what I actually did.
I threw myself at him.
I’d wanted to touch him since the moment he turned around at the party. Through all the talking, even while I was angry, I’d wanted to put my arms around him. I think I’d been afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t manage to ask him anything.
But this morning I’d already asked my questions. I had my answers. And he was standing there. So I held him. Probably too tightly.
Then I kissed him.
I didn’t give myself time to make a decision about it. I just did it, and when I pulled away, he was smiling.
He said it was nice.
Nice.
I asked whether that meant I could do it again.
He said any time I wanted.
I made considerable use of that permission today.
We have each other’s phone numbers now. Last night, Chloë had told me to make sure of that, and I remembered before we left the hotel. I put my number in his phone and sent myself a message.
Such a simple thing. A few taps.
I asked him whether it might have changed anything if we’d done that in Nashville. If I’d been able to reach him after he left.
He didn’t give me the comforting answer. He said he didn’t know whether he would have answered or ignored the messages because he couldn’t face them.
I didn’t like hearing that. But I appreciated him telling me. I don’t want him agreeing with everything I say because he feels guilty. I want to know who I’m spending my day with. And I wanted to spend it with him.
So I kissed him again, and then we went to see the Queen.
She wasn’t in, apparently. Very inconsiderate, given how far I’d come.
London is enormous. I know I’ve already written that, but now I’ve walked some of it and my feet would like to add their agreement.
We went through Hyde Park holding hands. I kept stopping because there was something else I wanted to photograph or ask about. Paul was very patient, although his qualifications as a tour guide became a little questionable whenever I asked him to explain royal ceremonies.
There was a fountain with two people holding hands above the water. I took pictures of it, then him, then us. He probably thought I wanted a photograph of every single thing in London. I did want quite a few.
The memorial to the people killed in the bombings made us quiet for a while. You can walk between the columns. I hadn’t expected to come across something like that in the middle of our morning, and I was glad we stopped.
Then we were walking again, talking about Nashville and his university and all the things that had happened since we’d last been together.
I told him about hearing myself on the radio while I was cooking dinner. He listened to the whole story, including the part where I behaved like an idiot in the kitchen.
I’d forgotten how much I liked telling him things.
Or maybe I hadn’t forgotten. Maybe I’d just got out of the habit of letting myself think about it.
Outside Buckingham Palace, I asked a woman to take a picture of me and my boyfriend.
I knew what I was saying. It came out so easily that it must have sounded like an accident to Paul, but I knew.
For the few seconds while we stood together and she held my phone, I got to be a girl on vacation with her boyfriend. She didn’t know anything about Nashville or notes or songs or the conversation we’d had last night. She thought we looked cute together and suggested a picture of us kissing.
I was happy to cooperate.
Afterward, Paul asked me about the boyfriend part.
I made a joke first. Then I told him I forgave him. Because I do.
Writing that last night would have felt harder than saying it this morning. Last night I was still trying to fit his explanation around everything I remembered. Today I could see him trying. He’d come when he said he would. He was answering the uncomfortable questions. He was letting me hold his hand and kiss him and talk far too much.
I wanted to enjoy being with him, so I asked him to let me pretend. Let me have today as though he was still my boyfriend and we hadn’t lost all that time.
It sounds sad written down like that.
There was sadness in it, I suppose. But I was happy when I asked him. Hopeful. I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t asking him to decide our entire future outside Buckingham Palace. I was asking him to stop looking worried every time I wanted to be close to him.
He said he’d be my boyfriend for today. Naturally, I asked about tomorrow and the weekend.
I’m ambitious. It’s on my résumé.
I had my picture taken with the guards. Paul warned me that they were real soldiers and I wasn’t to touch them or do anything silly.
I behaved beautifully.
Then I wanted fish and chips in a pub with a pint, because if you’re going to be a tourist, you should put some effort into it.
He said I was so American.
I told him he loved me for it.
And he said, “Yeah, I do.”
I asked him if he meant it.
He changed the subject.
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