I glanced down at our almost touching hands, wanting to make contact with him. Shane looked down, too, following my line of sight and catching a glimpse at his watch. “Shit! My train leaves in less than an hour. I’m really sorry, but I have to go otherwise I’ll miss it.” Shane’s voice was frantic. Any kind of ‘moment’ that may have passed between us was forgotten while he rushed to gather his things, then dashed outside to try and hail a passing taxi, mumbling an apology to me the entire time. On impulse, I followed him out of the coffee shop then grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him to my car, promising to get him to the station on time. Thankfully, the traffic was pretty light—for London, anyway—and I pulled into a drop-off point outside the station with five minutes to spare. “Go, get on your train. You can thank me later.” I pushed him out of the car, making sure he didn’t try to turn back to talk to me.
