Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Adventurous Proposal
Laura Barnard
Published in 2016
Copyright © Laura Barnard
First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified
as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales in entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
This book is dedicated to my husband Simon who confirmed my belief that some of us do get the happy ever after. Love you!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Marrying Mr Valentine
Acknowledgments
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Also by Laura Barnard
Chapter One
Friday 2nd December
Stood up. Again. I’m getting really fucking sick of these Tinder dates. They’re so bloody unreliable. I really thought this one was a nice guy, but no. It’s eight forty pm, and we were supposed to meet at eight pm.
‘Stood up?’ A deep voice asks me.
I look up from my cocktail to see a guy at the end of the bar has spoken. Cocky bastard, assuming I’ve been stood up. I know his type. All light brown hair and piercing turquoise eyes. Yeah, not interested, thanks, love.
‘No, actually,’ I say with a smirk. ‘They had a valid reason.’
‘Really?’ he smirks. ‘What was their excuse?’
Quick, think of something.
‘Mine was that she forgot she had to feed her cat.’
Oh. He’s been stood up too? Who in their right mind would stand up this hunk?
I smile, lowering my walls a bit at his friendly demeanour. ‘At least she messaged you. I’ve got nothing.’
His eyes widen. ‘You’re joking? What a bastard.’
‘Yep,’ I nod, with a grin.
‘Well...’ he smiles cheekily. ‘We’re both here all glammed up.’
I look over his jeans and black shirt. Yes, he is. Yum.
‘Why don’t we get to know each other?’ He gets up from his stool and moves closer, sitting on the stool next to me. Jesus, he’s forward. So close that I can just about make out his refreshing citrusy scent.
I sigh, completely deflated from the evening. I could just as easily go home and crawl into my pyjamas, maybe watch a Gilmore Girls episode.
‘I don’t think I have the energy,’ I admit with a shrug. ‘I’m too old for all of this shit.’
He chuckles, his eyes lit up with humour. ‘Too old? How old are you?’
‘Thirty.’
He scoffs. ‘That’s really not old. I’m thirty-five, and I’m still young.’
I roll my eyes. ‘It’s different for men though, isn’t it?’
He narrows his eyes in confusion. ‘Why?’
‘Because a man ages like a fine wine, he just gets better. A woman is like a loaf of bread—we just start going off.’
He doubles over laughing. ‘No, you don’t! I know plenty of fit forty-year-olds.’
I bet he does. He looks like a man whore.
‘I don’t mean like that. I mean that we’re on countdown.’
‘Countdown?’ He frowns, his eyes burning with confusion. ‘I really am clueless as to what you mean.’
‘I mean that our time is running out. At thirty-five, our fertility basically dives off a cliff. So even if I had a baby at thirty-five, I’d still have to meet someone now.’
His eyes dart helplessly from side to side. ‘Why?’
I start listing the reasons on my fingers. ‘Because you have a couple of years getting to know each other, moving in with each other, then you get married and try to buy a property and then its baby time. But it could already be too late.’
He stares back at me totally bewildered. ‘Jesus, woman! You make it all sound so depressing.’
I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of it all on my shoulders. ‘I’m just speaking the truth. This is what most women think when they get to thirty, and they aren’t in a relationship. I’ve lost so many friends over the years from them popping sprogs or getting married. And then there’s little old me all alone. I haven’t even got Sky.’
He can’t suppress his laugh. ‘Wow. Sounds like it’s shit being a woman.’
‘It is.’ I grin, finding myself laughing along. ‘We have it very hard.’
‘Us blokes don’t have it easy, you know.’
‘Really?’ I smirk. ‘Do you know this is the third Tinder date that’s stood me up? When I tried to contact one, I found he’d blocked me!’
He narrows his eyes at me in suspicion. ‘But were you stalking him?’
‘No!’ I shout defensively. ‘I did the whole thing of trying to play it perfectly cool. I waited for him to initiate the date and pick the place and time. He took bloody ages to get round to it too.’
‘Well, then he sounds like a weirdo. Jesus, did you not have a picture up?’
What has that got to do with anything?
I blink, dazed. ‘Of course I did. Why?’
He gazes over my body with probing intensity. So probing, that against my better judgement I feel a shiver of excitement.
‘Because surely if they saw you they’d be desperate to take you out.’
Oh my god, he’s calling me hot. He’s totally hitting on me.
‘Unless you have a hideous personality,’ he adds with a smirk. My mouth drops open at his rudeness. ‘But I’ve been talking to you a few minutes, and I don’t want to kill myself, so I’m a bit puzzled.’
I bark a reluctant laugh. ‘He obviously found someone better.’
‘That’s the thing with Tinder.’ He nods. ‘Too many options. Show me your profile.’
I get my phone out of my bag and open the app, handing it over to him.
He flicks through my photos. ‘Ah! Right here. Why do you have a picture of you and your cat?’
‘That’s freckles. He’s my baby.’
He shakes his head.
‘See, this just shouts crazy cat lady.’
‘I’m not a crazy cat lady!’ I say defensively. ‘I just don’t have time for a dog, and I want a companion.’
‘It also probably scares guys into thinking you want to settle down.’
‘Ugh! I can’t win. My mates said the pics of me out partying made me look like I was up for it.’
He grimaces. ‘Yeah. It is tricky. Especially when you’ve got less than a second to impress someone.’
‘Would you have swiped right?’ I can’t help but ask.
He looks at me seriously for a second, as if mulling it over. Dear God, if he says no I’ll die of shame.
‘I haven’t actually seen you on there.’
‘I live just down the road in Angel.’
‘Ah, I’m in West Hampstead. You’re out of my three-mile radius.’
Ooh, fancy.
‘Yeah, same.’
He smiles genuinely at me. ‘Well if it makes you feel better, I’m fucking sick of dating.’
‘Yeah, right.’ I giggle. ‘I bet you’re the love them and leave them kind.’
‘No!’ He protests, but he can’t help but hide the smile. ‘Okay, I used to be. In my twenties, I was a bit of a nightmare, but I’ve grown up. These days I just feel like I don’t have the time to be trying to find someone.’
‘Yeah, I’m the same,’ I agree. ‘I just wish you could order a husband in a catalogue or something.’
‘Catalogue?’ he repeats, his cheeks lifting as if fighting a smile. ‘Who orders anything from a catalogue anymore? It would totally be online. But...yeah, I’d probably order a wife too.’
‘You know you can do that if you want a Thai bride.’
He smiles. ‘Can’t. Terribly racist parents,’ he jokes. At least I hope he’s joking. ‘Have you never had a long term relationship then?’
‘Yeah. I’ve had two long terms, but they didn’t work out.’
I don’t want to tell him Gary was a masturbation addict and Dave could never get it up.
‘I’ve had one.’ That shocks me. So he did once have someone he wanted to spend more than five minutes with. ‘You see, I have a new theory.’
‘Oh yeah.’ I smile, leaning in. Being this close to him makes me feel a bit lightheaded. God, he’s a gorgeous bastard. ‘Go on then.’
‘I think that if we’d have got married early on we’d have still been together.’
Woah. That’s not the kind of thing I’m used to hearing from a man.
‘Really? Why?’ I ask, bewildered.
‘Because it’s so much harder to leave a marriage than just a relationship. If you’re married you know you’re stuck with that person. It makes you try harder. You’re more likely to stick out the rough patch or go to counselling. But a relationship is so easy to leave.’
I mull over his theory. I suppose he’s right in a way. I’d be mortified if I had to divorce someone and would do anything in my power not to let it happen. Look at a hundred years ago—no one got divorced, they just struggled on.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I muse.
‘I am,’ he nods with a confident grin. ‘And on that note, would you like a long, slow comfortable screw up against a wall?’
I spit out my cocktail. He wants to what? Jesus, he’s forward.
‘What?’ I splutter, choking on the remains of my drink.
He grins widely, pointing to my cocktail. ‘That’s the name of your cocktail, isn’t it?’
I look down at it. ‘I don’t know. I just told the barman to make me the most popular one on the menu.’
Humour curves his lips and then he winks. ‘I bet he was looking forward to you re-ordering.’
‘Cheeky bastard,’ I laugh, looking back over at the balding barman. ‘But yes, please, I’ll have another.’
‘Sorry?’ he says, pretending to be puzzled. ‘You’re going to have to be specific about what drink you’d like?’ He smiles. I know he’s enjoying this. Bastard.
I pout my lips and try to think sexy. I lower my voice, hoping it sounds husky and not like I smoke fifty a day.
‘Can I please have a long, slow comfortable screw up against a wall?’
He grabs my hand and makes to leave, dragging me away with him. What?
He turns with a grin. ‘Only joking. Excuse me, barman.’
Before we know it, everyone around us has gone home, and the barmen are washing up the glasses.
I glance at my watch. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s midnight,’ the barman answers, clearly eager for us to leave.
‘Whoops. We’ve chatted a bit too much.’ He grins with a cheeky wink.
I don’t actually know his name. I should have asked it, but the longer it went without me knowing, the weirder it felt to ask.
But my God, have we talked about everything else. About random stuff really, nothing important. Just shows we like to watch on Netflix and other such drivel like our favourite Disney films (mine is Beauty & the Beast, his is The Jungle Book), but we’ve just kind of gelled. There hasn’t been one awkward silence, and I’ve felt relaxed the whole time. Almost as if I’m chatting to a friend. A seriously hot friend that I may want to rip the clothes off.
I think he’s attracted to me too. Every now and then he’ll touch my thigh when he’s laughing at something I said. Yeh! He thinks I’m funny, and I’m not even trying to be! I really hope he asks for a second date and not a one-night bunk-up. Not that I’d be strong enough to resist him.
‘Shall I walk you home?’ he offers with a polite smile.
Ah, bunk up it is.
‘Okay,’ I nod, my lady bits tingling.
He stands and takes my coat from the back of the stool, opening it up for me. It’s such a cute gesture. I put my arms into it, stopping for a second to inhale his addictive scent. His hands stroke my neck from behind for a split second before he untucks my hair. It sends a shiver down my spine. Shit, I hope he didn’t notice.
He puts on his coat and offers me his arm, like an old school gentleman. I laugh because I can already tell he’s anything but.
We walk hurriedly down the street, the crisp December air whipping against my cheeks.
‘Shit, it’s freezing,’ he says, pulling me closer as we walk.
‘I’ve heard we might even get a white Christmas,’ I grin. I bloody love Christmas. Even now, walking home, everything looks cheerier when in the glow of Christmas lights.
‘Don’t tell me, you love Christmas?’
I drop my eyes in a flush of embarrassment. ‘I already have my tree up,’ I admit with a smile.
He stares back at me, jaw dropped. ‘What? It’s the 2nd of December!’
‘Exactly!’ I giggle. ‘I don’t get the people that don’t put it up until a few days before. What’s the point in that?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t see the point in any of it. I don’t decorate at home.’
I stop walking and turn to him. ‘WHAT? You don’t put a tree up?’
‘Nah,’ he shrugs. ‘Why would I? Christmas is all about parties after work and boring family gatherings at their houses.’
‘I suppose,’ I shrug, looking away, imagining a bare flat somewhere. ‘It just seems sad.’
He snorts. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not sad. Although you probably are, getting all excited.’ He digs me in the ribs to show me he’s joking.
I roll my eyes. ‘Whatever.’
Before I know it, we’re outside my first floor flat. How’s this going to go? Is he going to invite himself in? Or should I? No. No, I won’t invite him in. I’m just going to go with the flow for once. Stop over analysing things.
‘This is me,’ I say with a shy smile.
‘I can tell,’ he says with a comical face, looking up at the fairy lights wrapped around the wrought iron balcony.
‘It looks cute. You can’t deny that.’
He smiles, kicking up a bit of dirt with his shoe as he faces me.
‘So,’ he begins, clearing his throat,
‘I had a great time with you tonight. But there’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ I ask breathlessly.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Oh!’ I snort. God, stop snorting! ‘I’m Florence, but my friends call me Flo.’
He places out his hand for me to shake. ‘Nice to meet you, Florence. I’m Hugh.’
Hugh. It really suits him. I place my hand in his and shake it. It all feels so formal after the evening we’ve had. He surprises me by using it to pull me close to him. So, close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.
I look up to him nervously. The friendliness in his eyes has been replaced by hunger. Oh God, I want him. Does he want me too?
As if knowing I’m uncertain, he tucks my hand into the warmth of his coat, uses his other hand to stroke my cheek and then his eyes twinkle with warmth. He lowers his lips onto mine, and quickly I feel lightheaded with lust. His lips feel soft and firm at the same time. I hang my arms around his neck. His silky soft skin is the stuff of fantasies. His tongue explores, but not in a conquering way. In more of an inquisitive, make you weak at the knees, way.
His lips finally pull away from mine, barely a breath apart. For two fierce beats of my heart, we don’t move.
‘Wow,’ I utter out loud.
‘Impressed, are you?’ he asks, the edges of his mouth creeping into a smile.
‘Ah, I’ve had better,’ I joke, already aching to touch his lips again.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone, handing it to me. ‘Here, put your number in here.’
I quickly put it in and then hand it back. I get my key out, eager to get inside. Without him wrapped round me it’s bloody freezing.
His eyes fix affectionately on me. ‘I’ll call you.’ He reluctantly lets me go.
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