by Leah Ashton
But then she was refocusing on him, and the moment was gone as if it had never happened. ‘So, once I get rid of this night-job nightmare, I’m hoping to finally get to explore London. So at the moment you’re basically my only friend, as my housemates seem convinced I’m bordering on elderly at my advanced age—’
‘I don’t like pubs,’ he repeated.
April blinked. ‘Really?’ she asked again, only now seeming to realise that he hadn’t elaborated on that. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t like people. And pubs are full of them.’
‘No,’ April said simply. ‘Not true.’
‘It is true,’ Hugh said, with deliberate patience and the hint of a smile. ‘They are full with lots of people.’
She shook her head. ‘No, the bit about you not liking people. You like me.’
‘You’re not everyone,’ he said.
His gaze slid over her as he reminded himself exactly how not everyone April Spencer was. She’d apologised when she’d arrived for her—as she’d described them—‘casual clothes’. But personally Hugh thought she looked incredible, in skinny jeans that highlighted the curve of her hips and a colourfully abstract printed silk blouse that skimmed her breasts and revealed her lovely neck and collarbones. She’d painted her lips a classic red and her eyes were smoky and...
Narrowed.
Hugh sighed. ‘Okay. I don’t like people I don’t know. Or hanging out with people I don’t know in one, dark cramped place.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Then how do you meet people?’
‘Women?’ he clarified.
She might have blushed, but the lighting meant he couldn’t be absolutely certain.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Or men. Anyone. Just people.’
‘Women—except you—I meet online. I prefer to set my expectations up-front, and there is no better way than in writing. And as for new mates—well, I’ve got friends from uni I’m still in touch with. That’s enough. And I cycle with a group that lives locally, but that’s not a social thing.’
‘I like meeting new people,’ April said, not surprising Hugh at all. ‘Everyone has a story to tell, you know? Although I’m close to my sisters, so I’ve never really gone out of my way to find new close friends.’
She paused, looking thoughtful.
‘I hadn’t thought about dating yet—or online dating, I mean. When I met Evan we communicated with folded-up notes via our schoolfriends—not smartphones. But, yes, I can see the appeal of online. Seems very efficient for identifying deal-breakers. Although,’ she said, leaning forward slightly, ‘I’ve always kind of liked the idea of meeting someone random at a bar or in a pub. You know—the intrigue of it. Discovering little bits and pieces about them, revealing little bits about you, working out if you actually like each other or not. I never got to do that because I was with Evan since high school.’
‘But it could be a total waste of everyone’s time,’ Hugh said. ‘The odds aren’t high that you’ll meet the person of your dreams one random night at a random pub.’
‘Why not?’ April said as their meals were served. April had ordered gnocchi, garnished with thin slices of parmesan. In front of Hugh was placed a steak. ‘Don’t you believe that some people are destined to meet?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘If you want to meet Mr Perfect and you find him at the pub, that’s great. But it’s just luck—not destiny. Online dating takes the luck out of it.’
April looked sceptical. ‘I don’t know about that. Perfect on paper is different to perfect in person. You can’t guarantee chemistry.’
Hugh sliced off a small piece of steak, smothering it in mashed potato and mushroom sauce. ‘In my experience the matching algorithm of the app I use does a pretty good job. And it also means that when there is chemistry it’s with someone who wants the same things as you. There isn’t much point having great chemistry if you both want completely different things.’
There was a long pause as they both ate, and April’s concentration was aimed at her dinner plate.
‘And you don’t want a relationship ever? Why?’ she asked.
He swallowed, barely tasting the delicious food. ‘Isn’t that a bit personal for a first date?’
April glanced up and looked determined. ‘I told you that my husband left me because he didn’t love me enough. We’ve been plenty personal.’
‘“Enough”?’
She hadn’t mentioned that word before, and he watched as she winced—but quickly hid it—when he repeated it.
She shrugged and put on a smile. ‘Our love wasn’t like in movies and books, apparently. I didn’t elicit that level of emotion in him, it would seem. He met someone else who did.’
Her words were light, but he could see it still hurt her to say them.
‘What a—’ Hugh began, but then stopped. What was he going to say? What a tosser? For not loving April more?
He couldn’t say that. After all, he was no better. He wasn’t offering her anything: not a relationship, and certainly not love.
If her ex-husband was an idiot, what was he?
A realist. Not someone caught up in imaginary stories and Hollywood fairytales.
But he knew he didn’t want to hurt April. So she deserved the truth.
‘I’m happier on my own,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel any urge to share my life with anyone.’
‘But you date?’ she prompted. ‘You just said that you meet women online.’
He nodded and reached for his bourbon. ‘That has absolutely nothing to do with sharing my life.’
‘Ah,’ April said. ‘So it’s just about the sex.’
Hugh coughed on his drink. But her directness made him smile. ‘Well, I also just like women, and spending time in the company of women.’
‘Just not in pubs, and you never share any of your life with them?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That pretty much sums it up.’
April tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her gaze drifted across his hair, his nose, his lips, then downwards across his off-white open-necked shirt, along the shape of his arms to his wrist and his heavy, stainless steel watch.
She met his gaze again. ‘You’re weird,’ she said.
Hugh laughed. ‘I’ve been told that before.’ He shrugged now. ‘But it’s who I am. Take it or leave it.’
He’d said that casually, with no real intent. But he could see April turning it over in her mind. Really he should be turning it over in his mind. She was clearly emotionally vulnerable, for all her brave words.
He believed her when she said she wasn’t ready for a relationship. But she definitely wasn’t ready to be hurt again.
And he’d hurt women before, despite all his signposting and expectation-setting. With those women he’d reconciled the situation with an almost ‘buyer beware’ lack of emotion. Although of course he hadn’t liked it that he’d caused anyone pain. In his quest to avoid the complications of relationships the last thing he wanted was to cause the kind of despair he’d observed in his mother’s many failed relationships.
But with April—he’d kissed her before telling her any of this. He’d invited her out for dinner before she’d had a chance to catch her breath after that crazy hot kiss in the kitchen.
She’d be smart to walk away. He should walk away. This was already far more complicated than any other date he’d been on.
But he didn’t.
And she didn’t.
‘Tell me about your company,’ she said, ‘What’s actually involved in creating a new app? I’ve always wondered...’
And so they changed the subject, and the conversation became as pleasant and robust as on every other date he’d had at this restaurant.
For a short while.
Then it became easy and rambl
ing, as April told him about a camping trip to northern Western Australia with her sisters as a child, and he told her about how he’d discovered cycling a few years ago and now had seen more of the UK on his bike than he’d ever thought possible. They talked about nothing serious—certainly nothing as serious as divorce or relationships.
As their desserts arrived, and April started to tell him about an amazing frozen dessert she’d had once in a food court in Singapore, she realised the time.
‘Oh, crap—I’m late,’ she said urgently.
And then she was up, her bag slung over her shoulder and her coat over her arm, leaving her half-eaten dessert. She was a few steps away from the table before he knew what was happening.
A moment later his hand was on her elbow, slowing her.
Then he kissed her.
It was supposed to be quick—he knew she was late. But it wasn’t.
They both lingered. It wasn’t a passionate kiss—they were standing in the middle of a restaurant and he hadn’t forgotten that. But his lips tasted hers for long moments, and then their gazes tangled wordlessly after their mouths had parted.
‘I need to go,’ she whispered.
So Hugh returned to his table to eat his parfait alone.
* * *
The next day was Saturday.
April had slept in, and the late-rising December sun had already been in the sky for at least an hour.
Her roommate lay curled up in a multi-coloured duvet bundle on her bed, her slow, deep breathing indicating she was still sound asleep.
Quietly April retrieved her phone from where it was charging, and propped herself up in bed to scroll through her Instagram and Facebook feeds.
The ankle boots had been a hit, and she had hundreds of ‘likes’ and comments. She replied to a few before opening up her instant messenging account, which had a little red circle on it indicating she’d missed a heap of messages.
All from her sisters.
They’d caught up for lunch in Perth while she’d been sleeping, and had sent a photo of them both—and baby Nate—sitting cross-legged on a patchwork quilt at King’s Park, towering trees and a playground in the background.
Mila: Wish you were here!
Neither of her sisters was currently online, but April typed a reply anyway:
April: I miss you all so much!
Her roommate rolled over in bed. April had nothing against Fiona personally, but she hated not having her own space.
She started a new message.
April: I have so much to tell you. Something happened with Mr Mysterious...
But then she stopped and deleted everything she’d just written.
It felt...too soon.
For what?
She put her phone down and headed for the bathroom before the rest of her late-rising housemates woke up.
Under the sting of hot water she closed her eyes, remembering that kiss in the restaurant.
She’d spent a lot of time remembering it as she’d unloaded pallets at the supermarket and stacked shelves until one a.m.
For some reason it was that last kiss that she kept replaying. It hadn’t been as sexy as their first kiss but it had been... Unexpected. And differently unexpected from that first remarkable unexpected kiss in the kitchen.
Because she knew how intensely private Hugh was. Yet he’d kissed her in a room full of strangers.
What did it mean?
Nothing.
She squeezed face-wash onto her palm and scrubbed her face much harder than necessary.
No. He’d explained that when he dated he was clear about what he wanted. That was all it was.
A few minutes later, with a towel wrapped around her, she made a phone call. After all, she could be clear about what she wanted, too.
‘Hugh Bennell,’ he answered, in his amazing low and sexy voice.
‘I know that I was only supposed to use this number in an emergency,’ April said, remembering his instructions on the day they’d met. ‘But this is an emergency.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, sharply.
‘I need someone to have all-day breakfast with me at the best all-day breakfast place in London.’
She could sense his smile. ‘And where is that?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ll look it up and let you know where to meet me?’
‘Done,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’
April was smiling as she typed Best all-day breakfast London into her phone.
* * *
Based on reviews, and reasonable proximity to where they both lived, April had chosen a simple corner café in Clerkenwell that had red gingham curtains on the windows and white-tiled walls inside covered with black-framed old newspaper articles.
She ordered coffee while she was waiting for Hugh, and spent way too much time trying to select a table—where to sit if your date doesn’t like random people?—before just grabbing a table by the window. She still felt very much like a tourist, and welcomed the opportunity to overlook a classic London streetscape. Hugh could always suggest they move if he wasn’t comfortable.
While she waited she scrolled through the remaining photos from her shoot back in Perth, trying to work out which to use next. She only had five more left, so if she really stretched it out maybe five weeks before she needed to sort out what she was doing.
Or at the very least reveal her new hair colour.
Although even now she was losing followers—and definitely losing engagement. Her research had shown that optimum post frequency for follower growth was, on average, around one point five posts a day. Since her move to London she was down to about a post every two days. And, as she was rationing the shoot photos, very few had her physically in them—or at least all of her—and she knew that photos of her coffee, or her feet, or her fingernails, or the book she was reading, or shots of the sunset—thanks, Carly—were never going to be high-performing posts.
It wasn’t great. Not for her ‘April Molyneux brand’—for want of a better phrase—and certainly not for the foundation. Her follower numbers were critical when it came to enticing brands to work with her. She couldn’t afford for those numbers to continue to drop.
‘Blonde?’
It was Hugh—behind her. Absorbed in her phone, and her thoughts, April hadn’t heard him approach.
‘Oh!’ she said, automatically pushing the button to make her phone screen black. ‘Hi! Is this table okay? I know there are people around, but it’s such a nice view...’
She was talking fast, mentally kicking herself for letting him see the photos.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, pulling out a chair. ‘It’s just crowded places that I don’t like. This is fine.’ He gestured towards her phone. ‘Can I have a look? I can’t imagine you blonde.’
April couldn’t think of any plausible reason not to show Hugh. Reluctantly, she handed the phone to him. ‘It was just a silly photo shoot that a friend did with me. It was supposed to make me feel better after Evan.’
That excuse worked, as the photos had been taken in different outfits, and all over Perth.
Hugh nodded as he flicked through the images, and April prayed that she wouldn’t receive a message or an email or notification—because if he inadvertently opened up an app her real name would be plastered all over her social media accounts.
But thankfully he simply handed her phone back after what was probably less than a minute.
‘Blonde is nice,’ he said, ‘but I like you brunette.’
So did April. Colouring her hair had been more symbolic than a fashion statement, but she was so glad she’d done it. Her natural hair colour was a pale brownish blonde, but she’d been highlighting it for years. The dark chocolate colour she had now was flattering—and strikingly differe
nt. But then, wasn’t she? Sitting here, in this café, watching London pass by, she didn’t feel anything like the woman she’d been before Evan left her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and slid a menu across the table towards him.
She already knew what she was going to order, and she needed a moment to think.
She’d just lied to Hugh. A white lie, possibly—because, technically, it had been a photo shoot. Just not only for herself. But for her million followers.
Did it matter?
Last night at dinner, despite a few near misses, it hadn’t been too difficult to avoid revealing who she was. Because, really, her family’s fortune wasn’t relevant first date conversation.
And it wasn’t as if she was hiding the important stuff: he knew she was getting divorced, he knew a bit about her family—skimming over the details—and now he knew she’d happily eat breakfast for every meal.
And—really—did she owe him any more than that? In this relationshipless, life-sharing no-go zone, did her billion-dollar trust fund, million social media followers and socialite lifestyle make any difference? Especially when he thought she was a penniless backpacker?
Yes, said her gut.
No, reasoned her brain.
‘I know what I want,’ Hugh said, nodding at his menu.
In the midday sun that streamed through the window he squinted a little. He even did that attractively, somehow. And with his stubble-less jaw—he’d clearly shaved—he looked so darkly handsome that April’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Do you?’ he asked.
‘Mmm...’ she said. Then blinked, and swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said more firmly. ‘I do.’
He went to stand, but April put her hand on his arm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll order. This is my treat.’
So she went to the counter to order breakfast that she really couldn’t afford, waiting in line behind a couple. They were older than April, and looked blissfully happy: the man’s hand was wrapped loosely around the woman’s waist, his thumb hooked into her belt loop.
April glanced back at their table and went still when she realised Hugh was watching her. His gaze was intense. And appreciative. It made her feel hot and liquid inside.