saw how thoughtful and respectful and lovely he was to her, and how important that was. Much more important than whether he could put her up in a luxury pad by the Thames and shower her with gifts or not.
‘Woah!’ he pulled back, eyes slightly glazed, hair damp from the drizzle that had crept under the umbrella. ‘What was that?’ He seemed oblivious to the sparkling multi- coloured fireworks filling the London skyline, a dazzling array of greens and purples and oranges lighting up the darkness.
‘A New Year kiss.’ She said impatiently, rolling her eyes. She thought it was her who was tipsy, not him.
‘What did it mean though?’ He looked hopeful and scared at the same time. Some of his question was obscured by the deafening pops of fireworks but she understood him anyway.
‘It means I’m ready,’ she said, ‘not ready for anything heavy, or quick. But ready to try.’
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, ‘Are you sure? There’s no rush.’
She stared up into his face, studied his freckles, the way his blond hair curled slightly on his collar, the face that got more attractive every time she looked at it. ‘I am sure,’ she nodded.
It might be the cocktails talking or it might be the closure with Christian, so she could stop wondering if she’d done the right thing. It might even be what was in the air with the dawning of 2015, a hint of promise, a dash of new beginnings, a pinch of hope.
Or it could just be that of all the people she’d had in her life over the last few months, he made her laugh the most. And that’s what made her certain she was making the right decision.
‘Come on,’ she wriggled around so she could snuggle into his side, ‘let’s watch the fireworks. It would be a shame to waste them. The colour-bursts are stunning.’
‘You’re stunning,’ he whispered in her ear.
She shivered, but not from the cold, slid him a sideways look and smiled slowly. ‘Do you know what Zack?’
‘What?’ He hugged her closer, his body heat transferring to her.
‘I know it might sound weird, seeing as I kind of came here on a date with my ex, but I’m really glad that I celebrated New Year and the start of 2015 at The Ritz.’
They both ahhhed as a starburst of white showered down towards them, illuminating their grinning faces.
‘So am I, weird girl,’ he agreed, squeezing her tight, ‘so am I.’
Now
Leo Miller still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up standing alone on Primrose Hill on the most romantic day of the year, both hoping and dreading his Valentine would show up. The girl he’d thought would be a friend but had turned out to be so much more. The girl he owed the truth to, instead of the version she thought she knew.
If she came.
He stood at the top of the panoramic park, the London skyline sandwiched between a bright blue sky and leafy trees. Rolling green grass flowed below him, intersected by numerous paths lined with Victorian-looking lamps. He could make out all the main landmarks in the distance, no longer needing the long, narrow metal plaque on the circular brow of the hill to read the city. He’d brought too many classes here over the last five years to show them the glorious sights of their capital. He knew this skyline off by heart.
Left to right was the spire of St Mark’s Church, the high-rise, closely huddled towers of Canary Wharf, the dark curved outline of The Gherkin and lower, crouching St Paul’s Cathedral, the soaring sharp-edged Shard. Further over was the pinnacle of the BT Tower (plumper at the top), the rounded upper half of the London Eye wheel then over to Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, Crystal Palace Tower and smaller, tucked away on the edge, Westminster Cathedral.
Shoving his freezing hands into his coat pockets, he shivered in the crisp February sunshine. It was a beautiful Saturday, though cold, and gusts of wind shook the last of the leaves that had somehow survived autumn and winter from the trees. Hard to believe it would be spring soon. Happy, noisy families with pushchairs and plump, eager toddlers on reins panted their way up the concrete paths, and dog walkers rambled across the amazingly healthy green grass, some of them throwing tennis balls for their canine friends. A couple wandered past hand in hand, bundled up in scarves and woolly hats but not looking like they felt the frigid temperature at all, too wrapped up in each other. Cars zipped past, making their way in and out of Camden Town. At the bottom of the hill was Primrose Hill Bridge, spanning Regent’s Canal. If she didn’t come he’d walk down there, take a tube to Oxford Street and distract himself by trekking around the shops.
He checked his watch. Five to twelve. He’d asked to meet at noon, but had wanted to get here early.
As bitter as the weather was, he’d prepared a mini-hamper filled with champagne and gourmet foods, had thought they could sit on one of the benches and share a feast and the view, the backdrop they’d met against. It was probably a crazy idea given the near sub-zero temperatures but he’d thought it would be romantic and had limited the madness by also bringing a rucksack stuffed with two blankets, some hand warmers, and two bobble hats as well as panda ear-muffs for comedy value. He’d once joked he’d need to wear them to block out her constant chatter, a tongue-in-cheek comment given how hard it could be to get her to open up. Still, with time and patience, he’d got to know her over the past four weeks.
And when you dug under that shy, sometimes fragile exterior, once she forgot what had happened to her, how she now looked or thought she looked, her smile could light up the whole park. You could see shades of the intelligent, outgoing girl she’d been before and would be again. Since that first meeting he’d known what she needed, apart from a friend. To see and believe that although she might never be the same person as before the accident, she’d become someone stronger and more capable because of what she’d been through. And that whatever she might think or feel, she was still attractive to the opposite sex; love wasn’t something that was forever out of reach if she didn’t want it to be. Hopefully he’d been showing her those things over the last month. What he hadn’t realised until it was too late was that she’d been unwittingly showing him something along the way too. How to fall in love.
Shit. Double Shit.
He would never forgive himself if the challenge his friends had set for him – to find a date for Valentine’s Day and finally get a love life – had ruined what little self-confidence she’d built, as well as their friendship. Because if being friends was the only thing he could have of her, he would accept it in a heartbeat.
Swivelling around, searching the numerous paths for her tall figure, he blew out a long, slow breath. He was the only single person here without a dog. On Valentine’s Day. Talk about sad. Ironic too. All those years with no-one he’d wanted to spend it with, so wasn’t bothered by covering for colleagues who wanted to leave early, and now there was someone, and the day cupid was famous for was actually on a weekend…and she wasn’t here.
The question was, would she be? A few more minutes and he would know.
Before
Georgiana Dunn yelped as a wriggling weight landed on her chest, wrenching her from the foggy doze she’d been having cocooned in her duvet. Instinctively bringing both hands up to protect her face, her fingers encountered the scarring around what used to be her right eye. She flinched, placing her hands against the covers instead.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You should be used to it by now.’ It wasn’t as if the damage could be forgotten during the day either because the itchy, annoying eye patch she wore dug lines into her forehead and cheekbone. It also did a crap job of covering the scar running from her cheekbone down towards