by Emma Jackson
‘Sure. I’ve heard all about you. Popular with the chicks back in London, aren’t you? But women over here are different. More confident. You’ll need more than a pretty face and some genteel manners – they’re after a real man.’
I schooled my features to hide my concern about the reputation that had followed me across the pond. Who had been talking about me and what had they been saying?
Admittedly, I’d never had problems attracting women, and I liked to date – but I wasn’t the only man who showed no interest in settling down.
Maybe now I was in my thirties it was becoming more noticeable that I never held down a relationship for long. It was a decision I’d made when I was young enough that an aversion to commitment seemed normal, I suppose. And it would have been fair to say that I’d indulged in a quick succession of flings after Mum died.
I hadn’t intended to do it – I certainly wasn’t out on the pull all the time – but there had been a comfort in slipping into the rhythm of it when I met someone with a similar desire for the simplicity of flirting, dating, and sex. They were comfortable interactions, exciting enough to divert, casual enough not to get into any heavy conversation. Myself, Nick and my nan had all picked a poison to try and survive those first few harrowing months of grief and then had to claw ourselves back out of it again. I supposed if a reputation as a ladies’ man was the extent of the damage I’d caused it wasn’t so bad; it could have been worse.
‘Some might argue that a “real man” is a toxic and out-dated concept,’ I countered.
He laughed. ‘Yeah, some people are snowflakes. Listen, why don’t we make this interesting? You and me, we’ll each try our best moves on them and see who wins.’
‘Wins?’
‘Secures a date – or something more exciting,’ he elaborated, as though I was questioning the rules of the game and not the fact that he was suggesting we play it at all, like a pair of randy students instead of the grown men we were. Supposedly. ‘Unless you’re worried that you’ll lose…or that you’ll upset the boss lady.’
‘Upset Georgina?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sure she won’t be interested.’
‘You know she’s got her eye on you,’ he said slyly, swigging his drink and smacking his lips. ‘The question is, are you gonna play it safe and keep in her good books, or take up my challenge?’
‘I tell you what. I’ll order myself a drink and some food while you go try your luck and then, if you have no success, I’ll take a turn at embarrassing myself in front of your American women too. That should keep everyone happy.’
‘Oh, now that’s fighting talk.’ He grinned, too white teeth flashing in an orange-hued tan. ‘You’re on.’
‘This is fine, right, Noelle?’ Kaylee said as she wiggled her tiny bottom around getting comfortable on the bar stool.
‘Yeah, I guess it’s okay.’ I finished adjusting the buckle on my sandal – they were driving me crazy today – and hopped up on the seat opposite her.
‘I guess? Lady, you got some high standards if you think this bar is only “okay”.’ She shook her head and unhooked her purse, sliding it next to the tea light in the tiny lantern in the centre of the table.
‘It’s gorgeous. But it’s disappointing when you can’t get a seat outside because it’s full of…’ I circled my finger like a magic wand, searching for the word.
‘Yuppies?’
‘Yuppies?’ I laughed. ‘Have you been watching those old British sitcoms again?’
‘They’re research.’
‘There are a multitude of things we both call research, which we know are not research.’
‘You make a fair point. I’m going to grab us two of their most outrageous cocktails and then you are gonna spill it.’
‘Sound like a waste of good alcohol.’
‘You know I don’t mean the cocktail – I’m talking about your edit letter. You’re gonna get it all off your chest. I’m here to be your negative talk trash receptacle, okay?’
‘Doesn’t sound like a good night out for you.’
‘I’ll be getting very drunk in a swanky bar; don’t you worry about me.’ She crossed over to the bar and I turned my attention to the window. I didn’t really mind all the “yuppies” – I had nothing against them in particular, it just set me on edge feeling underdressed and having to count the nickels and dimes on my night out when everyone else in the bar was splashing their cash to impress each other.
The sunset was a last bright flare of orange and pink, rising up to a purple sky behind the buildings. I let my shoulders drop, listening to the murmur of conversation in the background, the low music, barely audible beneath the voices. I was willing to bet Kaylee was right. This was just what I needed. To shake off the terrible, brain-clawing panic and get some distance. This place was a million miles from my poky, overheated apartment and Kaylee was great for this kind of crisis. She reminded me of my friend Beth, who ran a hotel with her mom in England. Optimistic without being annoying. Inclined to look for a solution but not in a way that made you feel like an idiot. The perfect antidote to my occasional bursts of cynicism.
‘Two of their Grasshoppers with a twist to start.’ Kaylee set a tall rounded glass in front of me. The liquid was spearmint green and there was a candy cane sticking out the top of it.
‘Do I want to know what’s in this?’
‘Probably not. Drink up then and tell me what’s going on. I’ve got this horrible feeling there’s a nightmare jock at the bar who’s gonna come over soon.’
‘Oh Lord, no. What makes you think that?’
‘He wanted to pay for our drinks.’
‘You didn’t let him?’ I paused before taking a sip of the creamy cocktail.
‘Of course not! It was tempting though, ’cause if we have more than two, one of us is going to have to sell a kidney.’ She pulled out the little candy cane to suck on the end of it. ‘Right. Tell me, tell me.’
‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, ‘it’s all rubbish. Everything needs work. I basically need to start again from scratch, I’ve got less than a month to do it and I don’t know where to start.’
‘You’re catastrophising.’
‘Oh, without a doubt. It’s one of my natural talents.’
‘What’s the main issue? There has to be something that’s skewing the whole plot or sending the characters in the wrong direction. What doesn’t feel right to you?’
I nodded, spinning my glass slowly. ‘It’s the love story. It stinks, Kay. I don’t know how to do it. And…’
‘And what?’
‘Patti thinks I made the guy in the last book too appealing. Poor, dependable Kit just seems boring now.’
‘Oooh, you mean that sexy womaniser you had as a suspect? I remember him.’ She tapped her lips with the candy cane, a far-off look in her eyes. ‘He was gooood.’
Handsome-as-sin men were good in fiction, especially when you could engineer embarrassing fates for them. I’d spent far too much of my youth pining after the best-looking boys in school, waiting for them to notice chubby, freckly, bookish me and when one finally did, nothing good came of it. I’d learnt my lesson about men who’d been disproportionately gifted in the looks department – they were generally lacking in the morals department as a result. I limited my contact with handsome men to admiring from afar these days. I hadn’t been out with a Type A, as my family would refer to them, for many a moon.
I shrugged. ‘He was fun to write.’
‘I’ll bet.’ She bit her tongue gently and then gave me a grin full of mischief. ‘Why don’t you bring him back?’
‘How is that gonna help me get Kit and Charmaine to their happy-ever-after?’ I shook my head and took a big swallow of the cocktail. The richness of the cream made the blast of mint sneak up on me. It was like having my brain blow-dried. ‘I can’t switch her love interest to James. That would be a really disappointing turn of events for the readers who are actually following my series and rooting for Kitmaine.’
; ‘I know. I’m not suggesting that. But maybe the rival would help up the tension? Perhaps then Kit can put in a bit more effort, show her that he’s not what she thinks. Like, err…Sandy in Grease.’
‘He should put on some black stretchy pants, smoke some cigarettes and perm his hair?’
She giggled. ‘Metaphorically speaking, yeah.’
‘I guess it’s an idea,’ I said grudgingly. ‘I’m really not sure I want to reintroduce James though. Or maybe I just don’t want to redo anything. Maybe I don’t want to be a writer anymore. It’s too hard.’ She outright laughed at me when I said that, which was fair because there was no way I could ever be anything but a writer. ‘Where do I start, Kay? Help me, please,’ I whimpered and rested my chin on my hand.
‘You need a hero, little lady?’ a male voice drawled near my shoulder. I slanted my eyes to the side and sighed.
‘Wow. That didn’t take long,’ I muttered.
‘For God to answer your prayer and send me?’ A stocky man with cropped hair, sun-bleached at the tips, took up the space between me and Kaylee. I’d learnt enough from my dad about reading people to be able to tell immediately from his dominant body language and over-groomed appearance that this man was the nightmare jock Kaylee had been talking about. If misogyny wasn’t his middle name, narcissism probably would be.
‘For two women enjoying a night out to have it interrupted by a man,’ I corrected him.
‘You didn’t sound like you were enjoying it.’
‘And yet, I was still having more fun than now.’
‘Well ain’t you sassy.’ He looked down at me and puffed out his chest. ‘Or should I say nasty.’
I widened my eyes and looked at Kaylee, imploring her to intervene before I stabbed him with my candy cane.
‘Look, we’re not interested in anyone joining us, okay? I’m sure any other time you’d be great company,’ she blatantly lied, ‘but we came here to have a quiet chat about some work issues. That’s it.’
‘So, you’re saying that on another night, you might like to hook up?’ All his attention was on her now and I felt bad for putting her in the firing line. This was the problem with letting men like him down softly. This was also the problem with relying on fate to manoeuvre you into the path of the man of your dreams; you had to find your way past all the chauvinists first.
I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention back again. ‘We’re saying: no thanks, leave us alone.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ He turned to me so abruptly I recoiled and would’ve toppled off my stool but for a firm, warm hand pressing into the middle of my back. Just long enough to for me to regain my balance but not long enough for me to pull away in horror at some perv touching me. It wasn’t pervy, just helpful, and said hand immediately moved from preventing my fall to blocking the gaze of the rabid jock by resting on the table in front of me. My defender was clad in a pale blue shirt, only the back of his dark head and a sliver of jaw visible from the way he was standing in front of me.
‘Logan, let’s leave these women to their drinks. My food’s arrived and I haven’t said hello to anyone else from work yet.’ His accent was British, his voice smoother than Manuka honey and…familiar.
I craned my head around on an angle like a demented owl, trying to see his face. It couldn’t be…
Logan set his jaw. ‘I was getting somewhere with—’
‘No. You really weren’t.’ Mystery British Guy interrupted Logan and clapped him on the shoulder in a way that loaned good nature to the contradiction. Here was someone who knew how to manage people. He was the taller of the two and although not beefy, he held himself so straight, so poised, he radiated confidence, but I could sense tension there too – and no wonder as he was challenging his meat-headed friend in front of us. If they were friends… They struck me as an odd couple to be out on the prowl with each other.
Logan shrugged him off but moved away to the bar in a sulk, without another word to us. Mystery British Guy watched him go and threw a brief glance and an apology in our direction as he started to move away. ‘Sorry about my colleague’s behaviour. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.’ Clearly, we’d taken up too much of his time already.
He disappeared into the crowd of customers waiting at the bar before I got a chance to see his face properly, but my heart was skipping along. God, I really, really thought it might be him…
‘That was a shame,’ Kaylee commented.
‘Huh?’ I stopped craning my neck to see over the crowd and gave her back my attention. ‘The unpleasant interruption?’
‘Yeah, but also that the cute British guy didn’t stick around.’ She folded her arms on the table and leaned closer to me. ‘You liked him, right?’
‘No, that’s not it. I think I know him, but I didn’t get a chance to see his face properly.’
‘Who d’you think he is?’
‘Stephen, my friend’s boyfriend’s brother.’ A thrill of excitement and dread zoomed down my spine as I said his name. ‘I met him at Christmas when I went to stay in England.’
‘Are you sure? He didn’t say anything. Wouldn’t he have said “hi”?’
‘I’m not sure he’d be happy to see me.’
‘Why? What did you do?’ Her eyebrows lifted.
‘What makes you think I did anything?’ I batted my eyelashes innocently.
‘Noelle. C’mon. I know you. What happened?’
‘He tried to break up my friend and his brother.’
‘No way, what for?’
‘My friend – you’ve heard me talk about Beth? – thinks it’s because he was being protective and suspected her of taking advantage of Nick. She’s got a good heart. I’m more inclined to think there was a touch of jealousy and control-freak personality motivating him.’
‘Wow. This is juicy. So, you got involved in some way?’
‘Yeah. He’d given me his number, but I used it to track down his brother for Beth by pretending I was going to go over to his place on New Year’s for a night of passion.’ My belly did a little flop as I remembered how I’d felt when he gave me his number. Just like when Justin from the football team asked me out in high school. Of course my ego was desperate to believe a gorgeous man was genuinely interested in me – but now I was older and wiser, I’d known it was because I was the only other eligible female available at the hotel. ‘I gave the address to Beth so she could find her soon-to-be boyfriend and they could reconcile and live happily ever after.’
‘Oh, Noelle.’ She bit her lip. ‘You got him with a double whammy.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I allowed myself a smug little smile. ‘Undermined his evil schemes plus struck a blow to his ego.’
‘I still don’t think he could’ve recognised you just now though – if it was him. I mean, why would he have intervened if he was pissed at you for standing him up?’
‘Good point. Maybe it wasn’t him. Or maybe he just forgot what I looked like. It was six months ago, and he gives his number out to a lot of women, I’m sure.’ Beth had told me told me plenty of stories about Stephen’s female visitors when she’d been staying the night with Nick at Stephen’s apartment, how she’d got used to a different woman slinking past them at breakfast time every other week. Exactly the type of behaviour I expected from a man as good-looking and arrogant as him.
I tapped my candy cane on the edge of my glass, ignoring the little twinge in my chest at the idea that he could really have forgotten me. It hadn’t exactly been a normal kind of Christmas. Maybe he hadn’t been particularly attracted to me – I’d been just one more face in the catalogue of females he thought he had to choose from – but the stuff that went on would surely have made it memorable? I mean, at one point we ended up driving a pregnant woman through a blizzard. He’d been pretty helpful that night actually.
Stephen was so hard to predict. I’d got this undercurrent as I spent more time with him at the hotel, that there was something else going on beneath the surface than a self-satisfie
d banker with a silver tongue. But then he’d gone and messed things up with Beth and Nick and, like I’d said to Kaylee, the jury was still out on his motivations for that. I really would have loved to figure it out. I hated leaving mysteries unsolved.
‘We should find out for definite if it’s him,’ I announced. ‘It’ll drive me mad wondering.’
‘Okay. But if he’s with his horrible friend you’re not going to join them, are you?’
‘Oh no – we don’t want to anger the beast again, do we? We’ll just go for a wander out on the roof garden to see if we can find a spot to enjoy our drinks. If we happen to walk past and get a good look at him that’ll be a bonus.’
We gathered our purses and went out through the wide-open double doors onto the roof garden. All the tables were crowded but they were spaced out and surrounded by long, leafy plants and glowing lanterns, creating little pockets of privacy. The height of the surrounding buildings gave it the feeling of a fishbowl but in a nice way – it was good to feel small. It made my problems feel smaller too. We linked arms and walked slowly down the central aisle between the square tables next to the building and the sofas with their steamer-trunk coffee tables lining the edge of the roof, scanning for a spare seat.
‘He’s over there I think, in the corner, beige sofa, surrounded by many, many yuppies,’ Kaylee murmured to me and we carried on meandering, getting closer so I might be able to make out his features properly.
A tall man with dark hair and a light blue shirt was sitting on an armchair, one ankle resting on his knee, his back to the amazing view behind him, seemingly engaged in conversation with the other people in the group. As he reached for his drink he looked over. Straight at us. There was nowhere to take cover unless we dived into the shrubbery – but I wasn’t inclined to do that.
There was also no question now. It was him. Cartwright, Stephen Cartwright. And seeing him face to face was a jolt to my system. He looked even better than I remembered.
‘Is it him?’ Kaylee hissed.
‘Uh-huh.’
