Blind-Date Marriage

by Fiona Harper

  Jake called from the kitchen. ‘Sit yourself down. I’ll be there in just a sec.’

  She pulled out a chair and did as she was told, still marvelling at his domesticity. A vase full of creamy white roses sat in front of her. They were lovely, buds loosening with the promise of the fullness. Just like the perfect blooms of a bridal bouquet.

  Clinking dishes announced Jake’s arrival. She was about to compliment him on the table setting, but all she could do when she looked up was hoot with laughter. Over the top of his jeans and shirt he was wearing the most hideous floral apron she had ever seen. Jake just grinned back at her, not fazed at all by the combination of psychedelic blue flowers and designer shirt.

  He set the starters down on the table while she wiped her eyes, trying hard to leave her mascara intact. It took quite a while before the end of her sentences weren’t hi-jacked by a burst of giggles.

  ‘Where the heck did you dig that up?’

  Jake did a twirl. ‘You don’t think it suits me?’

  ‘Oh, beautifully! In fact, I think you should wear it next time we go out.’

  ‘How about next Thursday? At your special birthday dinner?’

  She gasped. ‘How did you know it was my birthday next week?’

  ‘A handy little tool called a search engine.’

  He’d been looking her up on the internet? If anyone else had said that she’d have found it creepy—definite boyfriend marching orders! But she already knew Jake wasn’t like that. Anyway, it would be highly hypocritical of her to be cross. Hadn’t she visited his firm’s website nearly every day, just to look at the pixellated little photo of him and convince herself he wasn’t some longed-for figment of her imagination? She was secretly flattered he’d done something similar.

  She tried not to look too gooey as she smiled back at him. ‘So, where are you taking me?’

  Jake put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a surprise. But I promise you this: it’s going to be a night you’ll never forget.’

  She hastily studied the goats’ cheese salad in front of her. ‘You’re too good to me.’

  He sounded shocked. ‘I thought you’d be used to getting the princess treatment. I can’t believe no one has ever looked into those big brown eyes and said you deserve the best.’

  She swallowed a little lump that clogged her throat. ‘Mum did. But that was a long time ago—a different life, almost. She died when I was twelve.’

  He took her hand and she looked up into his bottomless blue eyes, so full of compassion. Suddenly it didn’t matter if he saw that hers were tear-filled. He saw parts of her that other men hadn’t even noticed, let alone understood. It was as if she was transparent to him. Yet she didn’t feel naked or scared, she just felt known.

  He pulled her hand towards his lips and placed the tiniest kiss on her knuckle. Nothing to prepare her for the shockwave that shot up her arm and bullseyed in her heart.

  Her breath caught in her throat as he said, ‘I’m going to have to do a lot of making up for lost time, then.’

  Dinner was fantastic. The conversation was warm and intimate. If a world existed outside the candlelit cocoon they shared, she didn’t want to know about it. She swallowed the last bite of her seafood pasta and relaxed back into her chair.

  ‘That was amazing!’ The corners of her mouth curled up. ‘You could take the apron off now, if you wanted to.’

  His eyes jerked downwards, then he laughed. ‘I completely forgot I was wearing it!’ He tugged at the ties behind his back and slipped it over his head.

  ‘So where did you get it? I’m going to be very scared if I find out you have a row of them hanging in your wardrobe!’

  ‘No, you’re safe. This belongs to my cleaning lady. She keeps it in the hall cupboard with her cleaning supplies. You don’t think a single guy living alone is this good at dusting, do you?’ He bunched the apron up and slung it under his arm. ‘I’d better put this back. Do you want coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  Serena busied herself with collecting the plates and followed Jake down the hall. So he didn’t dust—who cared? Neither did she. But in every other way Jake was shaping up to be Mr Perfect.

  By the time she’d wandered into the kitchen, Jake was pouring steaming espresso into delicate little cups. He took the dishes from her hands, passed her a coffee, then laced his fingers in her spare hand and tugged her towards the living room. ‘We’ll leave the washing up for now.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Her eye was immediately drawn to the tall windows that almost filled one side of the room. ‘Oh, wow! You’ve got a balcony! I’ve always wanted a balcony.’

  ‘There’s not much to see. In a densely populated area like this, it’s just gardens and back windows.’

  ‘Can I take a look?’

  ‘Knock yourself out.’

  She put down her coffee cup, unfastened the brass catch, and stepped through the French windows onto a narrow wrought-iron balcony. She could have spent an hour out there, listening to the shuffle of the wind in the trees and nosing into the uncurtained windows.

  Jake’s presence was noticeable more from the heat of his body behind hers than the sound of his footsteps. He draped his arms around her shoulders like a knotted pullover and she sank back into him.

  ‘If I lived in this flat, I’d spend all my time out here.’

  ‘Would you? I like the trees, but it’s a bit too crowded. Still, it’ll do until I’ve saved up for my house in the country.’

  ‘Don’t you think it looks magical? Especially now people are starting to put their Christmas lights up.’

  Jake grunted. ‘It’s only the second week of December! Far too early for all that stuff.’

  ‘So that’s why your place is twinkle-free, is it?’

  ‘I don’t do Christmas lights.’

  Serena thought of the dog-eared tinsel and her mother’s hand-made decorations that graced the nine-foot tree in her living room. ‘Shut up, you old humbug, and give me a kiss!’

  She swivelled to face him and their lips met. All she was conscious of for the next few seconds was the heady mixture of Jake’s lips on hers and the heat trapped between their torsos. Even after three weeks, his kisses had the power to reduce her nerve-endings to frazzles. If anything, there was a cumulative effect. It seemed impossible that each kiss could be sweeter than the last, but Jake was doing his best to give her solid empirical proof.

  The mood shifted. What had started out as romantic and sensual was rapidly intensifying into something else entirely. Her guard was too far down. It was all she could do to lock her knees and keep herself from puddling to the floor. Jake’s hand was under her jumper, caressing her midriff and snaking a tantalising journey up her body.

  A tiny voice screeched at her from the back of her head, telling her it was too soon, too intense. She’d promised herself, no matter what, that she’d use her brain rather than her hormones to set the pace. If Jake really liked her, he’d wait…

  Trembling, she let the cold air rush between their lips and slid round in the circle of his arms to face outwards again. Her heart stamped an angry beat in her chest and she took a few deep, cleansing breaths.

  She closed her hands over the top of his, if only to stop the mesmerising rhythm of his fingers as he stroked her bare flesh. The slice of December wind against her face was a welcome jolt. Nearly as good as a cold shower.

  However, Jake didn’t seem to notice it. He nuzzled into the side of her neck and placed tiny kisses along her jaw. She had to do something to break the spell, so she straightened a little and ordered herself to pay attention to the view.

  ‘Isn’t it fascinating—looking into all the windows, watching other people go about their lives?’

  Jake clasped her even closer, his breath raising the sensitive hairs inside her ears.

  ‘Riveting.’

  She struggled to ignore the exquisite tickle of his lips on her earlobe. She was pretty sure if anyone took an X-ray of her insides right now, they’d be
staring at a quivering mass of strawberry jelly.

  She picked a window and focused intently on a mother pacing a repetitive circuit with a tiny baby propped on her shoulder. Although the pane muffled any sound, she could tell by the infant’s red scrumpled face that it was not in a happy place. Every few seconds they disappeared as the woman changed direction, but she always reappeared in the same place.

  The hypnotic quality of her movements was certainly working on Serena, who suddenly noticed Jake’s hands had worked free of hers. The combination of lips and fingertips was fatal. Her eyes slid closed and her lips parted. A tiny intake of breath that sounded very much like an ah brought her to her senses slightly.

  Focus, girl. Focus.

  She wrenched her eyelids open and searched for another window. Two floors down, she found one. A couple—married, probably—pottered around their kitchen. He stirred a pot; she opened a bottle of wine. They were so unhurried, hardly making eye contact, but they moved around each other in a well-choreographed sequence they must have practised a thousand times, opening drawers and cupboards, dishing up their meal. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Even the movement of Jake’s lips against her skin was almost forgotten as she watched them circling round each other in their seemingly mundane dance.

  In the pit of her stomach, she ached for just a little of what they had.

  ‘It’s freezing out here, Jake. Let’s go back inside.’

  He made no fuss, only smiled at her and opened the door for her to step through. Once inside, he fastened the catch and closed the curtains, so not a chink of the outside world remained visible.

  But in her imagination she could still see the couple, sitting at a little square table, swapping stories from their day at work. She gave him an easy smile, sweet with promise. He touched her hand as she reached for her glass…

  Serena tried to erase the image by taking an active interest in her surroundings. Jake’s furniture was expensive. Classic designs with a modern twist. She could have opened the pages of any one of the aspirational interior design magazines at the supermarket and seen something identical. Almost.

  As she looked more closely, she noticed elements that jarred. There were too many books for a truly minimalist look—and not just work-related tomes. Novels, poetry and biographies jostled for position on the cluttered shelves. Colourful modern art canvases hung on the walls. She would have expected abstract designs in beige and brown, not Kandinsky and Chagall. In the corner, a glossy acoustic guitar with a ratty strap was propped up against a small table.

  ‘Do you play?’ she asked, nodding towards it.

  ‘I used to.’

  ‘Not any more?’

  ‘Well…I pick it up now and again. I’m very rusty. I just don’t have the time.’

  ‘Play me something.’

  Jake shifted in his seat. Ridges appeared on his forehead. ‘You don’t want to hear me twanging away after listening to your old man. I wouldn’t compare favourably.’

  ‘Pass it here, then.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  She sat the guitar on her lap and, one at a time, pressed the fingers of her left hand onto the strings. It took all her concentration to strum the few bars of the only song she knew. It was about as comfortable and familiar as bungee jumping. She stopped mid-verse and looked at Jake. His eyebrows were hitched halfway up to his hairline.

  ‘That has to be the worst rendition of “Scarborough Fair” I’ve ever heard.’

  She bowed slightly in acknowledgement. ‘The musical gene obviously took one look at me and decided to leap-frog a generation.’

  ‘Not a carbon-copy of your father, then?’

  ‘I don’t think you’d find me half as attractive if I was.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re right there!’

  She clapped a decisive hand against the front of the guitar. ‘Anyway, my point is this: anything you produce can only be a step up from my paltry efforts.’

  He thrust out a hand. ‘I don’t think I can resist you in anything.’

  She passed him the guitar and settled back into the sofa as he reprised the song she’d just butchered.

  ‘You’re good,’ she said, when he had finished a verse and a chorus.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, from a woman who knows what good guitar sounds like even if she can’t reproduce it.’

  ‘Did you ever think of taking it further?’

  ‘A career, you mean?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Not really. I needed to be sure I could earn a living so I could get Mum and Mel off the estate. Accountancy won out over music in that respect, no question.’

  ‘Do you ever wish you’d had another choice?’

  He shook his head. ‘My life is exactly what I planned it would be. I wouldn’t change a thing.’

  His answer made her heart sink a little. She knew she wanted safe and predictable in her future husband, but a wayward part of her still hankered after the creativity and verve of an artistic temperament.

  Yes, and look where that has got you in the past! Stomped on, taken for granted and broken-hearted. Don’t even go there!

  While she had been arguing with herself, Jake had started strumming the guitar again. He was staring into space, not even watching his hands, yet they seemed to remember the chords of the haunting tune he played all on their own. She closed her eyes and let the gentle thrumming wash over her, until it petered out a few minutes later.

  ‘That was beautiful. What was it?’

  ‘Just something I wrote when I was younger. I’ve messed around with it for years, but I can never seem to find the right way to finish it.’ He shrugged and slipped the guitar over the edge of his chair to rest against the bookcase. ‘Guess I never will.’

  ‘Don’t stop. It’s very relaxing.’

  He swung the guitar back onto his lap and started picking away at the strings. She sipped her coffee and watched him lose himself in the rise and fall of the melody his fingers were weaving. He looked different while he was absorbed like that. Less polished, more vulnerable. A tingling feeling flared inside her as she realised she was seeing a side to Jake he normally kept well camouflaged. An imaginative, creative side that was totally at odds with the conservative suits and accounts ledgers.

  Then it hit her like a kick in the stomach. This accountant had the soul of a musician!

  It was at that exact moment Serendipity felt the familiar slap of a right hook out of nowhere.

  ‘Jake, I’m scared! I don’t know where we are!’

  ‘All will be revealed shortly.’

  She liked surprises as much as the next girl, but being dragged round half of London with a woolly scarf covering her eyes was too much. Jake had insisted on securing it round her head while they were in the taxi he’d hailed outside the restaurant. As if dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, sitting on cushions and feeling pampered and exotic, hadn’t been enough, Jake now had something else up his sleeve. Something she was starting to wish would stay tucked up there.

  She prised her fingers from the metal railing and let him guide her down a never-ending flight of stone stairs. It took all her resolve not to grab the rail and hang on for dear life. Every other step she felt she was falling, but Jake’s warm strong hand was there, steadying her, making her feel safe.

  Finally her feet reached a large, blessedly flat area. ‘Can I take this off now?’

  Jake’s hand swatted her fingers away from the knot behind her head. ‘Not yet.’

  The scent of his aftershave clung to the fibres of the scarf, overloading her nostrils. It was as if he was wrapped around her. Apart from the odd twinkle of what she presumed to be streetlights through the weave, she could see nothing. The gentle slap of waves against stone told her they were somewhere near the river—probably the Thames embankment.

  Jake’s arm circled her waist and he propelled her forwards into the unnerving clatter of footsteps that swirled around them. Wherever they were, it was busy. After a minute or so, he
came to a halt.

  ‘Wait there. I’ll only be a couple of steps away.’

  ‘No! Don’t let go!’

  ‘You’ll be perfectly safe. I just need to have a word with this young man over here.’

  She clutched onto him with her gloved hand, but he pulled away gently.

  ‘Trust me. I’ll be with you in less than a minute.’

  She heard him take a few steps, and his murmured voice mixed with another. She shuffled slightly in his direction and bumped into someone.

  ‘Sorry!’ she exclaimed, not even knowing whether she was talking to the person she’d barged into. She didn’t dare move again, so she just stood there, letting the crowds eddy past her.

  His arm enclosed her again. ‘This way.’

  The hard stone beneath her heels gave way to a clanging metal ramp. Where on earth were they? Soon they came to a stop. Jake steered her to face a certain direction.

  ‘Now, Serena, it is very important that when I say go, you take a big step forwards. Okay?’

  She nodded, suddenly feeling as if she was about to walk the plank. The lapping of water was louder, almost beneath her feet.

  ‘Ready…?’ She clenched her elbows to her sides, palms raised in front of her to ward off the danger she couldn’t see.

  ‘Go!’

  She clamped her already blindfolded eyes shut and took the biggest step she could—feeling it was more a leap of faith—then clung on to Jake for all she was worth.

  ‘We’re moving!’ she squeaked, then gripped him even tighter as she realised they weren’t just moving sideways, they were climbing upwards too!

  Jake just laughed softly, and kissed her forehead.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Serena.’ He prised his arms from her grasp, gently freed the knot in the scarf and pushed it back over her head.

  ‘You can open them now. It’s perfectly safe.’

  She parted her eyelashes slowly, dazzled by the twinkling lights all around her. They were inside something. Her eyes just could not make sense of what she was seeing. Images jumbled into her brain. Lights…metal…glass. Then it all fell into place…