Blush: A Strangers-to-Lovers Romance

by Rachel De Lune

  “Thank you,” she breathed out, tucking her hair behind her ear, but the purple streak just flopped back over her forehead, determined to live by its own rules.

  “You’re welcome. Are you headed home?”

  “No, to a friend’s house. It’s not far.”

  “May I walk you? I don’t trust that creep, and it would make me feel a lot better.” I saw the indecision cross her face. “Hey—” I put my hands up, seeing how this might have looked from her position. “I promise, I just want to make sure you’re safe. Text your friend to meet you at a nearby bar, instead. That way, you’re safe and with her, and I don’t need to worry about you getting home in one piece tonight.” I smiled at her. Nothing seemed as important as ensuring her safety right now.

  “Okay. Let me text my friend.”

  We started walking out of West Kensington station and into the night air.

  She kept her phone out, frantically tapping away on the screen, and I was happy to wander beside her. I checked back a few times, but jerk-face didn’t show.

  “We’re meeting here.” She pointed to a wine bar, which was well lit, but not crowded.

  “Okay. I’ll wait until your friend arrives.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.” She smiled up at me, and it shorted the messages firing to my brain. She was exquisite in a way I’d never seen.

  “Indulge me. It’s not a problem, and I’d rather wait a while and have a clear conscience than be worried about you for the rest of the night.”

  “Isn’t that a rather chauvinistic view?” She kicked her hip out, but her eyelids fluttered at me as she levelled the accusation.

  “Maybe. But I don’t care. If I can’t make sure a beautiful woman isn’t safe to meet her friend for the night, I’d be a shitty guy. And I don’t count myself as one of those.” At least not right then.

  “And what do you count yourself as…” She held her hand out to me, waiting for an introduction.

  “Leo Walker. I’d settle for a decent guy, right about now.” I took her hand, enjoying the firm grip as her fingers wrapped around my palm. The smile I showed her was genuine, and it frightened me how I’d not felt that way in a while.

  “I’m Astrid Cooper. Thank you for helping me tonight.” She offered a coy smile in return, filled with mischief and sexiness, everything her bright flash of hair and piercing eyes teased. Talk about an instant reaction. Wow!

  “Ready?”

  Our moment was interrupted. Astrid took her hand back as a tall brunette approached. She put her arm through Astrid’s, as if she were staking her claim, and gave me a tight smile. I instantly disliked her. I took a step back, not wanting to be intimidating or territorial. Both of which simmered right under my skin.

  “Thanks again.”

  “Look—” I stopped her, not wanting this to be the end of our encounter. “Here’s my number. Let me know you make it home safely.” I scrolled through and passed her my phone with my number on the screen.

  She took it and opened her own phone.

  “Come on!” The friend, who I already didn’t like, started to pull her away, cutting our final moment short.

  “Bye,” she called back after rushing to hand my phone over.

  Now the ball was in her court. She had my number, but I had no way to reach her, so it was all on her. And for the first time, I really fucking hoped she called.

  The rest of the night, I was distracted. I walked the rest of the way to work, as it wasn’t too far, but it meant I was late. Richard gave me a disapproving glare and tapped his watch as I walked in. It was shitty, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain the situation to him, so I just shrugged my shoulders instead. Astrid was on my mind, and the second I stopped paying attention, girls with pink or purple hair flitted about out the corner of my eye. Each time, I thought it was her, but then my imagination replaced the real image of whatever girl I’d seen and disappointment mounted in my gut.

  Fuck.

  That night, it wasn’t my usual nightmare that haunted my restless sleep, but a girl with purple through her hair.

  4

  Astrid

  “Let me get you a drink. You deserve one after your ordeal getting here.”

  “Relax, Sawyer. It’s not a problem. Is Belle on her way?” I shrugged out of my jacket and unwound my scarf before I climbed up onto the tall cocktail bar stool.

  “Yes, yes. I suppose we’ll wait for her. I’ll order her a fruity cocktail or something. Your usual?”

  “Yes, Malibu and Coke. Heavy on the Malibu.”

  “Really, Astrid, when are you going to grow up and drink something a little more… grown-up?” Sawyer strutted off to the bar, shaking her head. She meant well. But she had the uncanny ability to come over as the biggest snob-bitch in the world. She happened to be my best friend, and so the only person allowed to call her a snob-bitch was myself. And possibly, Belle.

  “Hey, what did I miss?” Belle landed at the table, her oversized winter coat drowning her tiny frame.

  “Nothing. Sawyer’s trying to change my taste in adult beverages. That’s about all.”

  “She’s just afraid of the fun we might have if we get her too loosened up. What gives with the change of venue?”

  “Belle, you found us.” Sawyer swooped back to the table with a large glass of wine—the only drink she’d touch. Before retrieving ours.

  “Thank you, Sawyer,” we chimed after she’d deposited our drinks on the table.

  I took a big gulp of my tropical delight, enjoying the tropical rum celebration on my tongue. My first taste of Malibu had come when Belle and I had stolen the bottle from my mum’s drinks cupboard when I was sixteen. We spent the night in my bedroom doing shots and getting wasted before I had to crawl to the bathroom in the morning and throw up. It didn’t put me off the drink though, and not even Sawyer would change my mind.

  “So, what’s the big deal?” Belle asked again.

  “Oh, Astrid had some emergency.”

  “Some random guy started to follow me, totally creeped me out. I jumped on the tube, but he kept up his stalker routine.” A shiver tickled my spine as I recounted the memory of when I realised he was following me. “But then a concerned citizen stepped in.” Remembering seeing Leo brought an immediate smile to my face.

  “Huh,” Sawyer scoffs.

  “Oh?” Belle asked, eager for more details.

  “Yes. This guy on the tube stepped in, totally dreamy and intimidating to the other guy. He had the most intense golden eyes.” My voice went all wistful imagining them again. Flecks of gold and bronze decorated his irises and looking at them was like magic—they’d filled me with calm.

  “So, Astrid here decided to just walk off with a total stranger.”

  “Leave it out, Sawyer. He really saved my arse. Who knows what would have happened if that guy hadn’t left me alone.”

  “Tell me more about the saviour-guy? What did he look like? Apart from the magic eyes.” Belle leaned in towards the table, her grin all greedy for more information.

  “Tall, dark hair, freckles, but sexy freckles. And he looked stacked.”

  “And are you going to see him again?”

  “Oh, please. Girls, it’s a guy, let’s not resort to objectification.”

  “Sawyer!” we both admonished. She arched her tidy eyebrow and sipped her white wine as Belle returned to indulging my hero rescue moment.

  “He gave me his number, so I could.”

  “Yes, totally. He’s your literal knight in shining armour. At least invite him out for a coffee.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why don’t we all sign up to lessons at the gym, so we don’t need a man to come and rescue us if we’re in trouble,” Sawyer chipped in. It wasn’t a bad plan. I’d lived in the city for years and never had a problem on the tube before now, but it wasn’t even late at night.

  “That sounds like a great idea. Know of a place that does classes? ”

  “I’ll look into it,” Sawyer
confirmed. “Now, come on, drink up, girls.”

  Three drinks later and feeling much better about the ordeal, I ordered an Uber to take me home. I wouldn’t be risking another encounter with some guy wanting to try his luck. Although, the idea of Leo coming to my rescue again didn’t bother me. At. All.

  I toyed with his number saved into my phone all the way home, hovering my finger over the little message bubble. He did ask to let him know I was home.

  As I slammed the door shut behind me, I double-checked the lock and made sure the safety chain was on. My home was an apartment on the third floor, in a trendy new block, courtesy of Daddy dearest. He worked too hard and neglected me and my brother growing up, so to make up for it, he bought each of us a posh pad to live in as soon as we wanted to move out. Not sure it made up for the missed performances, or school plays, but I was not going to say no. I was twenty-four and lived in London, hello.

  I unwrapped my winter warmers, dumped them on the low table in the hall and headed straight for my bedroom. It was late, and despite enjoying several drinks with friends, I was shattered.

  The creep-incident, as I would continue to refer to it in my mind, still hung over me.

  Tossing and turning wasn’t my usual style. I was a morning person, so I wanted to catch my zees, but they were stubborn tonight. That stomach-dropping sensation that sent my heart racing when I first realised I was being followed kept flashing back. My eyes would not close and allow sleep to creep in because my brain was still processing what happened.

  Stupid brain.

  I rolled over and grabbed my phone, pulling up a message to Sawyer.

  Can’t sleep

  She always responded. No matter what time. Belle and I used to think it was weird, but now it was just a comfort to know she was always there for us.

  You’ve literally just climbed into bed. Make some tea, read a book?

  I don’t read books.

  Well, maybe you should. Go, do some work. It’s not like you won’t be up at six to start, anyway. Just swap the hours around?

  I shouldn’t let this guy get to me.

  Astrid, please. I am booking a class for us tomorrow. We all need to make sure we’re not in a dangerous position without a way out. Why don’t you do a feature for the magazine?

  Another good idea from Sawyer. She did have her moments.

  Since Daddy had covered my house expenses, I was able to take a job doing exactly what I wanted. And I wanted to edit and run my own lifestyle magazine—an independent publication that covered everything from food, fashion, music, and well-being written by a team of freelancers who were passionate and fun. And I got to put the magazine together and manage the process myself.

  With today's market, most reads were digital, and that kept my costs down, and we did limited print runs for special editions. Most of the time, I worked from my home office studio. And I loved it.

  Maybe I’ll get Donna to do a feature for the wellness section?

  Goodnight x

  I grabbed a handful of the pillowy-soft duvet and pulled it off, resigned to the idea of working. I snatched my floor-length cherry blossom Yukata from its hook, wrapped it around me and made my way to my studio.

  The next magazine edition was already lined up for release, but the following months were looking sparse. I wiggled the sleek mouse that brought my beautiful baby to life. The page layout was already open on the screen, so I scrolled through to the missing sections and balanced what was already locked in. Self-defence could be an interesting take on the usual Valentine’s mumbo-jumbo. Protect yourself, don’t be caught in a sea of frogs… I spun the ideas around in my head until I saw the right angle, and then scribbled frantically in my notebook. All the pages I’d ever published had started in one of these planners. Large, dotted line pages, just waiting to be sketched in.

  Each edition had its own brand-new journal, and they all decorated the shelf above my desk in an assortment of colours and creativity. I played about with options for the page layout, headlines, and colours. Before I knew it, hours had passed, but I’d made a chunk of progress that satisfied me. This time, when I dragged my body to bed, I crashed straight away.

  My alarm blared its shrill tone, and I rolled over to turn it off, managing to restrain the urge to bash the thing with my fist. I was usually up before the alarm, but my late-night creativity session put paid to that.

  I headed to the kitchen for my ritual glass of orange juice before checking my social media and messages. Next, it was a quick change and a thirty-minute jog on the treadmill before showering and dressing for the day.

  Belle was always surprised that I was fit for any kind of meeting or outing, despite working from home. For me, it was a no-brainer. I preached about fashion and lifestyle to the people who read my magazine. It would be hypocritical of me to work on a layout about the latest clothes trends wearing my pyjamas—or at least that’s what I told myself and my bank balance when I shopped. I enjoyed looking good. So sue me.

  Coffee and a slice of toast completed my routine, and I was back at my desk, warming up my baby by seven-thirty. My father, when we did talk, always cursed that with my commitment and determination, I could really make it in business, or more specifically, his business. He failed to realise that I was now a successful businesswoman in my own right. Just not in what he wanted me to do. Apparently, bright-coloured hair, tattoos, and an individual style didn’t allow you to be seen as professional. Well, fuck him.

  I was done for the day by four. My eyes were seeing double, I’d been at my desk for so long. My phone chimed as if whoever messaged me was waiting for my attention.

  Have you texted him yet?

  Belle. She was a hopeless romantic at heart—the exact opposite of Sawyer.

  No. I’m on the fence.

  After the drama of last night, today I’d barely thought of Leo. There wasn’t quite the same excitement now the morning shone a cool light of reality on the situation.

  Why not? Oh, come on, you know he’s got magic eyes. Your words.

  Unlike you, some of us aren’t obsessed with finding love.

  You and Sawyer are no fun. If you won’t message him, I will. Can I have his number?

  My finger paused over the bubble to text back. Did I want to give Belle his number?

  I left her hanging, running the consequences over in my head. There had been a spark between Leo and me; that was for sure. And it was good to know he wasn’t a jerk without the pain of sussing that out on the first date.

  But dating wasn’t at the top of my priorities. Ever. No guy had held my interest past a few weeks since my first proper boyfriend at school. That fizzled out soon after we decided to sleep together, and my teenage heart wasn’t even broken because I’d never been in love with him. I’ve never been in love with anyone.

  Just as I was about to cave and give Leo’s number over, a group message pinged from Sawyer.

  Clear your diaries, we start at the gym with a self-defence instructor tomorrow.

  Part of me resented being in this position. I shouldn’t need to take a class to ensure I was safe to travel around the city. But the sensible head on my shoulders argued that I might not have a decent guy willing to step in the next time.

  When and where?

  One of the best perks of working for myself—I got to set my own schedule. So when Sawyer, who didn’t have to work, or Belle, who worked all the hours she could, asked to do something, I was flexible.

  Ten in the morning the next day, I headed to the swanky gym that Sawyer booked for us. Belle looked like she’d just got out of bed. Her long blonde hair was twisted and pulled into a messy plait that fell down the centre of her back. All that was missing were the flowers and decorations, and she’d be a real-life Rapunzel. Unfortunately, her baggy grey sweats didn’t give off the princess vibe.

  “Ready, girls?” Sawyer asked. She led us through the reception area, and I realised this was more like a spa than a gym. Belle and I cast each other questioning
glances, but we went with it. We headed into a decent-sized studio with honey-warm wooden floors and a wall of mirrors. A stack of mats and pads were arranged neatly on some sort of shelf unit in the corner.

  “Where’s everybody else?” Belle asked as we waited in the frigid air.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I booked a private session. Just us and the instructor. I couldn’t deal with an open class.”

  “Sawyer, I can’t—”

  “It’s a class, Belle, nothing more. Relax.”

  Belle’s eyes slid to me, and I shrugged my shoulders. Typical Sawyer. She didn’t consider money to be anything of concern like the rest of us. I was extremely lucky to have my father pay for my house and allow me to live the way I did. But I worked hard for the money I did earn, and I made sure I was sensible. Sawyer spent her families’ money like it was going to disappear if she didn’t. The saving grace, she was incredibly generous with it. Which Belle hated, but had grown to live with.

  To Belle, money was hard-earned. She worked two jobs. A waitress in a restaurant, five nights a week, as well as a handful of lunch shifts. She also rented a room in a local salon two days a week, where she had private massage clients.

  A few minutes after we’d arrived, a middle-aged guy entered the studio. We all looked at one another as we clocked him, shocked that this weasel of a bloke could teach us anything about defending ourselves. His t-shirt gaped at his arms and hung around his waist. He looked like he needed the classes as much as we did.