My Perfect Stranger: A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December. Kat French
eyeballed his palm tree-covered chest. Tipping her neck back, she looked up as he looked down and found herself suddenly nose to nose with him.
‘And you must be Honeysuckle, my favourite flower.’
‘Is it really?’
He looked disconcerted. ‘I’ve been practising that line for the last ten minutes.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, and she meant it. She’d become accustomed to verbal rallying with Hal, and it wasn’t fair to Deano to expect him to fall into the same mould. ‘Shall we grab a table?’ The pub was filling up with Friday night drinkers and pre-clubbers as she headed over to a small table in the corner. Deano joined her a couple of minutes later with drinks in his hand.
‘I guessed at white wine?’ he said, placing a glass down next to her almost-empty one.
‘Good guess,’ she smiled. He was actually quite attractive in a Germanic way, all strong boned and blond. She needed to relax and try to enjoy his company.
‘So, Honeysuckle. What brings a nice girl like you to a place like this?’
‘A blind date with an organist called Deano?’ she supplied with a smile, hoping he’d relax and drop the one-liners soon.
‘Synthesiser, actually,’ he said, looking affronted.
‘What sort of songs do you synthesise?’ she said, knowing even as she said it that it was a ridiculous question.
He frowned. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
Shit. This wasn’t going well so far. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. That was a stupid question. Truth is, this is my first blind date, and I’m kind of nervous. Can we start again?’
His Hawaiian-shirted shoulders slumped. ‘I’m nervous too. You’re my first date since Selina.’
‘Selina?’ she said, already guessing that she must be the ex Tash had referred to.
‘My fiancée. Or ex-fiancée if you want to be picky, which if you were her you no doubt would, seeing as she broke it off.’
Honey cleared her throat as he picked up his beer and necked half of it. She watched him and couldn’t help but notice that he had quite stubby fingers for such a tall synthesiser player. She also couldn’t help but notice the hurt in his grey eyes, and she knew without a doubt that Deano was too hung up on Selina to be the man who would make her body and soul sing louder than Aretha Franklin in the bathtub.
‘I think it’s probably best if we agree not to talk about our exes on a first date,’ she smiled, swallowing a mouthful of wine.
Deano nodded. ‘Too true. Women. Who needs ’em?’
Honey opened her eyes wide. As things not to say on a first date, that was pretty much up there at the top.
‘Present company excepted, and all that,’ he laughed, recovering himself not quite in time.
‘So what do you do, Deano, besides synthesise?’ Honey asked, helping him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.
‘I work in accounts,’ he said, with a casual shrug. ‘Bit dull, but a good crowd.’ His face dropped. ‘Except Selina works there so I’ll probably have to, I don’t know, resign or something.’
Selina again. He didn’t even seem to realise he’d said it.
‘As long as it pays the bills,’ Honey said, unsure how to develop a conversation around anything as deathly as accounting. ‘You must be good with numbers then?’ she ventured.
‘Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six are my favourites,’ Deano grinned and outlined an hourglass in the air with his hands, then dropped them slowly as if he’d belatedly realised that his best accountant joke was inappropriate for the occasion. ‘Er, sorry.’
Honey pulled her glass towards her, sneaking a glance at her watch at the same time. She wasn’t certain how much longer she could sit and make lad-chat about Deano’s no doubt perfectly curved ex without throwing the wine down the front of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.
It was just after eleven when Honey turned the front door key and let herself into the lobby. She hadn’t stayed at The Cock for last orders, because the more Deano drank the more morose he’d become about Selina, she of the apparently willowy skier’s legs and perfect rack. Honey had left him searching the jukebox for anything by Take That – he’d told her at least four times that they were Selina’s favourite and that she had a crush on Gary Barlow, who Deano would quite like to punch.
She tried to close the front door quietly out of consideration for Hal, although given their last encounter it was anyone’s guess why he deserved her consideration. As she tiptoed across the lobby, his door swung open.
‘Jesus, were you waiting up for me? You’re worse than my dad used to be,’ she said, letting him have both her annoyance in general at an evening wasted and her annoyance at him in particular for being so rude yesterday.
‘I heard you come in. Most people would’ve, given the racket you were making trying to get your key in the door. Are you pissed?’
‘Phhfft. Pissed off, more like. I was quiet and you know it. You were waiting for me.’
He leaned his shoulder against the wall, and the movement hitched the bottom of his t-shirt away from the waistband of his battered jeans. Honey noted the smooth line of skin exposed by the move, and the fine central line of hair that dipped into the denim. How was it that this man had her more aware of his body in two minutes than Deano had managed in two hours?
‘So, how was your date?’ he said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Honey slung her purse and keys into the glow of the lamp on the hall table, then kicked off her high heels as she moved towards him. Her mind was too relaxed with wine to stay angry.
‘Umm … it was … okayish?’ she said, and then corrected herself, standing close to him. ‘Actually, it was pretty shit. He wanted to talk about his ex-girlfriend’s perfect rack all night.’
Hal scrubbed a hand over the side of his face. ‘Sheesh. That’s pretty bad. She must have been an impressive girl.’
‘Yup.’ Honey pulled the artfully arranged pins from her hair and mussed it loose with her fingers, shoving the hairpins into the pocket of her denim skirt.
‘So what did you get wrong, Honeysuckle? Are you dressed like a nun or something?’
‘Piss off. I made an effort. I wore matching undies and everything, even though he was never going to find out.’
‘You mean your knickers actually say Friday?’
‘Ha bloody ha, Hal. No. I mean I tried to look nice for him and he didn’t even notice.’
She leaned against the wall, suddenly weary with the whole thing.
‘You smell good,’ Hal said quietly. ‘And I’m willing to bet you look good, too.’
Honey swallowed hard. Here he went with his ten per cent of brilliance, and here she went going jelly-kneed on him again.
‘I tried pretty hard,’ she said. ‘This skirt’s a twelve, and in a perfect world I’m a thirteen.’
She swayed a little on her feet, and for no reason other than her wine-emboldened hands insisted, she reached out and for the second time in her life, touched his jaw.
He let her, and then stepped closer and let her lift his hand and lay it against her cheek too.
If Deano had stripped her naked and screwed her on the sticky carpet of The Cock Inn he couldn’t have possibly fired off more sparks of sexual awareness than the simple touch of Hal’s palm against her face. Honey felt it right down to her bones.
‘A thirteen, huh? I didn’t know they did that size,’ he murmured, and she could feel his smile in her