Take a Chance on Me. Fiona Harper

and concentrated on the traffic. Quicker than expected, they drew up in Great Portman Street.

      ‘Which one?’ She leaned forward and peered down the road. One side was almost entirely occupied by a red brick block of Victorian apartments.

      ‘Right here. Top floor.’

      ‘Very posh.’

      She kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a halt. Even without the tell-tale reflection in the windscreen, she’d have sensed he’d turned to face her. Strange, she’d always thought that being able to feel someone’s eyes boring into you was a load of poppycock.

      ‘Come inside and have the grand tour.’

      ‘You’re very forward, aren’t you?’

      ‘I know what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it.’

      The implication of that sentence made her cheeks burn. She was very proud of the wobble-free voice that came out of her mouth.

      ‘Sorry, Jake-in-distress, I have a prior commitment. Maybe another time.’

      ‘Couldn’t you stand him up?’

      A reply like that would normally have had her spitting, but he said it with such lazy charm she found herself laughing.

      ‘No.’

      But she wanted to. Miraculously, the prospect of an evening with Charles Jacobs seemed even greyer.

      ‘Too bad.’ The tone of his voice said he respected her decision more than he cared to admit. ‘At least give me your number.’

      ‘Give my number? To an axe-wielding maniac? You must be mad!’

      She smiled at him.

      He smiled back.

      Boy, those smiles got more brilliant with every outing. If she didn’t get out of here quick, she was going to change her mind about dinner. Then Cassie would kill her for standing up the ‘suitable’ man she’d found for her, and that would never do. She was looking forward to the prospect of another time with Jake too much.

      He reached into his pocket, fished out a business card and scribbled something on the back with a fountain pen.

      ‘Have it your way. Here’s my number, then.’

      She took it from him. Even the little rectangle of card was soggy. She’d done a really good job with that puddle.

      He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Use it.’

      Her gaze collided with his. He was so sure she was going to call. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression. Women probably fell over themselves to follow his every whim on a daily basis. Part of her felt like throwing the card out of the window and into the gutter; the other part wanted to tuck it inside her bra to make sure she didn’t lose it.

      Her lips pursed. She meant to look peeved, but somehow a small smile escaped.

      ‘Maybe. Goodbye, Jake.’

      She put the car into reverse and started to move out of the parking space. Before she had a chance to pull away, he pounded on the window. ‘Wait!’

      She pressed the button and enjoyed his mounting irritation as the window edged down bit by bit.

      ‘You haven’t even told me your name.’

      ‘So I didn’t.’

      ‘Well?’

      ‘I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who won’t let a tiny detail like that stop you. You’ll find out—if you want to badly enough.’

      With that, she rolled up the window and drove away. She risked a glance in the rear-view mirror and a huge grin spread over her face. He was standing in the street with his mouth hanging open.

      She didn’t look back. Instead, she tooted the horn and did a little finger wave.

      Now, that had been smooth!

      Stupid, but smooth.

      Stupid, because the only reason she hadn’t told him her name was the funny reaction it provoked in almost everyone she met. She hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment, hadn’t wanted the delectable Jake to have the usual set of preconceptions about her.

      What had her parents been thinking when they called her Serendipity? It was tantamount to child abuse! She’d been the target of bullies from her first day of school because of her name.

      Why couldn’t she have been called Sally or Susan? Nice, sensible, traditional names. No one would think Susan was a hippy wild child. And Sally was the kind of girl whose dad worked a nine-to-five job in an office, while her mum baked jam tarts and fussed over the amount of make-up her teenage daughter was wearing.

      She sighed.

      Daft to run away without telling Jake her name. Now she would have to look all eager and phone him if she was interested. Which she was. She should have given him her number and let him do the running—she’d always liked the old-fashioned idea of being courted.

      She turned the corner and headed back towards the restaurant. Perhaps it had been worth not telling Jake her name just to see the look on his face as she drove away. At least she’d have something to smile to herself about if Charles Jacobs turned out to be as yawn-worthy as he sounded.

      She looked at her watch as she pulled up outside the restaurant. Only half an hour late. If she smiled, and flipped her long dark hair around a bit, perhaps Charles wouldn’t mind.

      She hopped out of the sports car, ran inside, and straight up to the small bar that doubled as a reception desk. There were far too many bunches of plastic grapes and straw-covered bottles for the décor to be in good taste, but she didn’t care. It was homey.

      Someone was loading small bottles of orange juice onto the bottom shelf. She’d recognise that acre-wide Italian rump anywhere!

      ‘Hey, Maria!’

      Maria stood up so fast she sent a couple of bottles rolling across the floor. Her hands flew into the air and she yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, ‘Gino! Our girl is here!’

      A round, middle-aged man appeared from the door connecting the kitchen to the bar. ‘We thought you’d been run over by a bus—didn’t we, darling?’

      She ducked behind the bar and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. ‘You fuss like an old woman, Gino. Now, tell me—and don’t spare my feelings—what’s he like?’

      Gino made a dismissive wave towards her favourite table by the window. A monstrous potted palm blocked her view. She stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

      The table was empty.

      She turned round to Gino, eyebrows raised. ‘He hasn’t shown up yet?’

      Gino shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the tragedy, and she swallowed the urge to chuckle.

      ‘Oh, well. Bring me the usual. I’ll hang around until nine. I got here late myself, so I can hardly moan.’

      He’d better be worth the wait, though! She’d murder Cassie if she’d set her up with a first-class loser again. Her friend knew she was looking to settle down, but couldn’t quite get the distinction between stable and reliable and utterly dull. She’d only agreed to go on this date because it was less hassle than arguing with Cassie about it. If she said no, Cassie would only badger her for a fortnight until she gave in, so she might as well agree and save herself the earache.

      Gino brought her a glass of her favourite red wine, and she sat at the table and scanned the rain-swept horizon.

      She sat up and smiled as a man in a smart suit with a bunch of flowers passed the window, but he walked straight past the door and into the arms of a waiting blonde outside the tube