on occasion, he could be coaxed into letting them ride on his shoulders. Any attempts at communication just fell flat. They would stare at him with their mouths open as if he were an alien life form. No, Noah and kids just didn’t mix.
‘You have a daughter?’ he asked, consciously trying to keep his tone light.
She nodded. ‘Daisy. Nineteen—the age when she thinks Mama doesn’t know best any more and is doing her best to organise my life to her liking.’
See? Nineteen was better. He might be able to manage children—well, young adults—at that age.
‘So, you’re divorced?’
She shook her head. ‘Widowed.’ Her hand flew up. ‘Don’t give me the look!’
He blinked. What look?
‘It was a long time ago. I was barely more than a teenager when I got married and not much older when I found myself on my own again.’ She gave him a fierce look, one that dared him to feel sorry for her.
‘How did he die?’
Grace went very quiet. Was he tasting his own shoe polish again?
‘Thank you for asking. Most people just…you know…change the subject.’ She tipped her chin up and looked straight at him. ‘Rob was a soldier. He was killed in the first Gulf War.’
Noah nodded. ‘I served in Iraq myself.’
She pressed her lips together and gave him a watery smile. He didn’t have the words to describe what happened next; he just felt a bolt of recognition joining them together in silent understanding. So many friends hadn’t made it home. And he’d seen so many wives fall apart. But here was Grace, not letting the world defeat her. She’d worked hard to bring her daughter up on her own. It couldn’t have been easy. And he’d bet she was a really good mother, one who had strived to be both mother and father to her daughter. If only every child were so lucky. He almost felt jealous of the absent Daisy.
This was getting far too emotional for him, pulling on loose threads of things he’d firmly locked away in his subconscious. Grace wasn’t looking for the same kind of relationship he was. She didn’t want to get married and, if she did, she wanted magic. His instincts told him it was time to retreat and let them both breathe out.
‘Well, Grace…’ He swallowed the last of his espresso and stood up. ‘I think I’d better be going.’ He shrugged. ‘Can I call you a cab or give you a lift somewhere?’
She shook her head. ‘No need. I am home. I live in the flat upstairs.’
Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. It kind of left him with nowhere to go.
‘It’s been nice…’
A small smile curved her lips. ‘Yes it has.’
The words See you again some time? were ready on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them. But once they were gone he had nothing else to say, so he walked to the door, aware of her following close behind him. When they reached it, she flicked a couple of catches and turned the handle, oddly silent.
Before he crossed the threshold into the damp night he turned to look at her. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Grace.’
‘So you already said.’
He took a step backwards beyond the shelter of the doorway and the rain hit him in multiple wet stabs. He shuddered. For an instant, rational thought hadn’t come into it—he was only aware of his body’s physical response to the drop in temperature, the cold water running down his skin.
Grace stood in the doorway, in front of one of the angled panes of glass, her eyes large and round. All the laughter had left them now, but they were focused intently on him.
‘Bye, Noah,’ she said, and looked down at the floor.
Suddenly, he was moving. He took two long steps until he was standing in front of her and, without stopping to explain or analyse, he placed a hand either side of her head on the window and leaned in close. Her lips parted and she sank back against the pane and jerkily took in some air.
And then he kissed Grace the way he’d wanted to all evening.
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