minor royals and had started on the cast of TOWIE by the time Alex stopped him. He would have interrupted sooner, but his head had been swirling with thoughts of his mystery woman. He knew her name now, but somehow that hadn’t made her any less mysterious. It was as if he could see two versions of her superimposed on top of each other, mostly in sync, but occasionally the image jumped and he could see one more clearly than the other. He had no idea which was the real Nicole Harrison.
‘It was Holly Golightly. From New Year’s Eve.’
Tom let out an appreciative whistle. ‘Did you flirt with her?’
Alex opened his mouth to deny it. There was a difference between playing a bit of a game and actual flirting. However, Tom, as usual, didn’t stop to wait for anything as mundane as an answer.
‘Of course you did.’
Alex shook his head and tipped up his beer bottle, only to discover it empty. Damn.
‘You know, some people use flirting as part of the hunt, but you’re the only guy I know who uses it as a defence mechanism.’
Alex smiled, looked at the photo he’d taken of Tintagel, high on a stormy coast. ‘Seriously, mate, you’ve been spending too much time in LA. You’re starting to sound like a shrink yourself. Any more startling insights to wow me with?’
He glanced to his left and found Tom smirking at him. ‘Okay, I’ll bite. How long have you been going out with Saffron now?’
Alex pulled his mouth down at the corners while he thought about it. ‘What…? Five months? Maybe a little longer?’
Tom made a great show of looking at his watch. ‘Yup. Right on time.’
Alex knew he didn’t really want to ask him to elaborate, but he did it anyway. ‘For what?’
‘It’s always around the six-month mark in any relationship that you get the jitters, start questioning everything—especially why you’re with her and not some other wonderful creature you’ve just spotted—and ultimately end up backing out and breaking her heart.’
No. This wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t the same with Nicole. Besides, Tom was wrong about the six-month thing. He’d split up with Vicky after…Well, okay, maybe that one did fit. But then there had been Meg, who’d lasted…Damn. What about Rachel…?
He shoved his empty bottle in Tom’s direction. ‘Shut up and get me another beer.’
Tom grinned at him and headed off to the bar, whistling.
He’d just returned and handed Alex a fresh one, before scooting off to chat to one of their other climbing buddies who’d just arrived, when Alex saw a flash of honey-coloured hair by the front door. He heard the clop of her boots as she made her way towards him, carving a wake through the throng of entranced visitors.
‘Wonderful turnout,’ she said, before leaning in to air-kiss his cheek, prising his latest beer from his fingers, taking a swig and not giving it back to him.
He grunted. For some reason he was feeling ticked off with her. ‘Hi, Saffron. Nice of you to show up.’ And then he added, under his breath, ‘Finally.’
She gave him one of her saucy looks, the kind she must have given her doting daddy when she was little to make him shower her with dolls and sweeties and ponies. ‘I know I’m a tad late…’
He exhaled. Normally he didn’t mind that Saffron operated in her own time zone, but this evening had been important to him. He thought she could have at least made the effort for once. ‘One hour and twenty-five minutes to be exact.’
She rolled her eyes and gave him a who’s counting kind of expression as she leaned in and laced her fingers between those of his free hand. ‘Well, I’m here now. That’s what matters.’
He sighed. Well, at least she hadn’t given him some lame story. That was why he’d been attracted to Saffron in the first place—she was who she was, no apologies, no excuses, and he’d never once caught her lying about anything. Which was just as well. Because he’d had enough of women who pretended to be one thing and turned out to be something entirely different. That was a fast track to a broken heart, and he wasn’t buying tickets for a return visit any time soon.
Saffron slid her free arm in his and turned to a print of a picture he’d taken in Glen Coe. ‘Now…which bog exactly did you immerse yourself in to take this one…?’
When Nicole got back to the flat she shared with Peggy, she didn’t stop walking until she crashed the door to her bedroom open. There she stepped out of her skirt, heels and blouse, pulled a soft pair of tattered tracksuit bottoms from a drawer and topped them off with a well-loved and well-stretched grey T-shirt. Leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor, she marched to the kitchen, buried her head inside the freezer, then emerged again with a carton of clotted-cream vanilla ice cream in her hand.
She grabbed a spoon and headed for the living room, where she dropped onto the neutral-coloured sofa that she’d chosen, snuggled up against the bright, psychedelic cushions that Peggy had bought and aimed the remote at the TV with more than a hint of fierceness. Sometimes the clash of hers and Peggy’s very different decorating styles made their flat seem a little schizophrenic.
It was only as the opening credits to Pretty in Pink, her favourite 1980s high-school movie, filled the screen that she exhaled and let her shoulders sag.
Peggy wandered into the room in her polka-dotted bathrobe, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said, as she spotted Nicole on the sofa, feet stretched out on the coffee table that normally was only allowed drinks on top if a coaster was involved. ‘What happened?’
Nicole kept staring at the screen as the credits rolled. A young Molly Ringwald was getting dressed in an explosion of pink lace and floral prints. ‘The cowboy happened.’
‘Oh?’ Peggy murmured, pretending she knew what Nicole was talking about as she dropped down onto the sofa next to her.
‘From New Year’s Eve…?’
Peggy kept frowning and then her eyes widened. ‘Oh!’
Nicole nodded. ‘Yes, oh!’
Peggy’s forehead bunched again. ‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’
Good. That was an interesting word. Not one Nicole knew if she’d apply to Alex Black, either. He looked good if you meant want to eat him up with a spoon, but not the wings-and-halo type of good, far from it, with that shaggy dark hair, perma-stubble and that infuriating little dimple.
An image of Saffron flashed through Nicole’s memory from the meeting they’d had at Hopes & Dreams that afternoon. Saffron had hesitated, hadn’t she, when she’d answered the question about whether her intended fiancé was having the same thoughts of happy-ever-after? Maybe their relationship wasn’t as solid as she assumed?
Get real, Nicole. You’re grasping at straws. It’s serious. Serious enough for Saffron to propose to him, anyway. Unless there was a ring on a finger, things didn’t get
