family cared about him, but how he wished they would respect his decision to eschew the world of relationships. In their defence, they didn’t understand the truth. Of course he grieved for Claudia—grieved the loss of life so young, the tragic waste, the loss of the girl he had once loved. But it was a tainted grief, besmirched by the cold, hard knowledge that if Claudia had lived, he wouldn’t be the person he was today.
On impulse he turned towards the abbey, made his way through the throng of people and headed for a place of cool walls and sanctuary. A place to look at the architecture, think of history and seek assuagement of the emotional turmoil that thoughts of Claudia still evoked five years since her death.
As he approached the imposing grandeur of the sandstone spires, touched by the orange rays of the setting sun, a flash of pink distracted him. A woman stood irresolute in the courtyard—a woman clad in a pink bunny suit. Not the usual garb for a visit to the abbey.
In the shadow of the abbey walls he could see her serious expression, her enormous hazel eyes filled with doubt, a straight nose, generous mouth. Glossy chestnut hair topped by pink bunny ears fell in a sleek curtain to her shoulders.
As if deciding to abandon her plan for entry, she turned and recognition jolted his brain. He wasn’t sure why—who was she?
Her gaze met his in a fleeting skim; he saw an answering recognition and then she ducked her head and made to step past him. Just as memory kicked in.
‘Gabby?’ She’d been in the year below him and Claudia at high school.
For a moment he thought she’d deny it, and then she gave a small reluctant nod. ‘Yes. I’m surprised you remember me.’
The memory came back. A young Zander, seventeen years old, walking down the school corridor as a tall slim girl with glossy chestnut hair came towards him, a pile of books clutched to her chest. As she’d passed, the books had cascaded to the floor and he’d automatically bent down to pick them up. He’d recognised the title of one, more from familiarity than an ability to decipher the words, but at least he’d seen the film.
They’d engaged in a conversation. He’d played the cool kid, one who didn’t bother with books because films were way better, and she’d been so earnest in her disagreement that he could still recall her expression. Then Claudia had suddenly appeared. He’d later found out she had been alerted by a ‘well-wishing friend’. Within seconds the chestnut-haired girl had been graciously dismissed and Zander had been swept away.
His attempts at remonstrance had been met with a shake of the head.
Dropped her books by accident? Don’t be stupid, Zan. That girl—Gabby Johnson—likes you. I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, but she’s a bit of a dark horse. No one knows much about her except that she lives with her grandparents. I just wanted her to know you’re taken.
In the here and now, he decided there was little point in reliving the details. ‘I do,’ he settled for saying. ‘So, how have you been?’
‘Fine. I’m sorry about Claudia.’ The words were simple but sincere, and, to his relief, she left it at that. No intrusive questions or additional sympathy.
‘Thank you.’
‘Right, well. Nice to see you again. I’ll leave you to go in.’
As she moved forward, a piece of paper fluttered from her hand and she looked down at it, made to reach for it and then clearly recalled that she was wearing a bunny suit.
‘We must stop meeting like this.’ Zander squatted down and rose. He handed her the paper, his gaze inadvertently taking in the words. Challenge No. 8. The penny dropped. ‘Hen party?’
‘No,’ she said, deadpan. ‘I usually parade around Bath dressed like this.’
‘Lucky Bath.’ OK. That was not what he had meant to say. But somewhere between his brain and his mouth, that was what had come out.
Gabby stared at him. ‘No. Not lucky Bath—and definitely not lucky me. Would you like to parade the streets dressed like this? Or the male equivalent, whatever that is. How about in a pair of tighty-whities?’
There was a silence as they both contemplated the scenario. Her face turned pink and her look of appraisal morphed into one of confusion. ‘And bunny ears,’ she added.
‘Probably not many women’s fantasy.’ Another vocal miscue. ‘Not, of course, that a bunny suit features in my fantasies. At all.’ And that was worse. It was obvious that it had been a long time since he’d interacted socially with a woman. Time for a subject change. ‘Anyway—did you manage the challenge?’
‘Nope. Not yet. I thought I’d come to the abbey and have a bit of time out...maybe come up with a strategy. Or even some courage would do. But I don’t feel comfortable going in dressed like this. It doesn’t seem right. Plus I’m nearly out of time, so I’d better get going.’
‘Maybe I can help?’
This caused her to pause. ‘Why would you want to help?’
‘I’m a nice guy. I wouldn’t like you to fail a challenge. Old times’ sake. Take your pick. So, what is the challenge?’
Reluctance warred with the hope on her face.
‘I need to get a photo of myself kissing a h—a...a stranger.’
Ah. This was what happened when you started a social interaction with a woman dressed in a bunny suit. Not that it was a problem; a simple peck on the cheek and they could both go their separate ways. Yet his awareness of her ratcheted up. His gaze skimmed the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the impossible density and length of her eyelashes, the glossy lushness of those kissable lips.
Stop. What was the matter with him? He quite simply didn’t look at women like this—hadn’t done since Claudia. The sooner he got this over with the better.
‘OK. I’ll help. I know we aren’t technically strangers, but it’s close enough.’
Uncertainty touched her features and then she expelled a sigh. ‘OK. Let’s get it over with.’
Despite the echo of his own sentiment, he felt irrational chagrin touch him.
As if she sensed his reaction, she reached out and touched his arm. ‘Sorry. That came out wrong. This is just a highly embarrassing situation for me. I’m a university librarian. An introvert. Being dressed like this... Asking someone to kiss me for a selfie is... I feel like an idiot. That’s what I meant. But what I should have said is thank you—I really appreciate this.’
‘No worries—and it’s not a big deal. Where shall we pose?’
They moved to the side of the entrance.
‘Here is fine.’ Reaching into her small clutch bag, she pulled out her phone. ‘OK. I’m ready.’
Zander leant forward and aimed for her cheek, ridiculously aware of her elusive flower scent, the smoothness of her skin and the glint of the chestnut sheen of her hair. Then at the last second she moved slightly, presumably in an attempt to position the shot, and instead of her cheek, his lips brushed hers.
