teased. He deserved it. He’d just dumped her best friend, so Girl Code demanded it.
‘Man, tough crowd.’ Zac was still shaking his head as he disappeared through the loungers to retrieve his things from his room.
Aaron lay back down and rolled over on his side to face her again. ‘Guess we’ve something else in common.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Seriously unpredictable friends.’
‘No arguments here,’ Agnetha smiled, kissing him again. God, she could not get enough of this guy. He was absolutely intoxicating. She loved a romance, adored the early stages of a relationship and had fallen fast before, but this felt different. This was…
‘I really hope we’ve got something else in common,’ he whispered, making her stomach flip.
‘What’s that?’ she answered, enjoying the game.
He was watching her face now, studying her reaction.
‘I’m falling in love with you. And I was just kinda wondering if you felt the same?’
8
Hope
Hi,
I’m not really sure how to start this email or what to say. I guess, first of all, I need to apologise if this comes as a shock to you. I’m unaware of the circumstances of my birth, so if you weren’t aware of my existence, I’m sorry to break the news this way.
My name is Hope McTeer, and according to the results of my DNA test, I’m your daughter (I didn’t want to be presumptuous or freak you out by referring to you as ‘Dad’ at the start of this email).
I’m twenty-two and I assume I was born in Scotland, as this is where my adoption was formalised. I have had no access to my adoption records, so I know no more than that. As you can imagine, it was quite a surprise to discover my biological father is American, but I am, quite honestly, intrigued to learn more.
I also want you to know that I’m very grateful to have been adopted by two wonderful parents who have loved and supported me every day since I became their daughter. I’m now studying medicine at university and live with my adoptive sister in Glasgow.
It goes without saying that I would very much like to meet you. I understand if this takes time to process, so please be assured that I will not pester or badger you with more emails. I’ll wait in the hope that you will feel the same way and that I will hear from you soon.
Yours,
Hope
The digital clock at the top of the arrivals board said 10.05 a.m.. Hope scanned the lists of incoming flights, searching for one from Heathrow. He’d arrived there from LA at 7 a.m., so hopefully he made his 8.45 a.m. connection to Glasgow and would right now be touching down on a runway on the other side of this building.
She wondered if everyone around her could see that she was actually trembling with nerves and about as light-headed as it was possible to be without keeling over. She couldn’t faint now. Not here. He could come right out of there and step over her, not realising that she was the welcoming committee.
Heathrow. There it was. Delayed. Now arriving at 11 a.m.. Crap. She should have checked for delays before she left the house, but between her anxiety and her outraged sister, it had completely slipped her mind. Now she had to try not to faint for at least another hour. She couldn’t guarantee that it was possible.
For years, she’d watched family reunion shows with obsessive interest, and wondered how she would feel when and if the moment came. Now she knew. She’d be absolutely terrified, yet incredibly excited too. This was the point at the start of the roller coaster that was equal parts fear, adrenalin and desperation to get going.
There was no point standing here for an hour. Behind her, Starbucks was busy, but there were a few single seats at the high bar counter from where she would have a view of the arrivals board and the doors.
10.15 a.m.. She bought a latte that she probably wouldn’t be able to drink, and a lemon muffin that she probably wouldn’t be able to eat, and climbed up on the bar stool, eyes trained on the sliding doors that were constantly opening and closing, each movement bringing through people pulling suitcases, businessmen clutching briefcases, cabin crew with relaxed expressions, happy to be off duty. Every now and then, someone would break from the crowd and run towards a new arrival, making everyone around them smile. And making Hope’s heart hammer so loudly in her chest she was sure it could crack a rib at any moment.
10.35 a.m.. Coffee still not touched. Muffin still not eaten. Hope picked up her phone and called her mum as promised. She answered on the first ring with, ‘Are you okay?’ It was unusual to hear anxiety in her mum’s voice. Dora was the calmest woman that Hope had ever known, even in times of adversity and heartache. It was a strength that had been tested many times over the years.
‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m at the airport. His flight is delayed until 11 o’clock, so he should be here just after that.’
‘How are you feeling, my love?’ Dora’s voice was calmer now, more like herself.
‘Nervous. Terrified. What if he’s horrible? What if he doesn’t like me?’
‘He’ll like you. And you’re far too lovely to have horrible genes.’ Joking now, and Hope was so grateful. Her mum always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better.
‘Thanks, Mum. I’d better go and phone Maisie before she puts out a bulletin on Radio Clyde saying I’m missing, possibly abducted.’
‘Good idea. Just keep us posted, love. We’ll both be by our phones all day and can be with you in no time if you need us.’
‘I know. I love you.’
‘I love you too, darling. Big hugs.’
10.45 a.m.. Hope took a sip of the latte and tried not to grimace. The muffin was still a step too far.
She decided she couldn’t face speaking to Maisie, so she opted for a text.
His flight is delayed. Coming in at 11 a.m.. Just waiting in Starbucks.
Have you eaten?
Yes.
You’re lying.
That made Hope smile.
I am. But I’ve got a muffin.
Trying really hard not to make inappropriate jokes right now.
You’re so immature.
I know. Sorry. Text me as soon as you can to let me know what he’s like. And if there’s a problem, use the pepper spray.
I don’t have pepper spray. Pretty sure it’s illegal.
Bought one on the internet. I slipped it in your bag.
A feeling of cold dread worked its way up from Hope’s
