Leah Ashton: A Girl Less Ordinary

An unashamed fan of all things happily-ever-after, LEAH ASHTONhas been a lifelong reader of romance. Writing came a little bit later—although in hindsight she’s been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember. Sadly, the most popular boy in school never did suddenly fall head over heels in love with her …

Now she lives in Perth, Western Australia, with her own real-life hero, two gorgeous dogs and the world’s smartest cat. By day she works in IT-land; by night she considers herself incredibly lucky to be writing the type of books she loves to read, and to have the opportunity to share her own characters’ happy-ever-afters with readers.

You can visit Leah at www.leah-ashton.com

Secrets and Speed Dating*

*Published as part of the

Mills & Boon Loves … anthology

Did you know this is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Fremantle, Western Australia. Thirteen years ago

NOT EVEN AS she stood outside Jake Donner’s bedroom window, watching the flimsy and slightly askew aluminium blinds smack rhythmically against the glass in the gentle breeze, did Eleanor Cartwright—even for a moment—have second thoughts.

Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t nervous. Of course she was. Declarations of love, she imagined, were always at least slightly nerve-racking.

But tonight, nerves didn’t matter.

She had to do this.

You should tell him, honey. Love shouldn’t be kept secret .

She hadn’t paid much attention to her mum when she’d said that a couple of months ago. She thought maybe she’d even laughed?

I don’t love him, Mum, don’t be stupid. We’re just friends .

And her mum had done that annoying thing where she raised her eyebrows as if she were the all-knowing, and gently shook her head. It had made Eleanor feel about twelve, not sixteen.

Whatever, mum. He’s leaving anyway. There’s no point .

And maybe there still wasn’t.

But the pointlessness—or not—didn’t matter any more.

Since exactly twenty-nine days ago, a lot of stuff didn’t matter any more.

Eleanor took a deep breath. She could do this.

Letting Jake leave Fremantle—and her—without knowing how she felt was no longer an option.

A larger pre-dawn gust of air made Eleanor shiver, and it slipped through the opening in Jake’s window to make the blinds rattle loudly.

No sound came from his room. Which wasn’t all that surprising, given it was about three o’clock in the morning. Plus, Jake slept like a log.

She stepped closer, the dew that coated the long, unmown grass around his house damp against her legs. Jake’s bed was right below the window, so, on tiptoe, she slid it open. The window—and the house—were old, and it gave its usual shriek of protest.

‘Jake?’ she said, hoping the sound had woken him.

No such luck.

So she continued with her plan, gripping the edges of the window, and hoisting herself upwards. Then she would perch on the window sill, reach for Jake, and gently shake him awake.

This, however, was not what happened.

Instead, her momentum propelled her upwards—and inwards—not at all in the way she’d imagined. In the cacophony of the blinds, her own surprised yelp, and then Jake’s much louder shout, she found herself bounced from the bed and onto the floor, Jake’s body pressed against hers from chest, to hip, to toes. Her glasses had parted ways with her face, but even so Jake’s confusion was apparent even in the—slightly fuzzy—moonlight.

‘What the hell? Eleanor?’

She nodded, temporarily incapable of speech for two reasons: the impact of hitting the worn carpet, and the realisation that Jake was only wearing boxer shorts.

But then he was up, and away from her, the overhead light coming on a second later. She stared at the naked bulb, doing her best to breathe and think at the same time.

‘Eleanor,’ he said, ‘why are you here?’

He crossed to her, reaching out and pulling her to her feet. He met her gaze with confusion. ‘Why are you still in your uniform?’

She looked down, taking in her crumpled white shirt and knee-length tartan skirt. She’d barely registered what she was wearing. That day, the week—the past month—it had all been a blur.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘So you decided to jump in my window?’

Eleanor just looked at him.

Jake sighed, and he scratched at his belly absently. That belly had changed a lot since their many trips to the beach last summer. Now it was firmer, leaner—she could see the angular jut of his hipbones just above where his boxers hung low on his body.

Following her gaze, he hooked a finger in the waistband and tugged them a little higher. But he didn’t look embarrassed.

He never did.

In contrast, Eleanor usually felt like a walking bundle of self-consciousness.

His dark hair was a mess, but he still looked really, really great.

Eleanor knew she didn’t look great. But at least she’d washed away the evening’s worth of dried tears on her cheeks. Besides, her mum had always told her that it didn’t matter what she looked like. It was what was inside that counted.

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said softly.

Jake’s gaze darted away. ‘About your mum?’

‘No,’ she said. And did he look—relieved?

In the almost month since her mum had forgotten to look before stepping out onto a busy Fremantle street, Eleanor had barely seen Jake.

That had been her choice—hadn’t it? For the first few days she’d left the house for nothing but the funeral—the oblivion of sleep the only relief from the indescribable pain of loss.

And then, finally, when she’d returned to school, it’d been alone. Jake’s final year exams were already over and so, for the first time in four years, she’d walked to and from school without him.

She hadn’t wanted company. Not even Jake.

But now she did. Now she needed him.

And yet he was shifting his weight from foot to foot—like an Olympic runner settling into his starting blocks, mere milliseconds from sprinting away.

No. That couldn’t be right. Jake had always been there for her.

She needed to sit, so she did, perching on the edge of his bed. Amongst the bunched-up fabric she found her glasses, and she put them on with hands that shook just slightly.

He eyed her warily.

This wasn’t at all how she’d expected this would go.

‘I wanted to talk to you before you left.’

‘I don’t fly out until Monday, Eleanor. That’s two perfectly good days you had to come knock on my door at a time I wasn’t—you know—sleeping.’