Fiona Harper - The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams

She snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter and headed deeper into the church. She stopped by the first wall and took a sip. The print was of a windswept Highland landscape. Nicole had always loved the rich, peaty colours of a Scottish winter—the mossy greens, slate greys, the ochre of the dying bracken—but there was something about seeing it in black and white that made it look even wilder and more lonely. She could almost feel the wind sweeping off the worn-down mountain tops and into the wide, flat valley below, could almost hear the frothy sea hiss as the gale tossed the waves with no mercy.

She carried on. They were all British landscapes—rugged Cornish beaches, tranquil forest glades, ancient stone circles—but each harnessed a wild and beautiful energy. It made something inside her ache. Just a little. And she didn’t know why.

She’d reached the far end of one of the maze-like avenues now, and she hesitated at which direction to go next. It was clever. There was no predetermined route between the walls. In fact, the layout seemed deliberately designed to make visitors wander and retrace their steps, to seek out the hidden nooks they hadn’t discovered yet. She glanced right, wondering if she’d been that way already, then left.

Just as she did, someone disappeared behind a wall. Nicole hadn’t seen them properly. It had only been a blur at the edges of her peripheral vision, but it was accompanied by a flash of something that was very much like a memory. Something that made her think of soft fur and dancing lights. Without asking herself why, she followed.

As she turned the corner she saw a man with his back to her, talking to a couple of older men in suits. They were discussing a piece halfway down the zig-zag of wall, about fifteen feet away. He was dressed all in black, from his battered biker boots, to his jeans and T-shirt. Even his hair was so dark it almost matched them. Just a hint of chestnut brought out by the overhead spotlights spoiled the effect. His stance was easy, relaxed, as he drank from an open beer bottle and gestured towards the photo in front of him.

Nicole knew she should turn, look at the print right in front of her, but she couldn’t help but linger. There was something about him. Something tickling the back of her brain. Had she met him before? She felt as if she had, but surely she hadn’t, because she’d definitely remember someone like him. Not her type at all, of course, but memorable all the same.

And then he turned and smiled at a woman who joined the group, and a delectable little dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth, apparent even beneath the short black stubble.

A charge shot through Nicole like electricity. So strong it reminded her of the time her pet hamster had chewed through the wire on her bedside light and she’d foolishly picked it up, thinking it wouldn’t hurt her. She’d found herself on the other side of the room a split second later, dazed and confused.

It couldn’t be, could it?

It couldn’t be him. The guy from New Year’s Eve.

For some reason she clutched her handbag closer to her, as if she was protecting that slip of paper folded into the pocket of her purse, as if it might jump out and cause trouble if she didn’t.

He’d been one hot cowboy, as Peggy had called him, when Nicole had been five cocktails to the wind, but the sober version was just as potent. It seemed her beer goggles had twenty-twenty vision. She knew she should feel happy about that, but she couldn’t. Not while her insides were unravelling in loops.

Why, after months of coexisting in the same city, did she have to bump into him now ? On the night she had to be on top form if she was going to bag this job of Saffron’s and deliver the proposal of the century?

At least he hadn’t spotted her. She should just sneak back round that wall and…

Uh-oh.

As she was backing away he turned, noticed her. His eyebrows lifted momentarily in surprise and then his smile widened and he started to stroll towards her with that easy stride she hadn’t realised she’d noticed, let alone recalled. Nicole tried to move but her stilettos were glued to the floor. Her phone buzzed in her pocket but she ignored it.

‘Hey, Holly…’ he said, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. ‘Long time no see.’

Her mouth moved. Up and down, up and down. She must look like a gaping frog. ‘Holly?’ she finally managed as he stopped in front of her.

‘Holly Golightly,’ he said, brandishing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Of course, I realised that wasn’t your real name pretty quickly. One quick Google search put pay to that.’

She’d told him her name was Holly Golightly?

‘So why didn’t you?’ he asked.

Nicole blinked. ‘Why didn’t I what?’

He stepped forward. She started to feel more than a little claustrophobic. ‘Call me,’ he replied, and then he waited, a hint of a lopsided smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

She swallowed. It was one thing fibbing to Peggy when she got too nosy, but it was another thing entirely to lie to the man himself. Her mouth felt dry, despite the fact she’d been sipping her wine and it was already half gone.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t tell him she’d been too much of a coward to call him, because something about him made her feel out of her depth, like she was a drowning woman trying to surface and gasp in some air. She didn’t want to ever feel that way again with a man.

It was happening now. She tried to come up with a smooth, polished answer, but the only things inside her head were jumbled syllables, like a multitude of jigsaw pieces, none of which seemed to connect to the rest. ‘Um…’ she said and looked away. When she looked back he was still smiling at her, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze.

That was when it hit her like a slap. He was playing with her. He was enjoying seeing her like this. That thought alone sobered her enough to thread a few of those syllables together.

‘I don’t know if you noticed…’ she began, finding it easier with every word that slid from between her lips, suddenly finding an excuse she might be able to use to her advantage, ‘…but I was a little bit tiddly that evening.’

The grin she got in return told her he knew exactly how tiddly she’d been and that he hadn’t minded one bit.

She closed her eyes momentarily, licked her lips.

Focus, Nicole.

She breathed in, turned her internal thermostat down a notch. She had to get a grip on herself. ‘I lost your number…and I didn’t know your name, either. There wasn’t much I could have done.’

There. Smooth. Silky. Giving him back as good as she got. That was the Nicole she knew and loved, not that gibbering idiot who’d look into a man’s eyes and believe every lie he told her.

He nodded. ‘True. But you didn’t seem too bothered about finding out before you pinned me up against that wall and had your wicked way with me.’

Although she tried not to, Nicole felt herself blush right down to her perfectly manicured toenails. She could feel heat radiating from him like a force field, and while one part of her—the sane part—was telling her to back away, excuse herself and get on with what she’d come here to do, she couldn’t deny that a completely separate part was telling her to launch herself onto him again.

And he knew it. Damn him. Payback was a bitch.

‘I tried to find you, you know…?’ he said, keeping his voice deliberately low, so she was tempted to sway closer.

‘You did?’ She’d aimed for cool and unaffected. Husky and mildly perturbed would just have to do.

He nodded. ‘When you didn’t call I talked to friends who were there that night, the bar staff…I even called a lookalike agency. But you didn’t leave me much to go on, just a naughty twinkle in your eyes and a fake name.’ He reached out and touched the end of her plait, which was draped over her shoulder. ‘I didn’t even know if this was your real hair. You could have been wearing a wig.’