Heidi Rice - Call Me Cupid

When he got back downstairs Chloe wasn’t on the sofa where he’d left her, but in the hallway, putting on her coat.

‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said. The dazzling smile she wore informed him that whatever barriers he’d managed to coax down in the last half-hour had sprung up again while he’d been hunting for Cal’s crocodile.

Damn.

He couldn’t wait another month to try again. It would seem like an eternity.

‘Are you sure you don’t want another glass of wine?’

Chloe shook her head and her curls bounced. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’ The seriousness that crept into her eyes told him she wasn’t just talking about the Merlot. But he wasn’t quite ready to let her go that easily.

‘Think how much it would help our case if Kelly could tell everybody that you’d stayed for breakfast?’

Chloe sighed. ‘Daniel... That’s not the deal, and you know it.’

Damn again. So close.

‘Maybe,’ he said, smiling slowly. ‘But optimism is one of my most appealing traits.’

At least she laughed. ‘Of course it is,’ she said and patted him on the arm as if he were an elderly aunt. Ouch.

He wanted to ask her to stay, to give him another chance, but it sounded suspiciously like begging inside his head, and he didn’t do begging. Persuading, yes. Pursuing, definitely. But never begging.

The muffled hoot of a car horn outside took him by surprise.

‘That’s my cab,’ she said.

Her cab.

She’d called a cab?

Suddenly Daniel didn’t feel as firmly in control as he had been before. He liked the chase, but this quarry was intent on running him in new and unexpected directions. He couldn’t quite decide whether he loved it or hated it.

‘Night, Daniel,’ she murmured, and then, without a flicker of hesitation or nerves, she leaned in close and pressed her lips gently to his cheek.

And then she was gone into the balmy night air, her little handbag swinging off her fingers.

Daniel shut the door when the cab drove away and gave out a loud growl of frustration.

‘Uncle Daniel!’ The terrified shriek came from Cal’s room, and a few seconds later he was standing at the top of the stairs. ‘The crocodile’s back!’ he said between sobs. ‘And he’s really, really angry.’

Daniel rubbed a hand through his hair and tramped up the stairs, scooping up the small, snivelling boy when he got to the top.

‘Don’t want to sleep in my room,’ Cal hiccupped as Daniel headed across the landing. ‘Can’t I sleep with you?’

Daniel looked at the clock. Not even nine-thirty. When he’d dreamed of an early night, snuggling up with a warm body in his bed this evening, this was not what he’d had in mind.

He took his nephew into his darkened bedroom, making sure the landing light was on and the door wide, and he climbed on top of the covers while Cal slid underneath. It wasn’t ten minutes before he could hear small-boy snoring and the rhythmic smack of Cal’s lips against his stubby thumb.

Daniel lay there a little longer, just to make sure he didn’t wake his nephew when he carried him back to bed. He couldn’t be cross, not really. Both boys had been very clingy since their dad had left and Kelly had slipped into the habit of letting them sneak into her bed if they woke in the night.

As he lay there he stared at the wedge of orange light the street lamp had painted on his ceiling and let out a heavy breath. Chloe Michaels was a mystery to him. One minute she was all wide-eyed and trembling at his proximity, the next she was cool and detached and contained.

As much as he hated all those silly women turning up since George’s proposal, at least they proved something—that he wasn’t totally repellent. Quite the opposite. So why could Chloe resist him so easily? What made her so different? He just had to find out.

* * *

Thank goodness for small boys with crocodiles under

their beds.

Chloe repeated the phrase to herself a hundred times as she got ready for work the next day.

Normally, she brushed her teeth on automatic, mind drifting, but this morning she watched herself in the mirror, her face free of make-up and her hair hidden beneath a twisted towel. She looked quite different from the woman who’d walked in the door last night.

She’d thought the Mouse was long gone, buried beneath years of being so cool and confident that play-acting had become reality. But she was still there. As Chloe brushed her teeth she occasionally caught a glimpse of her—something about a tightness in her jaw, a flicker of hesitancy in those eyes.

Chloe—the real Chloe—was glad she’d been handed an excuse to leave Daniel the night before. But the Mouse, stupid thing, was feeling all fluttery and excited about the way he’d looked at her, obvious desire in his eyes.

He wasn’t looking at you, Chloe told the Mouse in the mirror. He was looking at me. He likes me.

The Mouse got all defiant then, asking her why, if Drop-Dead Daniel liked her, she wasn’t doing anything about it. It was safe, after all, if the Mouse was really still safely under lock and key.

Why are you so scared...?

Chloe spat out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, and then she met her own eyes in the mirror again.

I’m not scared. It’s just a bad idea.

Because...?

We are colleagues. We’re... I just...

She pulled the towel from her head and released the damp curls darkened by the recent washing.

Okay, she admitted it. She was worried. Not scared, just a little concerned.

Because, as drop dead as he was, there was something about Daniel Bradford that burrowed beneath her armour.

Maybe it was because she’d liked him before New Chloe had taken form, because she had the oddest feeling he was the one person who had the power to crack her open and release the Mouse. Already the damn creature had come scratching around, making her say stupid things, do stupid things—like not breezily and smoothly disentangling herself when he first pressed his lips to hers in the Palm House. Like saying yes to that second glass of wine instead of going home.

She sighed. The Mouse wanted to relive that memory for a while, but Chloe shut it down swiftly.

No. It couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it. Because she couldn’t go back to being that pathetic person. It would be too sad.

So she faced herself down in the mirror again, applied camouflage in the form of foundation and concealer, obliterated the creature with a wave of a magic mascara wand and her favourite tube of Valentine Rose lipstick. And when she was finished, she slid her feet into the highest, most impractical shoes she owned and made the journey to work.

SEVEN

Chloe found Daniel waiting for her outside the tropical plant nurseries after work. A large wicker picnic basket was swinging from his hand. She stared at it, already guessing where they were going for their July date. Just as well she’d changed into something casual and summery.

‘I hope you like live music,’ he said.

She nodded and smiled, determined not to show she was nervous at the prospect of another evening in his company.

While all months at Kew had their own special appeal, July was bold and bright and showy. Everywhere flowers bloomed, filling the gardens with a stunning palette of colours and a cocktail of scents. They walked the half-mile to their destination: past the Palm House, through the Mediterranean garden with its temple, and on to the largest of Kew’s glasshouses, the Temperate House.

Each year Kew hosted a week-long music festival, erecting a stage in front of the three-sectioned greenhouse. As dusk fell the Temperate House became the backdrop for the performance, and coloured lights inside would bathe the trees emerald and turquoise and magenta, and bands would play into the night as the audience picnicked on the lawn in front.