Kat French - My Perfect Stranger - A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December

‘Here.’ She held them out to him, and at the sound of her voice he went from groping around on the floor to absolutely bone still.

‘My glasses?’

Honey nodded, then after a beat she let out the softest of gasps at the significance of him needing to ask the question. ‘Oh.’

He reached out towards her without looking up. ‘Give them to me.’

She stepped out of her doorway and placed them in his fingers. He grabbed them and shoved them onto his face, then rolled over and scooted back against the wall, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Honey moved quietly around him, collecting up the chemist supplies back into the bag and putting them on the hall table. Shit. Why couldn’t she have just left them there in the first place?

‘I brought you bandages. And antiseptic. It was for your hands,’ she murmured, knowing it was insignificant. ‘I’m sorry.’

He made a guttural sound and scruffed up his hair with his fingers.

‘I was wrong when I called you a girl guide. You’re way beyond that. You’re a regular Mother fucking Teresa.’

Honey hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Not setting up any more obstacle courses in the bloody hallway would be a good start.’

‘Deal.’ Honey realised in that tiny moment of thaw that she didn’t even know his name. ‘I’m Honey, by the way.’

‘Well, that’s ridiculous. What’s your real name?’

‘Honey is my real name. Well, it’s Honeysuckle, actually.’

‘Fuck me. That’s even more ridiculous.’

Honey was well used to her name being cause for comment, yet still his blatant derision riled her. ‘Just another thing about me to annoy you then, rock star.’

‘“Rock star”?’

‘Yeah. That’s your name in my head. Mostly because you’re an arrogant twat who swears all the time and drinks whisky for breakfast.’

‘I’ll take that,’ he said. ‘Or Hal. Just in case you ever feel the need to revise your opinion.’

‘Where were you going?’

‘To knock on your door.’

‘To apologise about the flowers?’

‘Not fucking likely. Do you have any whisky?’

Honey contemplated her answer. She didn’t. She did, however, have an almost-full bottle of tequila in the back of the cupboard, but enabling a drunk felt wrong. Was he a drunk? He certainly seemed to drink enough to qualify for the title. ‘Not whisky, no.’

‘But you do have something?’

Honey sighed. He might not be able to see her expression, but her voice had obviously given her away and lying wasn’t her strong point. ‘I have tequila.’

‘Thank fuck. Can I have it?’

‘Mother Teresa wouldn’t give it to you.’

‘Will you give it to me if I apologise?’

‘For smashing my jug, or for calling me Mother Teresa?’

‘Either. Both. Hell, I’ll even apologise for the fact that your mother named you Honeysuckle if you give me tequila.’

‘Do you have lemon and salt?’

He lifted his head towards Honey slowly, and even though his eyes were hidden behind his glasses she could clearly read the incredulous look on his face. For a second she thought he was going to yell again, and then he started to laugh. And not just a snicker. A great, huge, belly laugh that shook his shoulders first, then his entire body, and it went on and on uncontrollably until tears poured down his face.

Honey didn’t laugh with him, because it was pretty obvious that despite his current appearance, her mysterious neighbour was far from amused.

She slipped into her flat to dig the tequila out of the cupboard. When she returned to the hallway Hal had pulled himself up to standing and almost pulled himself together, although tear streaks still dredged across his face.

‘Tequila,’ Honey said, and stepped close enough to touch his arm. He took the bottle she placed into his hand with muttered thanks. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ she asked. ‘You know, any help with … stuff?’

Hal huffed. ‘Don’t start the Mother Teresa thing again just because you know I’m blind.’

‘I won’t. I still think you’re an arrogant twat who drinks too much.’

The smallest twitch of humour tugged at the corner of Hal’s mouth. ‘And I still think you’re a frustrated girl guide with a stupid name.’

‘Good. Then we understand each other.’

‘Don’t bang on my door again.’

Honey watched him turn and walk away, staying close to the wall until he reached his own doorway. ‘Fine. But shout if you need anything.’

‘I won’t need anything you could possibly give me, Honeysuckle,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly. He clicked the door closed, leaving Honey alone in the hall – a little enlightened, a little troubled, and, strangely, a little in lust.

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