Miranda Dickinson - It Started With A Kiss

His concern was touching but bearing in mind the afternoon I’d had, the last thing I needed was the pity of a gorgeous man. ‘All good. Nothing broken.’

‘Good.’ He stared at me and this time there was something more in his eyes than concern. ‘Look, this is going to sound mental, so I’m just going to say it. I couldn’t let you go without telling you that you’re beautiful. That’s why I followed you here. Please don’t think I’m a psycho or that I do this a lot: I don’t. But you’re beautiful and I think you should know that.’

Stunned, I opened my mouth to reply, but just then a shout from behind us caused him to turn.

‘Mate, we’ve got to go … Now!’

What happened next was so fast that even now the details remain frustratingly sparse in my mind. But here’s what I know.

When he turned back to face me, the way he looked at me took my breath away. It was the kind of look you see in movies when a bridegroom turns to see his bride walking towards him for the first time: a heady, overpowering mix of shock, surprise and all-encompassing, heart-stopping love. It was the look that Charlie should have given me when I told him I loved him. But this wasn’t Charlie; and that, in itself, was part of the problem. Because – apart from not being the man to whom I had publicly expressed my undying love not half an hour beforehand – this person was almost perfect: from his wide, honest eyes and shy smile, to the woody scent of his cologne now surrounding me.

But most of all because of what happened next …

He took a step back and I could see a battle raging in his eyes as the voice behind him called again, more insistent this time.

‘We have to go – come on!’

‘One minute,’ he called back, just as a hurrying shopper crashed into his shoulder, momentarily throwing him off balance – and straight into my arms.

In utter surprise, I held on to him and his strong arms reached round to cradle my back. The shock of it blew all thoughts of Charlie instantly from my mind. Heart racing, I gazed up into his eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, I have to go,’ he whispered, his lips inches from mine. ‘But you’re beautiful.’

And then, he kissed me.

Although our lips touched for the smallest of moments, it was unlike anything else I’ve experienced. It was the type of kiss you only expect to see in Hollywood films, finally uniting the two leads as the credits start to roll over the delicious tones of Nat King Cole. In fact, even the soundtrack was perfect because at that very moment Mr Cole himself began crooning ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ via the muffled speakers of the bauble stall’s CD player. All thoughts of Christmas shopping dissolved from my mind as I closed my eyes and gave in to the unexpected gift of the stranger’s lips on mine.

It was almost perfect. Almost. But not quite. Because, as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone: swallowed up by the heaving, unyielding mass of shoppers. I remained frozen to the spot for what felt like an age, dazed yet elated, my heart beating wildly.

And then, from somewhere deep in the recesses of my consciousness, a thought began to push urgently through the swirling mass of emotions.

Go after him!

‘Wait! Come back!’

I looked in the direction I thought he had gone, but there was no sign of him. Nevertheless, I began to shove my way through the crowds, rising on tiptoes to scan across the sea of bobbing bodies for a glimpse of his hair or his scarf as I ran. Shoppers tutted as I pushed past, but I was a woman on a mission and oblivious to their disapproving glances.

As I neared the end of the line of wooden stalls, I suddenly caught a glimpse of russet-brown hair, hurrying ahead of me. Heart thumping hard against my chest, I pressed on, gaining on him. Soon, I was within touching distance, so I reached out my hand and tapped his shoulder.

‘Hey, you can’t just kiss me and then leave without giving me your name,’ I said. He turned to face me … and my heart plummeted.

‘That’s one hell of a chat-up line, love,’ the older man grinned. His yellowing teeth and pockmarked skin were anything but kissable. ‘Now I don’t know about any kiss but I’m happy to oblige if you want.’

I recoiled, dropping my gaze as I backed away. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.’

‘Story of my life, chick,’ he laughed as I hurried back towards the safety of the Christmas Market stalls. Utterly deflated, I stopped and looked up at the darkening sky, heavy with snow-laden clouds. I had lost him.

How was it possible for something so amazing to happen and then disappear as quickly as it had arrived? And how stupid was I for not asking his name? At least then I would know something tangible about him. My scarf still retained traces of his cologne and my lips were tingling from our brief kiss, but that was all I had to show for an event so significant it might just have changed everything.

All I knew about him was what I could remember. To all intents and purposes, he was just another stranger existing in a sprawling metropolis – another life lived in parallel to mine, with little chance of meeting again. But when he looked into my eyes and kissed me, I felt like I had known him all my life. More than an attraction, there was a connection that resonated deeper within me than any other. That one single meeting in a lifetime of acquaintance was enough to alter my life irrevocably.

And that’s why I had to find him.

‘He’s a psycho.’

‘He is not.’

‘Or some kind of twisted stalker …’

‘Wren, he wasn’t like that.’

‘How do you know? He could have been walking round kissing random female shoppers all day! He could get his sick, evil kicks out of doing that …’ Wren’s cocoa brown eyes opened wide. ‘Maybe he kisses the women he’s about to murder in cold blood … Oh-my-giddy-life, you’ve just had a Judas kiss!’

I let out a long sigh as I sank into Wren’s oversized sofa in her chic city-centre apartment. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about it now.’

Wren placed a concerned hand on my arm. ‘No, Rom, you were absolutely right to tell me. If only so I could stop you making a terrible mistake!’

Sometimes I wonder how I came to have a friend quite as theatrical as Wren. But then, being a drama teacher, I suppose it’s something of an occupational hazard for her.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this now, but I was still reeling from the events of the day before. In a daze, following the stranger’s hasty departure, I had stumbled to the train station in a fog of emotion and shock. Slumped in my seat, mind numb, I had called the only person who would understand. Wren has been my closest friend since primary school and she’s known Charlie almost as long as I have. Initially, she insisted that I catch a train back into the city and head straight for her home, but all I really wanted to do was to sleep. So instead she made me promise to visit her the next day.

After a restless night with images of Charlie and the gorgeous stranger interchanging in my mind, I arrived at Wren’s chic canalside apartment, just along from the elegant bars and restaurants of Brindley Place.

Eyes wide with concern, Wren had listened quietly as I relayed the events of the previous day; but as soon as I finished she launched into an impassioned commentary.

‘The way I see it, this bloke is just a diversion from the real issue – you and Charlie. I mean, come on, Rom, one minute you’re telling Charlie you love him and then you “just happen” to meet the love of your life?’

‘It doesn’t make sense, I know. But honestly, Wren, it was the most intense, amazing moment. He took my breath away …’