**Rain Brings Good Luck**
After a sweltering summer, a chilly and damp autumn arrived, bringing biting winds and relentless rain.
On her way home, exhausted by the wind and the dreary drizzle, Emily ducked into a supermarket to escape the foul weather—and perhaps pick up something for dinner. It was warm, bright, and dry inside. She wandered slowly between the aisles, inspecting the neatly stacked packages.
Her basket filled with groceries. In the produce section, she grabbed a lemon and a bunch of grapes. She imagined curling up on the sofa, telly on, sipping hot tea with lemon while plucking ripe grapes from the stem. Maybe even a glass of wine to warm up faster.
Pausing at the deli counter, she debated between sausages and cured meat. Right now, she’d gladly take both. She hadn’t eaten a crumb since morning. Swallowing hard, she reached for the pre-sliced ham—no cooking required. But just then, another hand stretched toward the same packet.
Emily jerked back and turned to see a tall, striking man beside her. Dark hair, stylishly cut with a touch of grey at the temples, warm brown eyes, and soft pink lips. He wore a sleek black coat—exactly her type.
“Sorry about that,” he said, flashing a perfect, white-toothed smile.
*Hollywood has nothing on him. Does someone like him even shop at Tesco for ham?* Emily flushed under his gaze. She forced herself to look away and moved toward the checkout. *Gawking like a schoolgirl.*
She caught her reflection in the drinks cooler and winced. *God, I look a mess. What must he think? Not that it matters. Men like that don’t notice women like me.* She unloaded her basket onto the conveyor belt.
Beside her, someone placed identical items—even the ham.
She must have stared too long because he chuckled.
“Seems we have similar tastes, don’t you think?”
Emily met his gaze again.
“Hardly unique. Half the store probably has the same things.” She turned away, painfully aware of her windblown hair.
“True enough,” he agreed.
*I look like a drowned rat, and he just stepped out of a salon.* She imagined running her fingers through his thick hair and immediately scolded herself. *Snap out of it. He’s out of your league.*
She stuffed her shopping into a bag, paid, and marched toward the exit without glancing back. Outside, a gust slapped her face as if punishing her for seeking shelter. She’d forgotten how miserable it was. The door swung open behind her.
“Not exactly walking weather. Do you live nearby?”
She tensed. “Why?”
“I’ve got my car. Could give you a lift.”
Emily hesitated. *Probably knows the effect he has on women. Doesn’t look like a psycho.* *But then, how many psychos have I actually met?*
*If he’s a killer, at least he’s a handsome one.* The thought made her laugh. They stepped off the curb, and he opened the passenger door.
“Here. Let me take your bag—easier that way.”
The car was warm, dry, and quiet. He slid in beside her, turned the key, and the engine hummed like a contented beast.
“Where to?”
“16 Maple Street. Near the station.”
“I know it.”
She watched the wind batter pedestrians outside. Occasionally, she stole glances at his hands on the wheel—steady, controlled. The whole package. *Stop dreaming. He’ll drop you off and vanish forever.*
“I’m James. And you?”
“Emily.”
“Pretty name. Reminds me of a girl I liked in primary school. Promised to marry her.”
“Did you?”
“Well… it was primary school.”
Only then did she notice the soft music playing. Had it been on the whole time? Or had she been too distracted by him?
She shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of the scent of leather and something faintly woody. The car stopped.
“Which flat?”
Emily blinked. They were already there. *So much for a long ride.* She pointed.
He waited until she was safely inside before driving off.
At the lift, she studied her windswept reflection. *Men like him aren’t single. Probably married to some stunning woman, kids who look just like him. Forget it.*
She stopped by the shop every evening but never saw him again.
Then, two days later, his car was parked outside her building. Had she memorised the number plate? No, but she recognised it instinctively. *Waiting. Hoping. Or is he a stalker?*
James stepped out.
“Been waiting for you, Emily.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t forget you.”
“Still hung up on that schoolgirl crush?” She instantly regretted the jab.
“Maybe. Only met two Emilys in my life. Feels like fate. It’s freezing—get in.”
She should invite him upstairs. But why? Instead, she slid into the car, enveloped by that familiar scent and quiet music.
“You a student?”
“No, I work. Optician at the clinic.”
“Interesting. Giving people sight.”
“Just checking prescriptions. You?”
“Engineer. Boring stuff. Just finished work? Fancy a coffee?”
*Obviously.* She’d have followed him anywhere. But she wasn’t *that* bold. Coffee, though? Perfect.
They talked effortlessly. She melted under his gaze—until she asked bluntly:
“You married?”
A beat of silence.
“No. Well, divorced. You seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment,” she teased.
He drove her home, took her hand, leaned in—
She yanked free and bolted from the car.
Inside the lift, she cursed herself. *Idiot. A man like that, and you play hard to get?*
By the third date, she pulled him into her flat the moment the door shut.
Later, curled against him, she envied her own happiness. He rarely stayed the night. *Men like him don’t settle for one woman.* No wedding ring, but that meant nothing. When he was there, she forgot everything. When he wasn’t, she ached.
Weeks passed. She fell deeper, grew jealous of the time he spent elsewhere. One night, she demanded answers.
“You said you were divorced.”
“I am.”
“Then why won’t you stay? Why only see me twice a week?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated. My ex drinks. Badly. We don’t share a bed, but the flat’s mine. I can’t kick her out—she’d fall apart without me.”
Emily didn’t believe him. But she couldn’t walk away.
At work, the head nurse prodded:
“Smart, pretty girl like you—still single? That young surgeon fancies you. Why not give him a chance?”
Emily cracked. Told her everything.
The nurse snorted. “Definitely married. Too handsome to be true. Want his address? I’ve got a mate in the force.”
Two days later, Emily stood outside his flat.
A pretty blonde answered, then vanished at the sound of a crying child. Emily stepped inside.
The woman returned, baby in arms—his eyes, unmistakably.
“I’m from the clinic,” Emily blurted. “You missed your check-up.”
The woman frowned. “No one’s ever come round before.”
Emily lied through her teeth. “Just passing by.”
The woman was older, sober, pleasant.
“My husband’s away on business. Rain kept us in last time.”
“Business trips often?” Emily’s voice cracked.
“Not too often. But I wish he’d find something local. We’ve another on the way.”
Emily bolted.
Outside, she texted James: *Don’t call, don’t come. I know you lied. Your wife’s pregnant again.* Then blocked him.
That evening, she smiled at the surgeon, Simon.
“Fancy the cinema? Been ages.”
They went. He stayed over. She tried to forget James. Failed.
Spring came. Simon proposed. She said yes.
James never called.
At their June wedding, rain poured.
“Good luck,” someone said.
Maybe.
A year later, their daughter was born.
At the clinic for a check-up, Emily saw James’s wife—then him.
“Emily, please—”
“Sorry, I’m in a rush.” She scooped up her daughter and fled.
Simon waited in the car, an old song playing: *”…I’ll find love, just around the corner…”*
That night, she clung to him.
“I love you.”
“Something happen? Thought you’d never say it.” He kissed her.
“I’ll say it every day, if you like.”
“Please.”
Outside, the rain kept falling.
