**A Rainy Day Brings Luck**
After a sweltering summer came a chilly, damp autumn with biting winds and endless rain.
On her way home, exhausted from the wind and the miserable drizzle, **Sophie** ducked into a **Tesco** to escape the weather and pick up something for dinner. It was warm, bright, and dry inside. She wandered slowly through the aisles, idly examining the shelves.
Sophie filled her basket with groceries—some **Warburtons** bread, a lemon, and a bunch of grapes from the produce section. She imagined herself later, curled up on the sofa in front of the telly with a hot cuppa, squeezing lemon into it while plucking ripe grapes—maybe even a glass of wine to warm her up faster.
She hesitated by the deli counter, eyeing the sausages and ham, unsure what to choose. Right now, she’d happily eat both—she hadn’t had a bite since breakfast. Swallowing hard, she reached for the pre-sliced ham—no cooking needed. Then her hand brushed against another hand reaching for the same packet.
She pulled back and turned to see a tall, strikingly handsome man beside her. His dark hair, stylishly cut with just a hint of grey at the temples, his warm brown eyes, full lips—and he was wearing a tailored black coat. Exactly her type.
*”Sorry,”* he said, flashing a perfect, white-toothed smile.
*”Good grief, he looks like he stepped out of a magazine. What’s someone like him doing in an ordinary Tesco?”* Sophie flushed under his gaze, quickly looking away and shoving her basket forward. *”Stop staring like a fool,”* she scolded herself, shuffling toward the checkout.
Catching her reflection in a display case, she cringed. *”God, what a mess. What must he think of me? Not that it matters—he’s out of my league.”* She unloaded her groceries onto the conveyor belt. The man set his items beside hers—almost identical, down to the same ham.
She must’ve been staring because he spoke again.
*”Seems we have similar tastes, don’t you think?”*
Sophie met his eyes and that heart-stopping smile.
*”Hardly unique. Half the shoppers here probably bought the same things.”* She turned away sharply, painfully aware of her wind-tangled hair and rain-spattered coat.
*”True enough,”* he conceded.
*”I look like a drowned rat, and he’s fresh out of a photoshoot.”* She caught herself imagining how soft his hair would feel between her fingers and immediately shook the thought away. *”Pull yourself together. He’s not for you.”*
After paying, she stuffed her groceries into a bag, deliberately avoiding another glance at him, and headed for the exit. Outside, a gust of wind slapped her face as if punishing her for escaping the warmth. She’d almost forgotten how awful the weather was.
The shop door swung open behind her.
*”Not exactly walking weather. Do you live nearby?”*
Sophie turned cautiously. The man stood there, holding an umbrella.
*”Why?”*
*”I’ve got my car—could give you a lift.”*
Her mind raced. *”Probably knows exactly how gorgeous he is. Doesn’t seem like a serial killer—but then again, have I ever met one?”*
*”If he is, at least he’s a handsome one.”* The thought made her smirk.
They walked to his car—a sleek black **Audi**. He opened the passenger door for her.
*”Hop in. Let me take your bag—easier that way.”*
The interior was warm, dry, and quiet. He slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine purred to life like a contented beast.
*”Where to?”*
*”Number sixteen, Oakwood Lane. Near the station.”*
*”I know it,”* he said, pulling away.
Sophie watched raindrops race down the window, wind battering pedestrians outside. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied his hands on the steering wheel—steady, confident. *”Perfect. Absolutely perfect. And here I am, a mess.”*
*”I’m James,”* he said. *”What’s your name?”*
She almost answered with some flippant remark, then thought better of it.
*”Sophie.”*
*”Beautiful name. Reminds me of a girl I fancied in primary school. Told her I’d marry her one day.”*
*”Did you?”*
*”Well… it *was* primary school.”*
Only then did she notice the soft music playing—had it been on the whole time? She’d been too distracted by *him* to hear anything else.
The car slowed.
*”Which flat?”*
Sophie blinked. They were already outside her building. *”Snap out of it,”* she told herself.
James parked, and she scrambled out into the wind.
*”Your shopping—”* He followed, holding out her bag.
*”Thanks.”* She took it without meeting his eyes and hurried inside.
Fumbling with her keys, she finally got the door open and slipped into the lobby, exhaling only when she heard his car pull away.
*”What was *that*?”* she muttered, checking her reflection in the lift mirror. *”Men like him don’t stay single. Wife, kids, the whole package. Forget it.”*
She stopped by the shop every evening after work, hoping to see him again—but he never reappeared.
Then, two days later, she spotted his Audi parked outside her building. *”No. Can’t be.”* She hadn’t memorised the plate, but the car looked identical. Had she been *waiting* for this?
James stepped out.
*”There you are, Sophie.”*
*”Why are you here?”*
*”Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”*
*”Still stuck on that girl from primary school?”* Why had she said that? Now he’d leave.
*”Maybe,”* he replied lightly. *”You’re only the second Sophie I’ve ever met. Feels like fate. It’s freezing—get in the car.”*
She should’ve invited him upstairs—but why would she? Instead, she slid into the passenger seat, enveloped in the familiar scent of leather and faint music.
*”University student?”*
*”No, I work—optician at the clinic.”*
*”Interesting job. Giving people sight.”*
*”Just testing prescriptions. And you?”*
*”Structural engineer. Not as glamorous. Just finished work? Fancy grabbing a coffee?”*
Of *course* she did. She’d have agreed to anything with him, honestly. But Sophie had been raised proper—strict parents, no reckless choices. Coffee, though? Coffee was safe.
They talked about nothing and everything. She caught herself melting under his gaze, his effortless charm. To keep herself grounded, she asked blunt questions.
*”Are you married?”*
A pause. *”No. Well, divorced. And you—boyfriend?”*
*”Not currently,”* she teased.
He drove her home, took her hand, leaned in—
Sophie froze, then jerked her hand away, bolting from the car like she’d been burned.
In the lift, she cursed herself. *”Idiot. A man like that, and you *panic*?”*
It took three dates before she invited him inside. Then she kissed him in the hallway before he’d even taken off his coat.
Later, curled against him, she envied her own happiness. He never stayed the night—fine by her. Mornings weren’t her best look. But she lay awake, replaying every touch, every word.
He came over twice, sometimes three times a week, rarely sleeping over. She knew—a man like him? He couldn’t be alone. Maybe he *was* married. No ring, but that meant nothing. When he was with her, she forgot everything. When he wasn’t, she ached.
Months passed. The jealousy grew. She wanted *all* of him.
Finally, she confronted him. *”Are you really divorced?”*
*”I told you—yes.”*
*”Then why don’t you stay? Why can’t we be together properly?”*
*”It’s… complicated. My ex-wife—she drinks. Badly. I can’t kick her out. The flat’s in my name, but she’d be lost without me.”*
Sophie didn’t believe him. But she couldn’t leave him, either.
At work, her colleague **Emily**, the head nurse, noticed her distress.
*”You’re too lovely to be alone, Sophie. Dr. Harris fancies you—young, single, no baggage. Or is there someone else? Married, I bet. Won’t leave his wife, will he?”*
Sophie cracked. She told her everything.
*”Sweetheart, he’s lying. Men don’t put up with that. Give me his plate number—I’veAnd as the years passed, with the laughter of her daughter and the steady love of her husband filling her days, Sophie realized that sometimes the rain doesn’t just bring luck—it washes away the past to make room for something new.
