“We’re on first-name terms now,” whispered Dmitry close to her ear. Anna felt his warm breath against her temple, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Lottie, check if anyone’s left in the corridor? I wanted to leave early today—it’s Mum’s birthday,” Anna said.
“Of course, Dr. Hartley.” The young, pretty nurse stood up, opened the office door, and peeked out. “It’s all clear, Dr. Hartley. All the appointments are done—I’ve double-checked,” Lottie reassured with a smile.
“Good. If anyone comes, book them for tomorrow or send them to Dr. Whitmore’s office.”
“Go on, I’ll handle everything. Don’t worry,” Lottie said soothingly. “The clinic director’s away on business—if anything comes up, I’ll cover for you.”
“Thank you. What would I do without you?” Anna grabbed her bag, checked her desk for her phone, and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow, Lottie.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Hartley—oh, hurry! Look how dark it’s getting. It’s about to pour.”
“Really? And I still need to pick up flowers. Right, I’m off,” Anna said, already stepping into the corridor.
She changed quickly into her coat, slipping it on as she hurried down the stairs.
“Dr. Hartley, you’re leaving already?” An elderly woman stopped her at the reception desk.
“Hello. Can it wait till tomorrow? I’m in a rush,” Anna replied, adjusting her coat as she moved toward the exit.
“Dr. Hartley, little Sophie only listens to you. She won’t stop crying—couldn’t you just talk to her?” The woman followed Anna, speaking urgently.
“I have evening appointments tomorrow, but I’ll make time to visit in the morning. I really have to go—I’m sorry.” Anna pushed through the clinic doors and paused at the top of the steps, gazing up at the sky.
A massive dark cloud loomed over London, so heavy it seemed its belly might scrape the rooftops before bursting into a deluge.
As Anna reached the flower stall, the first fat raindrops hit her shoulders. She barely made it under the awning before the downpour began in earnest.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wrap these up carefully,” the florist assured her.
While the woman bundled Anna’s mother’s favourite gerberas into crisp cellophane, Anna anxiously watched buses pull away from the stop one after another. Finally, she took the bouquet, paid, and sprinted for cover, holding the flowers over her head like a makeshift umbrella.
The rain had turned fierce. The bus stop stood empty except for her—at least it had a roof. She’d forgotten her umbrella and was already soaked by the time she reached shelter.
No bus in sight. She should’ve waited inside, spoken to Sophie’s grandmother—too late for regrets now. Anna shivered, stepping deeper under the shelter as cars sped past, spraying water from the growing puddles.
*Where is it? Of all days to get stuck…* She stared down the road, willing the bus to appear.
Suddenly, a sleek black Range Rover pulled up to the kerb. Anna caught herself envying the driver—*lucky sod, never waiting in the rain…*
The passenger window slid down. A man leaned over—it took her a second to realise he was speaking to *her*.
“Get in. There’s an accident—buses aren’t moving.”
Before she could decide, he pushed the door open. Anna slid into the warm, dry interior, the rain’s roar vanishing behind the thud of the door.
“Where to?” the man asked, his eyes flicking to her.
Around her age, handsome, in a sharp suit. Anna flushed. *I must look like a drowned rat.*
“Bishop’s Lane,” she muttered.
“Good. I’m headed that way.”
His effortless confidence unnerved her. *Not some creep—too polished. More like a leading man from a bloody BBC drama.* The car glided forward, the scent of leather and expensive cologne wrapping around her. A soft chime sounded.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded her.
She fumbled with the clasp, then adjusted the flowers on her lap.
“Why did you stop for me?” she asked, watching the wipers sweep the windshield.
“Told you—traffic’s gridlocked. You’d be waiting ages. Plus, the flowers—figured you were off somewhere important. And turns out we’re going the same way.” He glanced at her again.
*Men like him don’t pick up random women. This doesn’t happen.* She bit back the words.
“Your face is familiar. We’ve met before—I never forget one.”
She scoffed. “Doubtful. We’re from different worlds. Different *social strata*, as they say.”
She felt the weight of his assessing gaze.
“People like you don’t take buses. I’m just a GP.” The words came out sharper than she’d meant.
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, thick with her regret.
Then—
“I remember now. Two months ago. I brought my granddaughter to your clinic.”
“*You?*” Anna gaped. “I’d have remembered *you*.”
“What, too young to be a granddad?” He grinned. “Daughter had her young—seventeen. Kids these days.”
“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far,” Anna shot back.
“Feisty. I knew you were strict that day—no-nonsense type.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Depends.” He dodged the question. “You lived on Bishop’s Lane before?”
“Yes.”
“Went to St. Mary’s Secondary?”
She blinked. “How did you—?”
“Same school. Strange we never crossed paths.” His quick glance made her pulse skip. “When did you graduate?”
“2003.”
“I was ’99.”
*Thank God—at least he wasn’t there when I was.*
“Bet you were the studious type. Too focused on uni to notice boys. Dreamed of med school, saving lives—am I close?”
She opened her mouth to retort, but her mum’s building came into view. “Turn into that estate. Second block, please.”
“Can’t pull up to the entrance—you’d step right into a puddle.” He moved to get out, but Anna was already darting onto the wet pavement.
By the time she looked back, the car was driving away. *Bloody hell—didn’t even thank him.*
Inside, the flat smelled of vanilla. Her mum gasped at the flowers.
“Oh, you’re soaked! Get your slippers on. I’ve got tea—made your favourite cake…”
“Your friends aren’t coming?” Anna eyed the empty lounge.
“Didn’t invite them. We see enough of each other.” Her mum lowered her voice. “Pensions being what they are… Who drove you? A suitor?”
“You were *watching*? Just a stranger. There was an accident—”
“Handsome,” her mum sing-songed.
“Since when are you such a gossip?”
“I’ve got eyes!”
They ate cake, then curled on the sofa. Anna’s eyelids grew heavy as her mum rambled about her needing a man, moving on, *for heaven’s sake, have a baby—*
“Mum, *stop*. I’m happy. I see enough kids at work.”
Her mum muttered something about the neighbour’s son, but Anna was already asleep.
She woke to darkness, the telly mumbling. Her mum knitted under the lamplight.
“I dozed off.”
“Made your bed up.”
Anna didn’t want to leave. But in her old room, sleep fled. She replayed the drive, the man—*Daniel*, he’d said—until she scolded herself: *Dream on. Men like that don’t happen twice.*
Next morning, she made her rounds, too busy to eat. By evening, her feet ached. She’d *forgotten the cat*. *Two days alone—poor Marmalade.*
Rushing out, she spotted the Range Rover. *Plenty of black cars in London.* She walked past.
A touch on her arm made her jump.
“Only me.” Daniel smiled.
“What do you want?”
“You dropped this.” He held out a brooch.
“Thank you—I didn’t even—”
“Come to dinner. You’re tired. Starving. I’ll take no other thanks.” He guided her to the car.
“I live just—”
“Get in.” His tone brooked no argument.
As they drove, he studied her. “Husband gave you that brooch? You looked… wistful.”
“Our second anniversary. He died two years later. Aneurysm.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dinner was silent. The food exquisite, the wine smooth. Daniel spoke of his late wife, his daughter’As they stood on her doorstep that night, Daniel gently brushing a raindrop from her cheek, Anna realized—for the first time in years—she wasn’t afraid to hope.
