“Let’s be on first-name terms,” whispered William into Emma’s ear. She felt his breath against her temple, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Lottie, could you check if anyone’s left in the hallway? I wanted to leave early today. It’s Mum’s birthday,” said Emma.
“Right away, Miss Hartley,” replied the young, pretty nurse, standing from her desk and peering into the corridor. “No one’s left, and all the appointments are done. I’ve checked,” she added with a smile.
“Good. If anyone comes, book them for tomorrow or send them next door to Dr. Thompson.”
“Go on, I’ll handle everything. Don’t worry,” Lottie reassured her. “The clinic director’s away on business—I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks. What would I do without you?” Emma grabbed her bag, glanced at her desk to check for her phone, and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow, Lottie.”
“Goodbye, Miss Hartley. Oh, you’d better hurry—look how dark it’s gotten. It’s bound to start raining any minute.”
“Really? I still need to pick up flowers. Well, off I go,” Emma said, already stepping into the hallway.
She changed quickly, slipping on her raincoat as she hurried down the stairs.
“Miss Hartley, leaving already?” An elderly woman stopped her at the reception desk.
“Hello. Can it wait till tomorrow? I’m in a rush,” Emma replied, adjusting her coat as she moved toward the exit.
“Miss Hartley, little Sophie only ever listens to you. Could you pop in and calm her down? She’s been crying nonstop,” the woman pleaded, keeping pace with Emma.
“I’ve got evening appointments tomorrow. I’ll swing by in the morning on my rounds. Right now, I really must dash—sorry.” Emma stepped outside, glancing at the sky as she descended the clinic steps.
A massive black cloud loomed over the city, swollen and dark, as if it might scrape the rooftops before bursting into a downpour.
By the time Emma reached the flower stall, heavy raindrops had begun splashing onto her shoulders. She ducked under the awning just as the rain intensified.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wrap the bouquet properly,” said the florist.
While the woman secured Emma’s mother’s favourite daisies in thick cellophane, Emma anxiously watched buses pulling away from the stop one after another. Finally, she took the bouquet, paid, and dashed for the bus stop, shielding her head with the flowers.
The rain was now pouring relentlessly. Emma was the only one left at the stop. At least there was shelter. She’d forgotten her umbrella and was already soaked by the time she reached it.
Still no bus. She should’ve waited inside, spoken to Sophie’s grandmother—too late for regrets now. Shivering, she stepped further under the cover as cars sped past, splashing through rapidly forming puddles.
**Where is it? Of all days for this weather**, Emma thought, peering down the road. Just then, a black Range Rover pulled up by the pavement. She eyed it enviously. *Lucky sod. Must be nice having a car, not waiting for buses…*
The passenger window rolled down, revealing a man inside. It took her a moment to realise he was speaking to her.
“Get in. There’s been an accident—buses are stuck.”
While Emma hesitated, he leaned over and pushed the door open. She slid into the warm, dry interior, the sound of rain muffled.
“Where to?” he asked, glancing at her.
He looked about her age, handsome in a smart suit. Emma suddenly felt self-conscious. *I must look like a drowned rat.*
“Chaucer Lane,” she said.
“Perfect. I’m heading that way.”
There was an air of quiet confidence about him that made Emma wary. He didn’t seem the sort to pick up strangers. *More like a leading man in a telly drama*, she thought. The car moved smoothly, the scent of leather and expensive cologne filling the space. A soft chime sounded.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded her.
Fumbling, she fastened it, then adjusted the bouquet on her lap.
“Why did you stop for me?” she asked, watching the wipers rhythmically clear the windshield.
“Like I said—accident. You’d have waited ages. And you’ve got flowers, so I guessed you were off somewhere special. Turns out we’re going the same way.” He flicked a quick glance at her.
*This doesn’t happen. Men like him don’t stop for just anyone.* She bit back the remark.
“Your face is familiar. We’ve met before—I never forget one.”
“Doubtful,” Emma scoffed. “We’re from different worlds. Different social strata, as they say.”
She felt the weight of his assessing gaze.
“Your sort don’t ride buses. I’m just an ordinary GP,” she added, a touch sharply.
He said nothing. Silence stretched, Emma regretting her tone.
“I remember now. Brought my granddaughter to your clinic two months ago.”
**You?** Emma gaped. “I’d have remembered you.”
“Do I look too young to be a granddad? It’s true—my daughter had her at seventeen. Kids these days start early.”
“Takes after someone, then,” Emma muttered.
“Feisty. Wouldn’t cross you. I could tell straight off you were strict.”
“Is that bad?”
“Depends,” he dodged. “Did you used to live in Chaucer Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Went to St. Mary’s Secondary?”
“How did you—?”
“I went there too. Odd we never met before.” His quick glance made her flush.
“What year did you leave?”
“‘97.”
“I finished in 2000,” Emma said, oddly pleased.
“Top of the class, I bet. Too busy studying to notice lads—dreamed of uni, becoming a doctor. Am I right?”
She opened her mouth to retort, but her mother’s house came into view.
“Turn into this estate. Second building, please.”
“Sorry, can’t pull right up—you’d step into a puddle.” He opened his door, but Emma was already out, sprinting for the entrance.
When she looked back, the Range Rover was driving away. *Blast. Forgot to thank him.*
Inside, the flat smelled of vanilla cake. Her mother gasped at the flowers.
“Oh, you’re soaked! Get into your slippers. I’ve got tea—baked your favourite…”
“No guests?” Emma glanced at the empty lounge.
“Just us. They’d only fuss over presents, and pensions being what they are… Who drove you? A suitor?”
“Saw from the window, did you? Just a stranger. Roads were jammed.”
“Handsome,” her mother remarked.
“When did you get a proper look?”
“I’m not blind.”
Over tea, her mother needled her about finding a man, moving on, starting a family…
“Mum, not this again. I see enough children at work.”
She dozed off on the sofa, waking hours later to find her mother knitting under the lamp.
“I’ve made up your old room.”
Emma didn’t argue. It was cosy here. Before sleep, she replayed the ride—*Stop dreaming. Pipe down*, she scolded herself.
A week passed. No black Range Rover. *You sent him off. Serves you right.*
Then, on Friday, rain returned. Under the bus shelter, a woman nudged her. “Love, isn’t that car for you?”
Emma peered out—there it was. Her heart leapt as the door swung open.
“Sorry—urgent business,” William said, smiling as she climbed in. “But today’s rain… I wanted to see you.”
**Ah yes—first-name terms now.** The scent of leather and cologne enveloped her.
“I’m sorry I threw you out. I’m just… rusty at this. Tired, hopeless at cooking…”
“Where’d you get the idea what I want? Dinner first. Then we’ll talk.”
Over wine, he mentioned tickets to the Royal Opera House.
“You’ve never been?”
“Pick me up at two tomorrow,” she said, surprising herself. “And… thank you.”
**Some find love late. My mum remarried at fifty-six after a chance meeting—moved abroad with him. Said life began then.**
Here’s to luck—and to love.
