“We’re on first-name terms now,” whispered Daniel into Anna’s ear, his breath warm against her temple. A shiver prickled across her skin.
“Lydia, love, could you check if anyone’s left in the corridor? I wanted to slip off early today—Mum’s birthday,” Anna said.
“Right away, Dr. Bennett.” The young, pretty nurse rose from her desk, pushed open the office door, and peeked down the hall. “All clear, Dr. Bennett. And the appointments are all done—I’ve checked,” she assured with a bright smile.
“Lovely. If anyone does turn up, book them for tomorrow or send them next door to Dr. Whitmore.”
“Go on, I’ll hold the fort. Don’t worry,” Lydia reassured. “The clinic manager’s away on business—I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks. What would I do without you?” Anna grabbed her bag, cast a final glance at her desk to ensure she hadn’t forgotten her phone, and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow, Lydia.”
“Bye, Dr. Bennett. Oh—you’d better hurry, look how dark it’s gotten. Any minute now, it’ll start pouring.”
“Really? And I still need to grab flowers. Blast—I’d best dash.” Anna was already halfway down the corridor.
She changed quickly, throwing on her raincoat as she hurried down the stairs.
“Dr. Bennett, off already?” An elderly woman stopped her by the reception desk.
“Evening. Could it wait till tomorrow? I’m in a rush,” Anna replied, adjusting her collar as she made for the exit.
“Dr. Bennett, little Sophie only listens to you. Couldn’t you just pop in and calm her down? She’s been crying nonstop,” the woman pressed, trailing after her.
“I’ve got evening clinic tomorrow—I’ll pop by in the morning after home visits. I really must run, sorry.” Anna stepped out of the clinic, descended the steps, and glanced at the sky.
A monstrous black cloud loomed over London, so low it seemed its swollen belly might scrape the rooftops before bursting and unleashing a deluge.
By the time Anna reached the flower stall, fat raindrops had already begun splattering her shoulders. She ducked under the awning just as the downpour thickened.
“Don’t fret, I’ll wrap the bouquet nice and tight,” the florist said.
As the woman bundled Anna’s mother’s favourite gerberas in crisp cellophane, Anna watched anxiously as bus after bus pulled away from the stop. Finally, she took her flowers, paid, and dashed for shelter, shielding her head with the bouquet.
The rain had settled into a relentless rhythm. The stop was deserted now. At least there was a roof. She’d forgotten her umbrella and was soaked by the time she reached it.
No sign of a bus. She should’ve waited inside, chatted with Sophie’s gran—too late for regrets. Shivering, she edged further under the awning. Cars hissed past, wheels throwing up spray from the growing puddles.
*Where’s it got stuck? Bloody rain,* Anna thought, squinting down the road. Then a sleek black Range Rover pulled up beside the kerb. Anna caught herself envying the driver. *Lucky sod, not having to wait for buses…*
The passenger window slid down, revealing a man. It took her a moment to realise he was addressing her.
“Need a lift? There’s been an accident—buses are gridlocked.”
While she hesitated, he leaned over and pushed the door open. Anna slid into the warm, dry cabin, the hammering rain now muffled.
“Where to?” he asked, studying her.
Close to her age, handsome in a tailored suit. Anna flushed. *I must look like a drowned rat.*
“Trafalgar Mews,” she muttered.
“Perfect, I’m heading that way.”
He radiated such easy confidence that Anna stole a wary glance at him. No hint of menace—polished, sharp-eyed. *Leading-man material,* she thought. The car glided forward, the scent of leather and his expensive cologne wrapping around her. A persistent beeping broke the silence.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded her.
Anna fumbled with the clasp before settling the bouquet on her lap.
“Why did you stop for me?” she asked, watching the wipers swipe rhythmically at the downpour.
“Told you—gridlock. You’d have been waiting ages. And the flowers—guessed you were off somewhere special. Turns out we’re neighbours.” He shot her another glance.
*This doesn’t happen. Men like him don’t pick up randoms,* she nearly said, but bit her tongue.
“Your face is familiar. We’ve met before—I never forget one.”
“Unlikely,” Anna scoffed. “We’re from different worlds. Different tax brackets, as they say.”
She felt the weight of his appraisal.
“Your sort don’t ride buses. I’m just a humble GP,” she added, sharper than intended.
He said nothing. Silence stretched, thick with her own clumsy words.
“Ah—now I remember. Brought my granddaughter to your clinic two months back.”
“You?” Anna gaped. “I’d have remembered you,” slipped out before she could stop it.
“What, too young-looking to be a granddad? Swear it’s true. My daughter had her at seventeen. Kids these days—start too young.”
“Apple doesn’t fall far,” Anna snipped.
“Feisty. Won’t suffer fools, will you? Knew you were strict from the moment we met.”
“Is that bad?”
“Depends,” he deflected. “You used to live in Trafalgar Mews?”
“Mm.”
“Went to St. Mary’s Secondary?” he pressed.
“How did you—”
“Same here. Odd we never crossed paths before.” His quick glance sent heat to her cheeks.
“What year did you leave?”
“’97.”
“I graduated in 2000,” Anna said, oddly pleased.
“Top of the class, I bet. Too busy studying to notice lads—dreamed of uni, becoming a doctor. Am I close?”
She opened her mouth to retort, but her mother’s house came into view.
“Turn into this estate. Second block, if you don’t mind.”
“Can’t pull up closer—you’d step straight into a puddle. Here—” He made to step out, but Anna was already sprinting for the door, rain sluicing off her.
When she glanced back, the Range Rover was pulling away. Too late, she realised she hadn’t thanked him.
The flat smelled of vanilla. Her mother gasped at the flowers.
“Oh, you’re soaked! Get your slippers on, love. Kettle’s just boiled. Made your favourite Victoria sponge—”
“Your friends aren’t coming?” Anna peered into the empty lounge.
“Didn’t invite anyone. We see enough of them. Pension budgets, you know? Nicer just us two. Who gave you the lift? A new admirer?” Her mother waggled her eyebrows as she poured tea.
“Were you spying? Just a stranger. Buses weren’t running.”
“Handsome,” her mother noted.
“When did you even see him?”
“I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?”
They ate cake, then curled into the sofa. Anna’s eyelids grew heavy as her mother prattled about her needing a man, moving on, grandchildren…
“Mum, please. I’m happy as is. See enough kids at work to last a lifetime,” Anna mumbled, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder.
Her mother droned on about some neighbour, but Anna drifted off. She woke to darkness, the TV murmuring, her mother knitting under the lamplight.
“I conked out.”
“Made your bed up in your old room,” her mother said, needles clicking.
Anna didn’t protest. Home was safe. Sleep eluded her now—she lay awake, replaying the stranger’s face. *Stop fantasising. Pipe down,* she scolded herself, rolling over.
Next morning, she collected her home-visit list. Another gruelling day. By evening, her feet throbbed. No time even to snack. And she’d forgotten the cat—two days alone now. Hurrying out, she spotted the black Range Rover. *Plenty of those in London.* She walked past towards the bus stop.
A touch on her arm made her jump.
“Only me,” said yesterday’s stranger.
“What do you want?”
“You dropped this.” He held out a brooch.
“Mine! Didn’t even notice… And I never thanked you—”
“Come to the car. You’re exhausted, probably starving. Dinner? Only payment I’ll accept.” He guided her gently to the vehicle.
“But I live just—”
“Get in,” he said, firm but kind.
“Brooch from your husband?” he asked as they pulled away. “You lit up seeing it.”
“Sharp. Wedding anniversary. He died two years later. Aneurysm.”
“IThey sat in comfortable silence, the city lights glinting through the rain-streaked windows, and for the first time in years, Anna dared to believe in second chances.
