As she made her way from the café, she could feel him watching and she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without falling over and making a fool of herself. When she was outside, out of his line of vision, she let her breath out in a puff of relief and slumped for a few seconds against a wall before hurrying away in case he came out and saw her.

Her weariness and bad mood had faded to be replaced by sensations that made her float along the path, a smile flitting, brightness in her eyes. The rational part of her was insisting it was a sugar rush from the pastry, but her heart was arguing otherwise… the time spent with Flynn Douglas, that brief meeting… had been magical.

3

Flynn Douglas sat and watched the woman leave. ‘Jodie Armstrong,’ he murmured, liking the feel of her name on his lips.

He’d seen her while he was queuing for his coffee, watched her lost in her book as if she were alone in an empty room rather than squashed in a small overcrowded café. She wasn’t the type of woman he normally went for; the elegant, sophisticated type who would have given this café a wide berth and certainly wouldn’t be tucking into what looked to be a very fattening pastry.

As the queue moved slowly, he continued to stare. Her brown hair was untidily swept into a bun on the back of her head, the T-shirt she was wearing had probably been white at some stage but no longer. But there was something about the curve of her cheek, the arch of her neck, the way she lifted a piece of the pastry with her fork and held it for a second in front of her mouth before her lips parted.

The seat opposite her was vacant. Flynn watched the four people in the queue before him pick up their trays and turn with searching eyes for somewhere to sit and every time he hoped they wouldn’t pick that seat. Then it was his turn. He ordered the simplest thing on the menu, a filter coffee, took the mug in his hand and made his way to her table.