Take a Chance on Me. Fiona Harper

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      ‘Of course he was. See you Wednesday—and don’t forget the carrot cake. Bye.’

      She sighed. If the truth be told, she was pleased her blind date hadn’t turned up. But that didn’t stop her fuming over her wasted evening. She could have taken Jake up on his offer of dinner. She looked at the phone sitting in her hand. She could still call him.

      Was she really that brave? Wouldn’t it sound a little desperate if she called him now?

      He’d have had time to get in, have a shower and change into something dry. She could picture him padding around a smart flat with polished wood floors, low-slung jeans resting on his hips, his hair damp and smelling of shampoo.

      She felt in her pocket for the business card and looked at the number. Her heart sank. The ink had bled into the damp card, making Jake’s scrawl illegible. She could make out the first two digits—a three and a two. One of the numbers further along looked suspiciously like a seven. Or was it a one?

      If she’d believed in fate, she’d have thought it was an omen. But she had outgrown the New Age hocus-pocus her parents had spoon-fed her since birth. She stuffed the card back in her pocket, doubly cheesed off at the invisible Charles.

      When she’d finished her coffee she made her way to where Gino was serving at the bar.

      ‘See you soon, Gino. Tell Marco his cooking was superb, as usual, and give my love to the rest of the family—especially Sophia and your adorable little granddaughter.’

      Gino’s eyes sparkled with pride. ‘Sophia says Francesca is sleeping through the night now.’

      ‘Well, you tell Sophia I will be offended if I’m not first on her list of babysitters when she wants to go out for the evening.’

      One more hug for Gino and Maria and she was outside, breathing in the cold night air. The rain had stopped and the stars twinkled up above.

      Time to go home and plan her next move.

      She stood on the pavement and stared at her car, feeling oddly deflated. She’d been excited at the thought of another sparring match with Jake. Now she had no way of contacting him, even if she wanted to give in to temptation and phone him first.

      She flumped into the driver’s seat of her dad’s car and flung her handbag over the passenger seat into the back, not caring where it landed. She pulled the card out of her pocket again and stared at it hard, willing the numbers to come into focus. If anything, they were even more blurry now. There was only one thing for it.

      She jammed the keys into the ignition and stepped on the accelerator. She might not know his phone number, but she knew where he lived.

      She took the quickest route she knew back to Great Portman Street—unlike earlier, when she’d taken a couple of scenic detours—and arrived there in less than ten minutes. Her parking left much to be desired. There had to be a good foot between the car and the kerb.

      She turned the engine off and sat in the dark.

      Funny—now she was here, her feet were decidedly icy. Not because of Jake—he was lovely—but because of what he might read into finding her on his doorstep. She was looking for love and commitment, not a fling, and turning up after ten o’clock, uninvited, would be giving a completely different set of signals.

      It was exactly because of this kind of impulsive behaviour that she had ended up with some of the most worthless boyfriends in history. She reminded herself she’d turned over a new leaf. No more leaping before she looked, even if the man she wanted to leap onto looked as good as Jake.

      She wound down the window and stuck her head out. Soft light glowed in a few of the penthouse windows.

      Why did everything have to come down to such an all-or-nothing choice? If only there was another way to reach him. She picked the card up from where she had flung it on the passenger seat.

      Of course! Talk about missing the obvious!

      She had been so focused on the telephone number on the back of the card she hadn’t even thought about turning it over to find his business address. She could wait a couple of days and phone him at work. That wouldn’t be too forward.

      She flipped the card over and ran her eyes over the classic black font. An accountant. She liked accountants. They were stable, sensible, and nothing like the kind of men she’d learned to shy away from—musicians, actors, tortured artists.

      Jake was looking better and better. He was smart and good-looking, and he must be clever. And he might, just might, be the kind of guy a girl could hope to settle down with.

      Then she noticed the name along the bottom and almost dropped the card in shock. Charles Jacobs!

       Charles?

      He’d told her his name was Jake!

      She was about to stub the offending card into the ashtray when she stopped. Jake could be a nickname. After all, she wasn’t exactly using her given name at the moment. She’d started abbreviating it to Serena. It sounded a lot less flower-child and a lot more … well, normal, than Serendipity. She couldn’t blame Jake if he wanted to liven up a stuffy name like Charles.

      She looked at the card again and smiled.

      Well, well. Charles Jacobs.

      Lunch tomorrow was going to be fun.

       CHAPTER TWO

      JAKE walked into Maison Blanc ten minutes early. Being there first gave him the edge. When Serena arrived he’d be calmly seated at one of the little square tables with its crisp linen tablecloth. He’d make sure he had a good view of the entrance, and scrutinise every female who glided through glass door.

      Maison Blanc was his kind of place. The décor was white and clean, full of straight lines. No fuss. No frills. The best feature by far was that he knew how big the bathroom window was. He’d fit through it, no problem.

      He walked past the bar into the main part of the restaurant and scanned the entire room from left to right—then did a double take.

      It was her!

      The mystery woman. Here. Now.

      He very nearly swore.

      The woman he’d spent most of last night trying to forget, while he punched his pillow and ordered himself to sleep, was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, sipping a drink.

      Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

      She looked stunning. Her silky brown hair was swept up into a braided ponytail. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were accentuated with smoky make-up and she wore a soft moss-green cardigan open at the throat. He swallowed. Never had a cardigan looked so sexy.

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