My Perfect Stranger: A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December. Kat French

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СКАЧАТЬ the back of Honey’s neck. He’d practically whispered in her ear, sexy and velvet soft words softened with the hint of a smile. If the guy was ever inclined he could have a killer career on the radio, his voice had the capacity to stop a woman in her tracks. Even a woman who didn’t especially like him.

      She found herself smiling too. ‘The jury’s out, Hal. Maybe I’ll come by again tomorrow to fill you in some more on my soap opera life.’

      ‘It’ll beat the shit out of Coronation Street. Do people really watch that bollocks?’

      Honey laughed lightly. ‘You mean you don’t?’ As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to suck them straight back in again. ‘Shit Hal, I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Twice in five minutes is pretty rubbish, isn’t it?’

      ‘Just give me the whisky and I’ll forgive you.’

      Honey could still hear the trace of humour and breathed out in relief. He was a hard man to read; angry when it seemed unreasonable to be so, yet cool about things that might well have flared the temper of someone else in his position. She could hear him moving behind the door and drew herself up onto her feet, the whisky in her hand. She wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving obstacles in his path a second time.

      As he opened his door and leaned against the frame, she found herself reassessing his appearance. He was as dishevelled as yesterday, maybe more so. A washed-out, rumpled grey t-shirt hung over his chest, in places not quite meeting the waist of his slouchy dark jeans. His dark stubble told her that today was another day when he hadn’t had a hot date with his shaver, and his slightly too-long hair looked as if he’d pushed his hands through it all day, or else spent the day in bed with that horny blonde he’d alluded to.

      ‘Hey, rock star.’

      Hal didn’t speak for a second, silent and inscrutable until she started to feel disconcerted, as if he were staring at her behind those glasses, which of course she knew he wasn’t. What was going through his head? Did she need to do something?

      ‘You smell of strawberries again.’

      Of all of the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it.

      ‘It must be my shampoo,’ she murmured, bewildered, touching her hair by reflex with her empty hand. ‘It’s strawberry scented.’

      He nodded slightly, as if he’d sussed that much already.

      ‘What colour is it?’

      ‘My shampoo?’ she said, thrown. ‘It’s kind of pink, I think …?’

      He sighed, and if he could have rolled his eyes, she felt sure he would’ve.

      ‘Your hair, Honey,’ he said. ‘What colour is it?’

      ‘Oh … blonde. It’s blonde.’ For information that would be readily available to a sighted person, it felt absurdly intimate.

      He nodded again with a half smirk. ‘Figures.’

      ‘Cheap shot, rock star.’

      He shrugged. ‘You made it too easy.’

      ‘I’m considering taking my whisky home with me.’

      ‘I know where you live.’

      The idea of him leaving his flat and coming into hers made her itch with panic, and she held the whisky out uncertainly until the glass touched his hand.

      ‘Here.’

      His fingers curled around the bottle, brushing hers, silencing them both.

      ‘Thanks,’ he muttered ungraciously, drawing it into his body as if she might take it away from him.

      ‘I’ll … I’ll go then,’ she said, waving towards her flat even though he couldn’t see the gesture.

      He nodded, in that silent, brooding way that was fast becoming his trademark.

      Stepping backwards, wavering in the no-man’s-land between their two front doors, Honey watched his stillness and wondered again what he was thinking of.

      As she reached her doorway, she lifted her hand, an automatic gesture of goodbye even though he wouldn’t be aware of it.

      ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said softly, and for the third time that evening she wished she’d been more considerate with her words. Being around this guy was turning out to be a minefield.

      He raised the bottle and inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment of her words, and Honey clicked her door closed.

      Hal stood for a few moments longer in the hallway, glad of the fresh supply of whisky. The scent of her lingered in the hallway, and he inhaled until his lungs were as full as they could be. She was chaotic, and she was blonde, and she was the first person to not walk on eggshells around him since the accident eight months ago. He pushed his door to and unscrewed the cap on the whisky.

       CHAPTER SIX

      ‘I’ve found you a pianist!’

      Honey looked at Tash over the glass-topped counter in the charity shop. She’d burst through the door about two seconds previously, her wild red curls snatched back and merry eyed with news. Dressed in off-duty sweat pants and vest, she was a world away from the air-hostess glam of her professional life. She grinned as she leaned both elbows on the glass and cupped her chin.

      Honey shot a nervous glance towards Tash and inclined her head imperceptibly towards Mimi, who was sorting through a bag of brooches nearby. Too late.

      ‘Why do you need a pianist, Honey?’ Mimi said, glancing up and smiling at Tash with her pearly white dentures.

      ‘I don’t, especially,’ Honey said, aiming for off-hand and counting on Tash to change the subject. She’d expected the whole pianist idea to die a silent death once they were all sober, and the last thing she wanted was for Mimi and Lucille to know about her less-than-scintillating sex life too.

      ‘Only my Billy is a dab-hand at tinkling the ivories,’ Mimi said, polishing a glittering flower brooch and then holding it up to the light for inspection. ‘I’m sure he’d help you out if you’re in a fix, dear.’

      Tash snort-choked on the coffee Lucille had just placed in front of her, and Honey screwed up her eyes tight against the vision of Mimi’s octogenarian boyfriend tinkling her ivories.

      ‘He’s got magic fingers, he makes all the women in the home swoon,’ Lucille chimed in as she pulled up a stool on Honey’s other side. Honey passed her hand over her lips in case she threw up in her mouth a little at the idea of Billy and his magic fingers. She wanted to kill Tash for mentioning the subject at all in front of Mimi and Lucille.

      ‘I don’t think Billy would be suitable for this particular gig,’ Tash laughed.

      ‘Don’t dismiss him because of his age,’ Mimi sniffed. ‘He’s quite modern for an older man. He knows some up-to-date things too.’

      ‘How СКАЧАТЬ