At First Sight, Hannah Sunderland [thriller books to read txt] 📗

‘Well, no need to worry, I don’t mind talking. Although, I don’t know how much I’ll have to say or how interesting it’ll be. I’ve never been what’cha’d call chatty.’

‘No problem. I’ll probably just talk at you until you die of boredom. So, if you’re okay with that then I’ll chat away.’

‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’

I shuffled a little closer to the table, my knee bumping his and making me all flustered. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’ I giggled girlishly and then shook my head at myself. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s only a knee. I’ve got another one,’ he quipped.

I shuffled backwards again and pulled the crust away from the remaining half of my sandwich, placing it down on the greaseproof wrapping.

‘So, erm … are you on your lunch break?’ I asked.

‘No, I, err, I actually quit my job at Aldi yesterday.’ He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and a spark of something filled his eyes for a moment as he stared forward out of the window at the brick wall across the street. He looked intense, as if he’d remembered something imperative that he should have done, which had completely slipped his mind until now.

‘Congratulations. Were you there long?’

‘A few years longer than I should have been,’ he answered as he looked back at me, the intensity beginning to filter away.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘You’ve the panicked look of someone trying to get the most out of their lunch hour.’

‘Well deduced,’ I replied. ‘Yeah, it’s not that I’m desperate to get away, I think I’m one of the very few people who actually enjoy their job. But I’m a messy eater, you see, and so I have to factor in clean-up time.’ Why did I just say that? I was making myself sound like I had the motor functions of a toddler.

He chuckled. ‘Well, I haven’t had to duck and cover for a second time yet, so I think you’ll be back in time.’ He looked into my eyes, his grin pulling wide again, and something about it sent a lead weight toppling into my stomach.

My own face pulled into a smile and I worried that I had red pepper in my teeth, but he didn’t look disgusted so I guessed I was all right, or maybe he just had a kink for women who wore their food instead of ate it. If he did then who was I – his dream, food-clad woman – to kink-shame him?

I moved my legs nervously, my toe hitting something hard under the table that rocked backwards and forwards in an attempt to stay upright, making a hollow sound against the aged oak floorboards as it moved.

I looked down under the table and found a brown paper bag with the logo of the fancy liquor shop in the old Victorian arcade around the corner. I looked back up to find him looking mildly embarrassed.

‘A breaking up with your work present to yourself?’ I asked, trying to lighten the sudden shift in mood.

His smile was soon back in place. ‘Something like that, yeah.’

‘So, what are you doing here? I think I’ve managed to deduce that you’re not a native Brummie.’

‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows in mock admiration, his accent thickening comically. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. What a keen ear yer have.’

We both laughed.

I was shocked at how well this was going. Was I successfully hitting on a man, a very good-looking, nice-seeming, sane-appearing, charming, stomach-butterfly-inducing man? And to top it all off, he was Irish and everyone knew that an Irish accent made a person about eighty per cent more attractive.

Maybe this was my meet-cute. Maybe this was the moment I met the man I was going to marry and we’d look back in ten years with our children around us and we’d both thank that couple for taking up the last empty table.

‘So, err, I moved away from home at eighteen and then to London for a while before eventually ending up here.’

‘Was the call of Birmingham just too much to resist?’ I asked sarcastically.

‘Hey, don’t talk yourself down. This place is all right, once yer get past the funny accent.’

‘You’re one to talk.’ I chuckled and when my laughter died down, I became aware that he was staring at me, his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. It made my insides turn to putty. God damn it, he was pretty. But the longer he looked, the more I began to worry that he was staring at something I’d unwittingly adhered to my face. I raised a hand and patted my cheeks worriedly.

‘What?’ I asked, feeling myself blush.

‘Nothin’.’ He inhaled a deep breath and looked back down at the surface of his tea. ‘You’ve a lovely smile, is all.’

My heart felt tight, like it might burst. Was I having a heart attack or indigestion? Or was I simply not used to these feelings? The minutes ticked by and, gradually, our time ran out. How dare my job interfere with this moment where everything was seeming to fall into place.

I was cutting it fine, with a five- or six-minute walk back to the office and only four to spare. I could jog, I supposed. I hated being late. It filled me with an unspeakable anxiety left over from when I turned up late for school and ended up having to stand at the front of assembly facing the whole school until it was over.

‘I just realised that I’ve been so busy talking that I haven’t even asked your name,’ I said, leaning in a little.

He looked up from his tea, stroking the rim of the cup with his index finger. ‘Charlie.’

‘Nell.’

His eyes softened. ‘Nice to meet you, Nell.’

Ask for his number. Just do it. You’ve been speaking to him for ages now – just ask for his number. If he wasn’t single then he wouldn’t have kept the conversation up and if he wasn’t interested then he’d have left ages ago. It’s not like