He glanced at the bag and handed them to her. Only Rachel wasn’t quite prepared to take it, what with the stupid tampons, so he politely held the bag open for her and stood patiently as she wrestled the box inside, followed by the brownie, which, she couldn’t help notice, had been hopelessly mangled in her struggle to appear calm and collected.
“That’s a pity,” he said, peering with her into the bag at the brownie. He added the box of trash bags, then closed the grocery bag and handed it to her. As she took it from him, his fingers accidentally brushed her palm, and an amazing little shiver ran up her arm and directly into her groin. “Thanks. Thank you,” she said, and awkwardly stepped around him.
He turned halfway around. “Should I suppose, then, that it won’t do me the slightest bit of good to ask you for a pint?”
Okay, what was going on here? Guys like him did not ask chicks like her for drinks. Rachel self-consciously pushed her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms over the bag as she tried to sort it out.
When she didn’t answer, he sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. “Bloody marvelous, I’ve gone and done it again, haven’t I? At least give me your name, will you? That way, the next time I’m so bloody forward, I might apologize properly.”
He sounded so sincere that she couldn’t help it; she smiled.
“Aha!” he said delightedly. “I’d made a small wager with myself that you did indeed have teeth. And do you perhaps have a name as well?”
“Of course I have teeth,” she said, her smile deepening. “And the name is . . . Rachel.”
“Thank you, Rachel!” he said with a bow, as if she’d done him an enormous favor. “I’m Flynn.”
Flynn. How dashing. How British. She flashed another self-conscious grin, and still clutching her bag, she began to walk toward her car.
“Ah . . . Rachel?” he said after her. She turned around, still smiling stupidly. “Would this mean that you are declining my offer of a drink?”
“Oh!” she said, laughing a little as her blush deepened. “Thanks . . . but I can’t. I have class.”
“Ah. And it wouldn’t do to skive out of it, I suppose?” he asked with a gorgeous, dazzling, GQ smile. If GQ guys ever smiled. If they did, they would look just like Flynn.
In fact, his smile was so dazzling that she was somehow walking backward, smiling back, her bag clutched tightly against her as she laughingly shook her head. “I can’t! I’m the teacher!” she said, and jarred herself right out of the clouds by stepping off the curb and stumbling backward into the parking lot before righting herself. All righty, then! If ever there was a cosmic sign, that was it— with a quick wave, she turned and hurried to her car.
Flynn Oliver shook his head as he watched her get into her little yellow car and drive off. A smidge odd, that girl, but really rather pretty with a bit of tidying up, wasn’t she? Her eyes, which he’d not, apparently, appreciated fully this morning, were a teal blue, and in her woolen jumper and long black skirt, with her hair loose down her back, she looked exactly like what he’d always pictured an all-American girl to be. Rather charming, really.
With a shake of his head, he walked into the grocer. After a bit of wandering about, he picked up some kippers, sliced bread, and a six-pack of what Americans called beer, then headed for what was temporarily home.
As he passed through the lobby, he said good evening to the night clerk. “Hi, Mr. Oliver,” the night clerk, a goth kid, said. “Do anything fun today?”
“Nothing that you’d find terribly exciting,” he said with a wave, and got in the lift. It took him to the fifth floor and a small corporate apartment.
He pitched the keys to his rental car on the table, put down his bag, and shoved out of his trench coat and suit jacket before proceeding to the kitchenette and putting away the few things he’d bought to supplement the eggs and cheese he had purchased two days ago.
Beer in hand, Flynn loosened his tie and walked to the phone, pressed the little blinking light indicating there were messages.
“Flynn, darling!” Iris’s voice, accompanied by music and voices in the background, pierced the quiet of his flat. “You naughty boy, I’m frightfully worried about you,” she exclaimed. “Really, you haven’t rung up in days, so do please ring us, will you, darling? Ta-ta, love.”
Flynn rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer as the next message beeped.
“Yo, dude. Got one if you want to ride along.” The deep male voice belonged to Joe, his American counterpart. “Give me a buzz if you’re up for it.”
Flynn instantly picked up the phone and dialed Joe’s mobile.
“Yo,” Joe said on the first ring.
“Flynn here.”
“Hey, buddy, wanna ride?”
“That would be brilliant, thanks.”
“Dude! You have got to stop saying that!” Joe chastised him “I’ll pick you up in ten.”
“Smashing,” Flynn said, and clicked off. Without bothering to hear the rest of his messages, he went to change to dungarees.
Chapter Six