Miss Fortune (6 page)

By the bye, I hope you will forgive my demanding a cup of tea earlier, he said, as if reading her mind. I suppose that was a bit forward of me.

Oh no! she said instantly, blushing furiously. No, I didnt think I mean, I didnt, ah I was really in a rush, she babbled, and noticed he still held her things in his hands. Very big hands to match his broad shoulders. Rachel couldnt help herself; she glanced at his feet. A healthy sizeshe could just hear Robin now, Big hands, big feet, big

Yes, well, I didnt want you to think the worst. But Ive only been in the States a few days, and I was a bit hungry for a chat.

Why in Gods name would he want to chat with her, especially having actually seen her this morning? Ah, she said stupidly, nodding, and sheepishly peeked up at him.

Could I, ah just have that, please? she asked, nodding at her items.

He glanced at the bag and chuckled sheepishly as he handed them to her. Only Rachel wasnt 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 couldnt help notice, had been hopelessly mangled in her struggle to appear calm and collected.

Thats 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, a little unnerved by that shiver, and awkwardly stepped around him.

He turned halfway around. Should I suppose, then, that it wont do me the slightest bit of good to ask you for a drink?

Okay, what was going on here? Guys like him did not ask chicks like her for drinks! She self-consciously pushed her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms over the bag as she tried to sort it out.

When she didnt answer, he sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. Bloody marvelous, Ive gone and done it again, havent I? At least give me your name, will you? That way, the next time Im so bloody forward, I might apologize properly.

He sounded so sincere that she couldnt help it; she smiled.

Aha! he said delightedly. Id 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 shed done him an enormous favor. Im 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 cant. I have class.

Ah. And it wouldnt 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, that 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 cant! Im 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 itwith 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 what with a bit of tidying up, wasnt she? Her eyes, which hed not, apparently, appreciated fully this morning, were a teal blue, and in her woolen jumper and long black skirt, with her hair braided down her back, she looked exactly like what hed 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 youd find terribly exciting, Im quite certain, 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 hed 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! Iriss voice, accompanied by music and voices in the background, pierced the quiet of his flat. You naughty boy, Im frightfully worried about you, she exclaimed. Really, you havent 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 youre up for it.

Flynn instantly picked up the phone and dialed Joes mobile.

Yo, Joe said on the first ring.

Flynn here.

Hey, buddy, wanna ride?

That would be lovely, thanks.

Dude! You have got to stop saying that! Joe chastised him. Ill 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.

RACHEL drove in something of a fog the short distance to the Rhode Island School of Designher mind could not quite wrap around the idea that a guy who looked as good as Flynn would be talking to her. Twice. To Rachel Ellen Lear, the dough ball, the ugly duckling of the Lear sisters, the one they used to call Miss Fortune in high school.

Okay, well, she was a long way from high school, but still.

She walked into her class, her head still encased in fog, beaming at the seven of ten students who were still in attendance after four weeks. That was a pretty good sign, seeing as how she usually lost four or five by this point, when students realized that large-scale weaving was not easy. That always left her with the eccentric ones who had the sort of lives that lended them to weaving medieval tapestries.

Sandy, a middle-aged hypochondriac, was showing a pattern of what she was weaving on the loom. Sandy, thats beautiful, Rachel said admiringly.

Thanks! Sandy said proudly. I was hoping to get a little further along before this class, but I have IBS, you know.

IBS? Mr. Gregory asked. He was an ancient old flamer who had expressed a desire to weave rugs and was doggedly cold in his determination to do it.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Sandy said without an ounce of self-consciousness.

Oh, dear, Mr. Gregory said, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Yeah, its not pretty. Sandy laughed.

But didnt you say last week they thought it was a pelvic inflammation thing? Lucy, one-half of Dave and Lucy, the All-Natural Couple, whispered loudly.

I have both , Sandy said, nodding enthusiastically as she carefully folded the pattern. Thats probably why I had another flare-up of IBS. My doctor doesnt really know for sure.

Actually, if everyone just hung on, Sandy would list all her maladies before the end of the class. She was talented, but because of her raging hypochondria, Rachel had begun to keep ibuprofen and antacids in her purse for Sandys major flare-ups.

My sister had that, Lucy said, to which Dave rolled his eyes.

IBS or pelvic inflammation? Sandy asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, waiting to pounce on the first opportunity to top whatever Lucys sister had.

IBS, Lucy said.

Do we have to talk about this? Chantal demanded of Rachel as everyone began to find their seats. Chantal had signed up with her friend Tiffinnae, who owned a hair salon and wanted to make some cool stuff for the walls to complement her hair-weave designs. Chantal was along just for grins. She had not, as far as Rachel knew, actually touched the loom.

We do have a lot of ground to cover tonight, so if everyone could take a seat? Rachel suggested. Im going to talk about yarn, she said, wincing a little as she lifted her bag to put it on the table.

Are you all right? Sandy immediately asked. Was that your shoulder? Because I had tendonitis once, and I have this cream

Ah, no, Rachel said, quickly cutting her off. I just overdid it at the gym today.

Gym? Tiffinnae said, sizing her up, one large girl to another.

Im a little out of shape.

Oh, she aint out of no shape, Chantal said, waving a hand as she strutted to the loom she shared with Tiffinnae. She goin cuz she got herself a maaaan , she said in a singsong way, and instantly gained the classs undivided attention.

Rachel couldnt have been more surprised if Chantal had done a pirouette. No, I dont! I really

Yes, you do. I saw you smiling real pretty at him down at Oakleys Grocery, Chantal insisted as she smoothed the back of her hair. I walked right past you and said hi and you couldnt even take your eyes off him to say nothing in return!

You walked past me? Rachel exclaimed disbelievingly.

The class suddenly erupted into laughter.

Oh, come on, its not what you think! Rachel tried.

And he be.füüine , Chantal shouted over her, and ex-hanged a high five with Tiffinnae.

Actually, I didnt know that man, Rachel tried again, but could feel a hot blush returning, full throttle, to her cheeks. It was a full minute before she could get the class focused on the fascinating world of looms and weaving in medieval times.

At the end of the class, when Sandy said she had to get home because of a flare-up of acid reflux, Tiffinnae and

Chantal took their own sweet time packing up their things as everyone else filtered out, calling good night to Rachel.

I know when a girls got her eye on a man, Chantal said loudly to Tiffinnae.

Mmm-hmm , Tiffinnae responded.

Miss Rachels got two eyes on that man, all moon-eyed and smiley-faced! She and Tiffinnae fell out laughing at Rachels wide-eyed, puffed-cheek look, and waved a cheery good night as they pushed one another out the door.

Gawd.

There was only one person left in class, a kid named Jason, maybe nineteen, who preferred dressing in solid black and added eyeliner to his eyes to give him a really gothic look. Ah, Miss Lear? he said quietly, raising his hand in spite of there being no one else left in the classroom.

Hey Jason, whats up? she asked as she picked up her giant bunker-buster tote bag.

He shoved his hands into his enormous pockets. Listen, Im going to have to drop out, he said meekly.

Drop out? But why? Is it Chantal? I can

No, shes okay, he said, looking extremely chagrined. He cast his gaze to the floor. I cant afford it, he said. I borrowed the money from my mom to sign up, and she thought it was sort of stupid. The kid blanched when he said it, and instantly shook his head. I dont mean your class is stupid, but she thought it was stupid for me to take it Well, anyway, I really want to take this class. I didnt realize wed have to pay for the yarn and stuff.

Even though it was clearly stated in the course materials, Rachel smiled. Is that all, Jason? Dont worry about that. Ive got extra yarn.

Really? he asked, sort of lifting his gaze to her waist. I mean, are you sure?

Are you kidding? She paused at the light switch. I have tons, she lied as Jason gave her a skeptical look and preceded her out of the classroom.

She walked with Jason out to the parking lot while he told her how cool he thought medieval art was, and how (interestingly) he had a suit of armor at home, and how he really hoped to get to England one day, and in fact, had a bunch of travel brochures that maybe hed bring to the next class, if that was all right.

Rachel told him that was all right.

THAT night, after the remainder of her humongous brownie had been devoured and her tampons safely tucked away, she picked up her romance novel and quickly lost herself in King Edward Is court.

As she drifted off to sleep, the novel still in hand, Rachel could see the hero atop his white steed, his hair flowing, his scabbard bouncing at his side as he raced across the barren moors.

Funny, she thought sleepily, how much that guy looked like Flynn except for the scabbard. And the horse.

HER dreamy sleep was rudely awakened by the phone.

At the first ring, Rachel came out of bed with a start; the book went flying across the room, and every muscle in her body seized up in pain.

Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow she hissed as she threw the covers off of her. She glanced at the clock as she fumbled for the cordless. It was ten in the morninghow had she slept so long? She punched the Talk button. Hello? she said, and realized she could not straighten her neck.

You cannot still be asleep! Dagne exclaimed, surprised. I thought you were going to the employment office today!

Ohmigod, I cant move ! Rachel cried, grimacing as she tried to move her leg.

Well, hurry up and go so you can call me back. I may want to do something later, I dont know.

Begging the question of why she was calling at ten, for Chrissakes, but nevertheless, Rachel rubbed her neck and said, Guess what. I saw him again.

Who?

Him . The British guy.

Dagne gasped. Then squealed. What happened ?

Rachel told her about the scene at the corner grocery, complete with brownie and tampons. At the end of it, Dagne said nothing. Hello? Rachel said into the phone.

WHY DIDNT YOU GET HIS NUMBER? Dagne shrieked. God, what is the matter with you, Rachel?

And what would I do with his number? Call him up and say hey, I have about ten bucks in the bank, but lets grab that coffee! Please! And besides, it wasnt anythinghe was being nice, she said, really hoping Dagne would disagree.