Anyone But You: A BRAND NEW feel-good celebrity, second chance romance (Love is in the Air Book 2)

Chapter One

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‘I will ask herout.I will ask herout.’ Dylan Willis reassured his reflection in the sports shop window.

Ignoring Beanie, his singing partner, he checked out his stance. His battered guitar was slung low, his legs akimbo, and his brown, leather cowboy boots were suitably scuffed and worn. He intended to look every inch the rock god he was destined to become. Admittedly, it made it bloody hard to play, but, hey — serious cool came at a price.

Dylan had hoped stardom would call a little sooner, seeing as he was pushing twenty-four, but he was still pretty confident, despite evidence to the contrary. He was just waiting for the right moment to shine.

But today, he was on a different mission. Today, when his little world was bright and full of hope, he was going to shine solely for the beautiful woman who caused a spike of pure lust and unlikely possessiveness to snake through his veins. He was smitten from the moment he saw her, hand over her mouth trying to hold back a laugh, eyes sparkling with merriment as her friend recounted a funny story. She almost strolled straight past him but stopped at the last minute when he twanged his guitar loudly. He then tried out a complicated riff to draw her attention, ending on a long, drawn-out chord. She’d turned her huge green eyes on him with interest, took her hand away from her mouth and smiled broadly. She stayed to hear his song from start to finish, a soft smile on her face.

Eventually, she dug into her bag and shyly threw a five-pound note onto his cap, which he’d laid on the pavement. It fluttered in the wind and threatened to take off, and she giggled, chased it with her hands and eventually caught it. Pointedly, she bent down and tucked it underneath a few random coins that he’d put there earlier — just in case people didn’t know that he was singing for his supper. He inhaled just as she rose from depositing the note and he caught the smell of floral perfume on the breeze. Transfixed, he stared as she continued on her way after giving him a little smile and a shy wave. He couldn’t take his eyes off her silky, sunshine-coloured hair blowing in the breeze as she disappeared from view. An irrational urge to chase after her almost won, but Beanie was in dire need of money and he couldn’t abandon his post. And so they played on.

That was two weeks ago and he’d prayed every day, with all his might, that she’d walk by again. When she did, he was going to ask her out, and she would say yes, and they would fall in love. It was that simple.

Although — he glanced down the road for the millionth time — it would certainly further his plans if she actually showed up.

He hadn’t anticipated being rained on, either; it was summer for God’s sake. He peered up at the grey clouds closing in over the tiny square of blue sky above him, a steady drizzle misting his face and blurring his vision. He squinted down the road again, shoving a wayward curl out of his eyes as it slid, damp and irritating, down his forehead.

He rotated one foot and then the other to stop the numbness from setting in. A raindrop dribbled down the back of his neck.

He was not having fun.

He also had a bad feeling that the steady trickle was going to turn torrential, and that the gorgeous woman destined to be his one and only wouldn’t show.

He refused to consider that scenario, though. He wanted — no,he needed — to see her today. Right that minute,in fact.

Strumming a song that he could play in his sleep, he shivered inside his flatmate’s leather jacket, hoping it wouldn’t shrink in the rain: he’d be a dead man if it did. Rain dripped off his hair, down his nose, and onto his guitar, which he swiped at with his sleeve every now and then. It wasn’t his best Yamaha, so he wasn’t too worried about it warping, but even so.

Beanie pulled his thin denim jacket over his head in a pointless attempt to stop rainwater dripping down his chin. ‘Do you think we should call it a day?’ he asked.

‘Ah, Beanie boy,’ Dylan shook his head, ‘I can feel a song of heartbreak coming on.’ He twanged a couple of low chords to demonstrate his misery as he took in the rapidly emptying street, its dingy paving stones now darkened and slick with rain.

Beanie nodded and continued doing what he did best, namely shivering and looking ill. As thin as a rail, his complexion would have put any ghost to shame — because he waspale, as in a how long have you got left to live kind of pale, and his straggly dog next to him, part terrier, part Hound of the Baskervilles, looked as if the Grim Reaper would claim him at any minute.

Beanie’s musical instrument of choice was a metal triangle, which he attacked with random diligence, the tune in his head apparently, being a different tempo to Dylan’s song. They were a sad-looking trio, but it — surprisingly — made them money.

Dylan took it all in his stride, preferring to spend his time on the streets, rather than in the dump of a rented house he shared with three other mates who hadn’t quite got the hang of working for a living. He hated living there but the city was the place to be, and so it had to be born until fame and fortune was his for the taking.

But still the Vision hadn’t shown.

‘Sure, they say all the best songs are written when you’re at heartbreak hotel.’ Beanie pulled on his damp cigarette, cupping his palm around it against the rain. ‘This one’s not far off being suicidal, so you’re on the right track.’

Dylan played a melancholy guitar solo to prove Beanie’s point. ‘Thanks, I think.’ He unhooked his guitar from around his neck, but at a flash of blonde hair swinging in the distance, his stomach lurched. ‘Oh, my God, it’s her. Quick, sing.’ He threw the guitar strap back over his head and feigned nonchalance.

Loyally, Beanie peered out from beneath the shelter of his jacket, his neck elongating as he shucked it off, like a snail coming out of its shell, welcoming the rain. He started to harmonise with Dylan, his head bobbing up and down to the music, tinging his metal triangle indiscriminately, with great concentration.

Staring at the woman heading his way, Dylan faltered. An emerald-green fluffy jumper skimmed her thighs, over figure-hugging jeans tucked into long brown boots. She threw her head back and raked her fingers through her hair, swishing it about, while her lips, a pearly pink, were just on the right side of pouting without making her look sulky. Dylan almost groaned, imagining his own fingers lacing through that silky hair as he kissed those soft lips, puckering up just for him.

She tilted her umbrella back and appeared to be enjoying the cool rain on her face as she meandered towards them. Pausing, she proceeded to throw a coin into his cap on the ground.

Dylan’s imagination orbited way past overdrive as he caught a flash of her bright red fingernails and wondered if it was possible to die from longing. He threw her his best smile and tried to stop his tongue from lolling as she turned into Starbucks, disappearing from view.

He let his left hand drop, his mournful song dying on his lips. The smile that was known to melt the hardest heart had fallen on stony ground. She’d looked straight through him.

He turned anxious, puppy dog eyes towards Beanie. ‘What do I do?’

‘Well, you can wait for her to come past again next week, which of course, she might not do. Or you can go in there—’ Beanie inclined his head in the direction of the coffee shop — ‘and get her?’

‘I can. Of course I can. Can I?’

‘What have you got to lose?’

‘Everything?’

‘I think you’ll find the answer isnothing,’ Beanie replied, pulling his jacket up around his ears once more.

Dylan ran a hand around his neck and twisted his guitar around his body to rest across his back. He breathed in. ‘Maybe now is not the best time — with it raining, and all.’

Beanie glowered at him. ‘You’ve talked of nothing else since you first set eyes on her.’

‘Okay, okay, you’re right. I’ll do it.’ He smoothed his hair down with little effect. ‘How do I look?’

Beanie looked him up and down and sniffed. ‘Wet. You look very wet.’

‘Thanks — remarkably perceptive.’

Dylan picked up his soggy cap from the pavement, fished out some coins from the pile, most of which he’d put there himself to nudge the punters in the right direction, and passed them to Beanie. ‘If you see Stanley, make sure you buy him lunch.’

‘Course I will.’

‘And not the liquid sort, yeah?’

‘You can rely on me, you know that.’

‘Right.’ Unconvinced, he shoved his cap into his battered rucksack and pocketed the rest of the money. ‘Off I go, then.’ He hesitated, pushing his hands into his pockets and rubbing the toe of his boot against his calf. ‘I’m too scruffy, aren’t I, for someone like her?’

Beanie widened his eyes. ‘I’d shag you any day.’

‘Thanks. Might hold you to that, if I get desperate.’

Beanie whacked him on the back. ‘Just go, will you? I’ll be right behind you, okay?’

Dylan prayed he was doing the right thing as he stepped inside the café, way out of his comfort zone. His happy disposition and laid-back manner usually charmed people easily, but for once, his ready smile morphed into a tongue-tied rictus as his mouth dried with nerves and his lips stuck to his teeth.

Across the coffee shop, the Vision flicked through the newspaper stand and picked out a colour supplement, before heading to one of the booths, unwinding her scarf as she sat down with her drink. She smoothed out her napkin and placed it at the side of the coffee cup, adding the spoon diagonally across it. Dylan watched in amusement and fascination as she angled her phone precisely next to the napkin, lining it up vertically. She was light years away from his bumbling, messy self; he was being ridiculous even contemplating asking her to go out with him.

For a moment, he almost legged it, but he knew Beanie would be waiting outside to shove him back through the door. At least he was out of the rain, he thought, as he ordered a coffee and steeled himself to head her way.

After pretending to look around the café for somewhere to sit, he edged over to her table. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’

She looked up, and he caught his breath at her perfection. Then she glanced around the almost empty café, frowning slightly. ‘Feel free, although it’s hardly the best seat in the house.’

‘I think it is.’ He pushed his rucksack under the table, placed his guitar into a corner and sat down a little too quickly, almost knocking his chair over.

A brief smile of politeness brightened her face, but she quickly looked down, staring into her drink.

Dylan watched, mesmerised as she stirred her coffee mechanically, until the chocolate powdered star shape on the top dissolved in the froth.

‘I just wondered . . .’ he began, shoving his hair out of his eyes.

‘Yes?’ She took a sip of her drink, then directed her clear eyes towards him once more.

‘Err, I just wondered, do you come here often?’Yeah, great line, Dylan, really original.

The Vision spluttered into her coffee, grabbing a napkin when the splutter became a cough.

‘Sorry, sorry!’ Dylan lunged forward to thump her on the back, but she waved him out of the way, her eyes flashing.

‘I’m fine. Stoppit!’ She stood up, her chin jutting out. ‘Really? I’m trying to get a moment’s peace, and you march in, plonk yourself opposite me, when the place is almost deserted, drip rain on the seats, and spout one of the corniest lines ever. You think that’s going to swing it, do you?’ She huffed out a long breath and sat down again, her eyes still flashing enough for Dylan to see the intensity of the deep green in her irises.

She raised her hand before Dylan could respond. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I get really sick of it. It’s bad enough at work.’

That threw him, although her unexpected outburst had already rocked his confidence. ‘What is?’

‘People coming on to me all the time.’

‘Really? That happens at work, all the time?’

‘Yes.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, a ring she wore catching in it. ‘Mostly the same man, but it’s just as irritating.’ She glared at Dylan as she untangled her hair from the ring.

He stood up. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ How could he have been so crass to think it was acceptable to launch himself at a woman who was a stranger to him? It was so unlike him, anyway. He wanted to explain that she had made him lose his sensibilities, but he thought that might not go down too well, either. He shrugged his rucksack onto his shoulder and reached for his guitar, mortified.

Her demeanour seemed to change, though, when she spotted his guitar. ‘Oh, it’s you! The busker. You usually have a hat on.’ She looked at him squarely for the first time and smiled, almost apologetically.

‘Yes, it’s me.’ His full-on smile reappeared as he wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, seizing the moment. ‘Dylan Willis,’ he added.

She looked at his hand as if she wanted to Dettol it, but nevertheless, shook it briefly. ‘Sorry again, I’m just a bit stressed at the moment.’

Dylan’s hand tingled at her touch — he decided he might never wash it again. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He paused, waiting for her to introduce herself.

She didn’t.

But faint heart never won fair lady, he thought, and this was his one chance to win her over, although, so far, he’d made a total balls-up of it. ‘It’s just that I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know how often you come here, so I thought I’d check, in case you didn’t plan on coming back again? I’m not a stalker, or anything.’ He cringed.Why did he haveto add that?

‘Right, that’s good to know.’ Her mouth twitched a little as she peered upwards at him from under her thick fringe. ‘There’s a reason why you think I should tell you my plans?’

He groaned. ‘I’m so sorry. Again. I do sound a bit stalkerish, don’t I? I’m really not.’ He ran a hand around his neck, uncomfortable with the conversation but totally unable to drag his eyes away, looking for a sign, one small sign that she was thawing towards him.

The Vision stayed silent.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to your coffee.’ He picked his guitar up. She clearly didn’t want to get to know him, he should just go . . . No, actually, he couldn’t just leave it. He sat down again, placing his hands flat on the table. ‘Would you like to come and see me play?’

She frowned. ‘Sorry. Play?’

Dylan wanted to wipe away her frown with a trail of tiny kisses, he wanted to melt away her prickly outer layer with the heat of his longing. He wanted to prove that they were made for each other.

But of course, he did none of those things. He just willed her to say yes, while trying not to show his desperation.

She eyed him warily.

He stared at her some more. His little speech hadn’t gone quite the way it’d played out in his mind. ‘I don’t just play on the streets. I do gigs, as well. I’m really good.’ It came out in a rush and sounded as if he was scraping the barrel to prove his capability. He probably was, but it was the best he could offer.

‘I don’t doubt it. I like your music.’ Her smile almost reached her eyes this time.

‘You do?’ He waited, rubbing the toe of his boot against the back of his leg again.

She nodded.

He waited some more.

‘What else do you want me to say?’ she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing at her phone as if she hoped it would ring and rescue her.

‘Say yes, and come and hear me sing,’ he said. ‘It’s that easy. You’ll make my day, and I’ll take you for a pizza afterwards.’

Her almost-smile faded, her full lips pursing as he slid his hand across the table encouragingly, vaguely wondering what it would be like to touch her neat fingers with their perfectly painted nails. His hopes were quickly dashed as she withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.

‘Thank you for your kind offer, but I don’t date at the moment, I really don’t have the time.’ Her smile was polite. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ she added.

His own smile faded as he took in her words, his shoulders slumping as the sharp pain of rejection hit home. He slid his gaze quickly away from her, hiding his disappointment, even though he was convinced he saw genuine regret behind her smile.

Pushing abruptly to his feet he stepped away from the table. He’d intruded enough when she clearly needed to be alone. ‘That’s okay.’ His voice was thick with disappointment but he couldn’t seem to walk away though he knew he should. ‘If you change your mind, I’m in the Dog and Duck every Sunday.’

‘I’ll remember that, thank you.’ The Vision smiled sadly and shook her head, her actions belying her words.

‘Well . . . good, because that’s where I’ll be.’ He turned away, shrugging with resignation, casting a regretful look at his much-needed coffee as he closed the café door behind him.

Beanie was waiting for him, his ready thumbs-up drooping, as he took in Dylan’s dejection. ‘Bad luck, mate.’ He slapped him on the back. ‘She looks stuck up, anyway.’

Dylan shook his head. If Beanie had hoped to cheer him up with his words he’d done a pretty rubbish job. ‘Maybe, but she still needs me in her life, she just doesn’t know it yet.’

‘Yeah, well, whatever.’ Beanie shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in his unlikely role of agony aunt. ‘You’ll be all right, will you? Do you want to keep Scrappy-Doo for a while, you know, for company?’

Dylan barely glanced at his friend, just studied the damp pavement, lost in thought. ‘Nah, you’re all right, mate and don’t worry, I’m not about to top myself.’ He shrugged and tried out a smile. ‘It’s cool.’

‘No worries, then. Come on, Scrappy.’ Beanie drifted away, taking the straggly dog with him.

* * *

Scarlett, still sitting at her table, watched the exchange between Dylan and his friend through the window of the café, blinking in surprise, not so much at the intrusion by Dylan but at how cold she had been. Yes, the poor man had been trying it on, but he hadn’t been arrogant or pushy, he’d simply asked her out, politely and with no hidden agenda.

He was nice and she didn’t understand her reaction herself — although rejecting any kind of advance was second nature to her these days. She ran through the conversation again. Yep, she was cold alright. She sighed. He had nice hands, she thought, his nails square and aesthetically pleasing: ideal guitar-playing fingers, she supposed. His blue eyes had pierced hers as if he could see into her heart and was prepared to forgive its granite-like qualities, offering her a chance to redeem herself. But she didn’t want her heart mended, didn’t want redemption. She just wanted to be left alone.

She put her hand up to her brow, sad that she was so broken that she couldn’t even take a harmless chat-up line at face value. And she had embarrassed him to boot. If she’d been at home, she would have put her head in her hands and wept. She wished she could explain her thought process to this man who seemed so caught up with her, but she could barely make sense of herself. How could she expect him to understand? That she didn’t date because of a bad experience? It sounded like a poor excuse to her own ears, but to tell anyone and everyone that she didn’t date because her lover was dead from an overdose felt like giving away too much information. Besides, most people didn’t know how to respond to such a bald statement. She sighed. It was all too much.

The familiar feeling of falling into an abyss of unfathomable emotions swept over her. The dull ache it caused was no less painful for all its familiarity, but she had learned to cope with it over time. Occasionally, though, a new, raw pain of loss thumped her in the gut, overwhelming her. One hit her then, and she pushed her chair back, anxious to leave, knowing that full-on sobbing would be the next phase if her erratic emotions hitched up a notch.

She grabbed her bag and rushed out of the café, pulling out her car keys on the way, as if she’d suddenly remembered an errand she had to do. RADA would have been proud to take her on, she thought, as she kept up the act of being someone in a hurry until she reached her car door, pulled it open and slumped into the seat, a raw mess as if Sky had died only yesterday. His legacy ran deep and barbed within her and she hated what she’d become because of him: a different woman to the one she’d been when he was alive. She needed to be strong, but didn’t have the energy or the desire to carry on and she cursed the man she’d loved, andhatedhimforabandoningher.