Chapter 7 #2
Retrieving her box and placing it next to his rucksack, he turned to her, his arms outstretched. ‘Your turn.’
Her legs suddenly felt wobbly. Whether it was from the impending jump or from the sight of him offering to catch her, she wasn’t sure.
He beckoned for her to jump. ‘Come on, I’ve got you.’
‘I’ll squash you.’
He smiled. ‘No, you won’t. You’ll be fine. Just don’t look down.’
Easier said than done.
She glanced at him, standing below ready to catch her, and focused on the softness of his handsome face, as opposed to the hard landscape beneath him waiting to snap her ankles.
‘Sit on the edge and ease yourself forwards if you’re worried about the drop,’ he said, reassuringly.
She shuffled towards the edge. ‘I hope you know what you’re taking on?’ she said, using the sight of him with his arms outstretched as a distraction from the falling distance below.
‘Trust me,’ he said, looking at her intently. ‘I promise I’ll catch you.’
Oddly, she did trust him, which probably wasn’t logical, or smart, or in her best interests. What other choice did she have?
Closing her eyes, she pushed herself away from the ledge.
Twenty minutes ago, she’d never spoken to this man. Now she was lying in his arms, feeling the shape of his slim body through his soft hoodie, the heat of his skin, and fantasising about taking his face in her hands and kissing him until she was breathless.
Their faces were inches apart. It was like time had ground to a halt, pinning her in place, silencing everything around her.
And honestly, she could have stayed like that all day, gazing into his face, imagining them together.
The breeze carried his scent towards her and for a moment she felt a little dizzy.
This man was like a drug. What made it worse was that he seemed utterly oblivious to the effect he was having on her.
His eyes were wide, and innocent, and kind, and they looked at her with concern …
but no hint of flirtation, or desire. She was smitten and he was … well, nonplussed.
Batting away her disappointment, she let him lower her to the ground and she moved away to collect her cardboard box.
Maybe he thought she was too old for him? But there couldn’t be much of an age gap between them, a few years at most. He looked early twenties, and she was only twenty-seven, so not a huge difference.
‘Let me,’ he said, taking the box and hooking his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘Are you okay to walk to the station?’
‘I think so.’
They followed the other passengers down the tracks towards a group of railway staff waving red flags.
She felt Connor glance at her, as if maybe he was searching for safe conversation. ‘How will you get to work?’ he asked, hoisting up the box. ‘Can you take the bus?’
‘I’m not going to work today.’ And then realising she didn’t want to admit she’d just been fired, added, ‘I … decided to take the day off. I’m heading home. What about you?’
‘This is my stop.’ He pointed to the White City sign attached to the wall. ‘I’m volunteering at the local community centre today. It’s only a couple of minutes’ walk from the station, so I should be there in time for my shift.’
She hadn’t expected that. ‘What kind of volunteering?’
‘Whatever they need me to do,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘Today I’m coaching a walking football session for men trying to lose weight.’
‘Really? What a great thing to do.’ She had to tread carefully over the uneven ground, she was in danger of tripping up, even in trainers.
‘I envy people who are sporty. I’m definitely not, I can’t catch, and I can’t throw, and as for running …
’ she was about to add that her boobs hurt when they bounced up and down, but stopped herself in time.
Too much information. ‘Anyway, it’s great that you’re helping out. ’
‘I’m not that sporty myself,’ he admitted, seemingly shy to admit as much. ‘I’m more of a spectator, but they don’t seem to mind. I do a lot of cheering them on and fetching water when they run out of breath. Stuff like that.’
They reached the end of the tracks and were directed up a flight of work-access steps onto the platform.
She was desperate to know more about this sweet, lovely man who volunteered and helped rescue floundering women.
‘What do you do when you’re not volunteering?
Do you work? Or are you still studying?’
His eyes dropped to the floor. ‘Neither.’ Swallowing awkwardly, he walked over to a bench and placed the box down, his back to her.
Feeling like she’d struck a nerve, she followed and sat down, leaning down to unlace the trainers he’d loaned her. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘You didn’t. I’m taking a breather after a difficult time in my life, trying to work out what to do next.’ His voice was so quiet she barely heard him above the station noise.
She wanted to tell him she was doing the same thing.
Her life had been upended and she knew all about needing to take some time to regroup.
But this wasn’t the moment for confessions.
The platform was filling with flustered passengers from the abandoned train, asking the staff questions about their onward journeys.
The announcements blaring out from the speakers above killed any intimacy between them.
Removing her shoes from his rucksack, he handed them to her. ‘Don’t forget these.’
She slipped her feet into her court shoes and stood up. ‘Thanks so much for loaning me your trainers. Think of the damage I’d have caused jumping in heels.’ Her laugh sounded a little strained. ‘I hope you’re not late for your shift.’
He glanced at the large digital clock on the arrivals board. ‘I’m okay. How about you?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She held out her hand. Might as well end things the way they started. Formally. ‘Thanks so much for helping me. You’re a true gentleman, Connor.’
He took her hand, not shaking it this time, but gently holding it. The impact of his touch was just as powerful as it had been the first time. ‘Maybe see you around.’
‘I hope so.’
But he’d let go of her hand and was walking away.
He didn’t turn back, even though she waited, hoping he would.
She continued watching until he’d disappeared from view, like a ghost vanishing into the grimy London air.
He hadn’t asked for her phone number, or discreetly found out what her surname was so he could search for her on social media. Nothing.
She’d been so desperate to talk to him, convinced they’d hit it off, and they had … hadn’t they? It wasn’t her imagination. So why didn’t he want to see her again?
Maybe he already had a girlfriend.
Or worse … he just didn’t fancy her.
The disappointment was crushing.