Blind-Date Baby

‘Hang on a moment,’ Grace said from somewhere in the darkness.

A few seconds later a light went on above a counter on the other side of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, a thunderclap rumbled a few miles away. Grace skirted round the tables and closed the door. She didn’t say anything as she moved past him; it was only as she was walking away back to the counter that she spoke.

‘This place serves the best coffee in the whole of South East London.’

Now he noticed his surroundings. The place almost resembled an auction room with its assorted wooden tables and chairs—no two matching. Large velvet-covered sofas occupied one corner and big canvases of abstract art and pictures of coffee beans hung on the walls.

‘The best?’

Now Grace was more than ten feet away and standing behind the safety of a counter she seemed to have regained her usual chatty manner. ‘Absolutely. And I know that because I make it. What will you have?’

‘Espresso,’ he said without thinking. ‘Double.’

‘Coming right up. Make yourself at home.’ He moved towards one of the low armchairs near the counter and sat down as Grace began banging things and turning knobs. A minute or so later she joined him with two cups of steaming espresso. The smell of freshly ground coffee filled the air like a fog. They sat and sipped their drinks in silence.

Grace hadn’t switched any extra lights on and they were sitting on the fringes of the yellow glow from the counter. Even in this artificial twilight she seemed brighter and bolder and more alive than just about anyone he knew.

‘So, Noah…How does a guy like you end up listed on an Internet dating site? If you don’t mind me saying, I wouldn’t have thought it was…you know…your thing, or that you needed help in that department.’

Noah considered what she’d said for a moment, then smiled.

‘I decided that meeting people via the Internet was as good a way as any. It’s all down to chance, really. You meet someone in a bar, or at work, or wherever…Why not the Internet? Joining a site with a matching service should help take some of the guesswork out of it.’

Grace rolled her eyes. ‘You make it all sound so romantic!’

Romance. What was that, anyway? He, like most men, had thought it meant flowers and chocolates and candlelit dinners. That much he could manage. In the five years he’d been with Sara, the one woman he’d thought of marrying without the help of a dating site, she’d tried to explain that romance was more about connecting with someone on a deeper level, about seeing into someone’s soul. He’d nodded and looked thoughtful and, although he’d tried hard to understand, he’d had the funny feeling he’d missed the point. Even though he’d connected to the best of his abilities she’d still walked away, telling him it wasn’t enough. The truly tragic thing was that he honestly didn’t know what he could have done differently.

Noah stared out of the plate glass window at the front of the shop. It was raining hard now, fat drops bouncing off the road and swirling down the gutters. That kind of romance was the last place to start if you wanted a successful relationship.

When he looked back at Grace that cheeky eyebrow rose again. How could she say so much with one small twitch of a muscle?

‘Don’t you believe in fate, in destiny?’ she asked.

Noah didn’t even have to stop and think about that one. ‘No.’

‘So it’s all just down to random events and chemical reactions, then?’

‘Well, partly…at least, I think that’s what sexual attraction boils down to, but we’re not just talking about that. Choosing someone to spend your life with is about more than chemistry, surely? Why? Do you believe in fate?’

Grace put her cup down and looked at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know…It’s comforting to think that love isn’t just some random genetic thing. Where’s the magic in that?’

Uh-oh. If she was looking for magic, she was barking up the wrong tree. He didn’t do magic any more than he did romance. Loyalty, honesty, sheer bloody-mindedness—he had those things in spades, but there wasn’t any fairy dust involved. It was just the way he was made. Time to get things back on firmer ground. Time to return to facts and figures and things a man could quantify.

‘Why did you join Blinddatebrides.com?’

Grace looked at the ceiling and shook her head. ‘Actually, I’d never heard of the site before this morning. Someone else joined on my behalf and I’m going to kill her when I get my hands…’ She bit her lip and grimaced. ‘Sorry. That didn’t sound the way I meant it to. I didn’t want to imply that I regret meeting you.’

‘Of course you didn’t.’

He liked the way she didn’t filter her words.

‘Maybe I’ll let her off with dunking her in the old horse trough on the common…Now that I’ve discovered having a blind date isn’t quite as horrendous as I anticipated.’

The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘I’m flattered. Me having such fine teeth, and all. You will tell your friend about the teeth, won’t you?’

Grace put down her coffee cup. ‘Oh, it wasn’t a friend who set me up. It was my daughter.’

His stomach plummeted just that little bit further. He hadn’t even considered that Grace might have children. She just looked too…And he was useless with kids. His friends’ kids only tolerated him when he visited because, on occasion, he could be coaxed into letting them ride on his shoulders. Any attempts at communication just fell flat. They would stare at him with their mouths open as if he were an alien life form. No, Noah and kids just didn’t mix.

‘You have a daughter?’ he asked, consciously trying to keep his tone light.

She nodded. ‘Daisy. Nineteen—the age when she thinks Mama doesn’t know best any more and is doing her best to organise my life to her liking.’

See? Nineteen was better. He might be able to manage children—well, young adults—at that age.

‘So, you’re divorced?’

She shook her head. ‘Widowed.’ Her hand flew up. ‘Don’t give me the look!’

He blinked. What look?

‘It was a long time ago. I was barely more than a teenager when I got married and not much older when I found myself on my own again.’ She gave him a fierce look, one that dared him to feel sorry for her.

‘How did he die?’

Grace went very quiet. Was he tasting his own shoe polish again?

‘Thank you for asking. Most people just…you know…change the subject.’ She tipped her chin up and looked straight at him. ‘Rob was a soldier. He was killed in the first Gulf War.’

Noah nodded. ‘I served in Iraq myself.’

She pressed her lips together and gave him a watery smile. He didn’t have the words to describe what happened next; he just felt a bolt of recognition joining them together in silent understanding. So many friends hadn’t made it home. And he’d seen so many wives fall apart. But here was Grace, not letting the world defeat her. She’d worked hard to bring her daughter up on her own. It couldn’t have been easy. And he’d bet she was a really good mother, one who had strived to be both mother and father to her daughter. If only every child were so lucky. He almost felt jealous of the absent Daisy.

This was getting far too emotional for him, pulling on loose threads of things he’d firmly locked away in his subconscious. Grace wasn’t looking for the same kind of relationship he was. She didn’t want to get married and, if she did, she wanted magic. His instincts told him it was time to retreat and let them both breathe out.

‘Well, Grace…’ He swallowed the last of his espresso and stood up. ‘I think I’d better be going.’ He shrugged. ‘Can I call you a cab or give you a lift somewhere?’

She shook her head. ‘No need. I am home. I live in the flat upstairs.’

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. It kind of left him with nowhere to go.

‘It’s been nice…’

A small smile curved her lips. ‘Yes it has.’

The words See you again some time? were ready on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them. But once they were gone he had nothing else to say, so he walked to the door, aware of her following close behind him. When they reached it, she flicked a couple of catches and turned the handle, oddly silent.

Before he crossed the threshold into the damp night he turned to look at her. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Grace.’