Blind-Date Baby by Fiona Harper Page B

pushchair. But her undoubted prettiness wasn’t what caused him to do a double take. It was the hothouse flower tucked behind her ear. Last night’s rain had left dampness in the air and the wind was slicing its way up the street. He’d be surprised if the bloom didn’t wilt in a matter of seconds.
    He shook his head and carried on striding up the slight hill towards The Coffee Bean. No matter. People could do whatever they liked with their flowers. It didn’t bother…
    An old man with a flat cap nodded at him as they passed on the narrow pavement. Noah stopped in his tracks and swivelled round to look at him. In the buttonhole of his dirty grey overcoat was the most stunning orchid.
    Something tickled at the back of his brain. There was a connection here. There had to be.
    He was almost at the café now and, as he paused to let a couple of middle-aged women out of the door, he noticed they were also carrying a couple of exotic flowers each. What the…?
    Once inside, he spotted Grace, sitting at a table close to the counter and carefully passing out flowers—his flowers—to every customer as they collected their drinks and wandered off to find a table.
    He walked to the front of the queue and stood there, waiting for her to finish fiddling about with the remains of the bouquet he’d sent her. He knew the exact moment she sensed his presence because she went quite still.
    Noah smoothed his face into the dictionary definition of ‘calm and collected’.
    Grace swore and jumped up.
    ‘Noah! What are you…? I mean, why…?’
    He blinked and nodded towards the foliage in front of her. ‘More to the point, what are you doing?’
    Grace bit her thumbnail. ‘Sharing the love?’ she said hopefully.
    It was impossible to hold his mask of composure in the face of such genuine mortification. He smiled and Grace exhaled visibly.
    She looked quite different from the night before—no dress, no heels, no clipped-up hairdo. Just jeans, a cute little wrap-around jumper in soft, soft blue and her hair swinging loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look at all like the polished woman he’d imagined he’d end up with when he’d signed up to Blinddatebrides.com. She did, however, look completely adorable.
    Grace stood up and hurriedly gathered the left-over bits of stalks and leaves into the tissue and cellophane on the table and threw them in a bin somewhere behind the counter. When she returned, she flicked her hair forward to cover her eyes.
    ‘I sent you an email,’ she said, twisting her thumb in the grip of her other hand.
    ‘I know. I read it.’
    Confusion clouded her features. ‘Then why are you here? What do you want?’
    Another one of those hunches slammed into him. If he pushed the issue now, she’d never agree to a second date. He knew that as certainly as he’d known the answer to three down on the crossword this morning. If he was going to find his perfect wife, he would have to plan this like one of his plots, set things up. He would need to be patient. Just as well he was very good at being patient when he’d set his mind on something.
    ‘What I really want,’ he said, watching her eyes widen, ‘is an espresso and a piece of that divine-looking chocolate torte.’
     
    ‘Erm…okay.’ Grace forgot entirely that she wasn’t actually rostered to work that morning and skipped behind the counter to get Noah’s coffee and cake. Caz was suspiciously silent andGrace felt her beady eyes on her as she carefully levered a slice of her famous torte onto a clean plate. She shoved the cake in his direction, holding the plate at arm’s length.
    ‘There you go. Take a seat.’ She nodded at the half-empty café. ‘I’ll bring your coffee over when it’s ready.’
    She messed around at the coffee machine far longer than necessary. Why was he here? Didn’t he believe her when she said she wasn’t going to see him again? And how dared he look all sleek in his black jeans, his dark hair all wind-blown and