Free Blind-Date Baby by Fiona Harper Page A

sometimes.
    Englishcrumpet: Sorry! Look, you really don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, Dani. I realise some people aren’t as happy to witter on about themselves as I am.
    Kangagirl: Noah doesn’t seem to mind.
    Englishcrumpet: Seriously, Marissa, there’s nothing going on. I know you want to believe that everyone is going to fall in love as quickly and completely as you did with Rick, but I’m not looking for that. I just like the fact that Noah doesn’t see me as ‘Daisy’s mum’. I’m just Grace with him.
    Kangagirl: You can’t blame a girl for trying to matchmake.
    Englishcrumpet: Wanna bet?
    Englishcrumpet: Can I ask you girls something?
    Sanfrandani: Sure.
    Kangagirl: Go ahead.
    Englishcrumpet: I’m not mutton dressed as lamb, am I?
    Sanfrandani: Cookery questions? Is that some strange ‘olde English’ recipe?
    Englishcrumpet: No, I mean…do I act too young?
    Kangagirl: You’re fun, Grace! Don’t change that.
    Sanfrandani: You know we love you just the way you are.

    How did she explain this? It wasn’t about being fun. It went deeper than that—in ways she didn’t really understand. In lieu of precise thinking, she did the best she could:
    Englishcrumpet: I know this sounds weird, but I think it’s time for me to come of age.

    Noah tried to doze in his first-class seat, but there was too much turbulence and, after five minutes of nodding off then being jolted awake, he gave up and asked a flight attendant for a coffee. When it arrived he wished he hadn’t bothered. It just made him homesick for cobbled streets and wild flowers in enamel jugs.
    It made him think about Grace.
    He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. Especially when he was away from home. He missed going into The Coffee Bean, missed the waft of butter and cinnamon and ground coffee as he opened the glazed front door and heard the bell jangle.
    He and Grace had got into a routine when he wasn’t travelling. He would turn up at the café around mid-morning, after he’d made a dent in his word count goal for the day. It was a great incentive. Suddenly, he was twice as prolific as he had previously been. Grace would just bring him an espresso and whatever cake or muffin she thought he might enjoy. They were always outstanding. He had no doubts that she could have worked at any of the top restaurants in London if she’d finished training.
    While he privately lamented her missed opportunities, he also applauded her choices. She’d sacrificed all of that to bring up her daughter. There were many parents who just didn’t get that. The more he knew Grace, the more he was certain his hunch about her was right. She was an amazing woman, possessing all the qualities he could want in a wife. And if he could gift-wrap a patisserie for her and deliver it to her doorstep, he would. She deserved it.
    But he was just a friend. And friends didn’t do that kind of thing.
    He took another sip of the aeroplane coffee, grimaced and setit to one side. Might as well take his mind off the rest of the journey by sorting out chapter seventeen. Somehow it had gone off course, and the pace had slowed to zero. He opened up his laptop and took a quick look at his emails before he started working. A few had arrived while he’d been sitting in the terminal in Stuttgart and he hadn’t had a chance to read them yet.
    There was one from Grace, wishing him a nice time in Germany and recounting a funny Coffee Bean anecdote. He decided in that moment that, when he saw her next, he was going to pull her to one side and tell her who he really was. He trusted her completely. And she definitely wasn’t out to marry him for his money. She wasn’t out to marry him at all. What a pity.
    The next email was a reminder from his agent.
    Oh, hell. He’d forgotten all about that.
    Next week was the British Book Awards and he’d get way too much stick if he didn’t put in an appearance, especially as his latest cold war story had been shortlisted for Best