Free Blueprint for Love (Choc Lit) by Henriette Gyland Page B

expression was guarded whenever she met his eyes, and there was something else in them which made her feel as if she was under scrutiny.
              George had returned to his usual taciturn self, although several times she had caught him studying her intently across the kitchen table when he thought she wasn’t looking. Hazel had to acknowledge that she’d failed miserably in her attempt at getting to know him better, and the realisation depressed her.
              It was with relief that she took the bus into town to see Aunt Rose again the following Sunday.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Aunt Rose was asleep when Hazel got there, and the carer explained that the old lady had had a disturbed night.
              ‘You’re welcome to drop back later,’ said the woman, ‘although she might be too tired for visitors altogether today. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your plans.’
              ‘It’s fine. I can wander around town for a bit, then come back.’
              She went back to the high street, which was busy with Sunday shoppers and those just out for a stroll on a glorious autumn day. Spying a small park in the town centre, she decided that she’d sit on a bench with a take-away coffee and soak up some sun.
              When she left the coffee shop with a scorching polystyrene cup in her hands, concentrating hard on not burning herself, she wasn’t looking where she was going and tripped over a wonky paving stone.
              With an exclamation, she stumbled forward, colliding with a man coming towards her, and the contents of the cup spilled down the front of his grey tailored suit.
              At first neither of them spoke, then Hazel brought a hand to her face in horror. ‘Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! Your jacket ... it’s ruined.’
              The stranger looked down with some dismay, then back at Hazel. ‘I saw the sign for paint-balling, but I didn’t think it was happening in the high street.’
              ‘Look, I’m really, really sorry,’ Hazel said. ‘If there’s anything I can do, perhaps pay for your dry cleaning bill or something, I’d be happy to.’
              The stranger tugged at his jacket. ‘Believe me, the stain is nothing compared to the scorching heat which is working its way down my trousers as we speak.’
              ‘But coffee ...’ Hazel began, then she laughed suddenly at the toe-curling image of hot coffee running down his trousers. ‘I apologise for burning your, eh, innards.’
              ‘No problem.’ The stranger grinned and stuck out his hand. ‘Lawrence.’
              ‘Hazel.’
              His hand was soft and warm, and for the first time Hazel noticed his looks. Lawrence definitely fitted the description of tall, dark and handsome, with thick brown hair, twinkling green eyes, and broad shoulders. Her eyes widened in appreciation.
             Norfolk is just teeming with good-looking men, she thought. Coming here was definitely a good idea.
              ‘So,’ said Lawrence, as he took the empty polystyrene cup from her and put it in a bin, ‘it seems that I’ve robbed you of your morning coffee. Please let me buy you another.’ He indicated the café Hazel had just left.
              ‘Oh no, there’s no need.’
              ‘There’s every need. Come on.’ He held up a shopping bag he was carrying. ‘Besides, I’d like to get changed.’
              They returned to the café and picked a table by the window. When the waitress appeared with a menu, Lawrence ordered a cappuccino and a Danish pastry and told Hazel to get whatever she fancied, then disappeared into the Gents. He returned shortly after, looking – if possible – even more handsome in jeans and a T-shirt. Hazel found herself openly admiring him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, so who wouldn’t?