Page 9 of Fundamentals in Flirting

“Ahot librarian?” I muttered under my breath, starting the car again.

“It was meant as a compliment, Hannah,” Teddy said, wiping crumbs off his crotch where the protein bar had ended up.

“I suppose it’s better than being likened to a porn star.”

“Ah, now, I was young and foolish in those days. My comments weren’t always well thought out.”

“But you really thought long and hard abouthot librarian?” I asked incredulously.

Teddy leant back in his seat and sighed. “Forget I said anything to you, ever.”

“Good idea.”

My brain was fried. I needed to not hold on to this comment. I needed to not allow myself to breathe it in and process it, because it was nothing. It meant nothing. He was a terminal flirt – I knew this from school days – and becoming a fully fledged adult didn’t seem to have improved this aspect of his personality. He must just use throwaway comments about being “hot” as another way to dazzle and befuddle poor, unsuspecting women. He didn’t mean it, not about me. The mean gremlin in my head, the one who crept in whenever I felt a shred of confidence, poked and prodded her way to the front of my mind, reminding me that looks were not something I should concern myself with; that men like him were not attracted to women like me. Men like him, like Jonathan, cheated on me with young, beautiful women. More than once.

Briefly leaning back against the head rest I caught sight of my face in the rear-view mirror. My own startled green eyes gazed back at me, large and round and full of anguish, the freckles that bridged my nose and mottled my whole face as overly prominent as ever. I looked back at the road, disgust brewing like a bitter potion in the cauldron of my stomach, before putting the car back into gear and setting off again

“Where’s your house?” I asked Teddy as we entered the small town of Chipping-on-the-Water, the town where we’d both grown up and gone to school.

“Abbots Lane.”

“Abbots Lane?” I repeated in surprise. This was where the veterinary practice was, along with my little flat above the surgery. It was a sleepy, out-of-the-way place on the edge of the countryside.

“Yes.”

“Which house?”

Please don’t say The Old Rectory.

He couldn’t live in the beautiful crumbling rundown house that I could see from my window, the one I fantasised about living in on a regular basis.

“The Old Rectory.”

Damn.

Of course it would be him who’d just bought it. The law of sod was working in full force for me today.

Excellent.

“What are you planning to do with it?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but he turned from gazing out of the window, his attention focussed on me again.

“Why do you want to know?” he replied, suspicious.

“I work at the surgery next door.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, and I’m currently living in the flat above it.”

Why did I tell him that?

“We’re neighbours?” He grinned widely, making my breath hitch a little.

Havens, get a grip. It’s just a face.

Only a unique composition of muscles and skin and teeth. Nothing extraordinary to see here.

Except, who am I kidding. His is anything but ordinary.

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