‘What?’ The question was so out of left field that her reply came out as a yelp. ‘No!’
His gaze didn’t waver. ‘Why not?’
Maura took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop thumping. ‘Because – because we hardly know each other. And you’re drunk.’
Fraser paused, as though considering. ‘Both true.’ He brightened. ‘But we’ll know each other better afterwards.’
The words were delivered with such conviction that she had to bite her cheek to stop herself laughing. ‘You’ll still be drunk.’
He frowned, opened his mouth to argue and then sighed. ‘You have me there.’ His gaze grew sorrowful. ‘Is there no hope?’
Maura blinked, unsure whether to take him seriously. ‘Why do you want to?’
His eyes did not leave hers. ‘Because you’re a heavenly mirage that will probably vanish at any moment, and I’ll always regret it if we don’t.’
No one had ever described her as a mirage, let alone a heavenly one, Maura thought faintly. It was so absurdly poetic that it made her head whirl. And that was not the only thing that was stirring; deep in the pit of her stomach, a whisper of warmth was beginning to swirl. He was so good looking, a treacherous part of her brain observed, practically an angel in his own right. More importantly, his logic somehow mirrored her own. He was Fraser Bell, the boy she’d subconsciously fancied for years, and he was asking to kiss her. Wouldn’t she regret the missed opportunity too? She pushed logic aside. ‘Okay.’
He stared quizzically at her for a long moment, as though making sure she had really agreed. Then, slowly, gently, he leaned in to press his lips against hers.
For Maura, the pub and the street and the city vanished, eclipsed by an aching sweetness that began at his touch and suffused her entirely. She floated, cocooned in its bliss, aware only of him. She did not dare open her eyes, afraid she would wake up and discover she was the one dreaming.
‘Bloody hell, Fraser, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.’
The voice, female and flat with amusement, was accompanied by a burst of noise from inside the pub. The intrusion sliced through Maura like a knife. She pulled back sharply, eliciting a huff of surprise from Fraser, and saw Sarah Grant watching them with a narrowed gaze that belied the amusement of her tone. Fraser turned his head. ‘Oh, it’s you. This is Maura. You remember Maura, don’t you? From school.’
Favouring her with a cursory up and down, Sarah pursed her lips. ‘No, I can’t say that I do. I thought she was just some random who’d happened upon you.’
A hot gush of mortification washed through Maura. ‘I didn’t—He—’
‘Look, whatever,’ Sarah cut in, folding her arms. ‘You can put him down now. I’ll take it from here.’
Indignation wrestled with embarrassment as Maura glanced at Fraser. Should she back down? Or explain that Fraser had kissed her, not the other way round? He caught her look, apparently oblivious to the battle-lines being drawn around him, and smiled. ‘Thank you. That was lovely.’
The intimacy of his smile nearly drew her back in. Ithadbeen lovely – a heavenly stolen moment neither of them had anticipated and yet both had recognized. But Sarah’s sneering tone had brought her back down to earth with an emphatic bump and now reality was asserting itself once more. He was Fraser Bell. What had she been thinking? Had she been thinking? It appeared not. Face burning, Maura stepped away from Fraser and hurried, without a word, into the safety of the pub.
Chapter OneEighteen Years Later
Maura was not entirely sure about Hogmanay.
Her reservations weren’t something she ever admitted, of course – as Scottishness went, bringing in the bells was up there with tartan, haggis and Irn-Bru, and anything less than total enthusiasm felt like a betrayal of her country. But she did sometimes wonder, as the clock struck twelve and her fellow Scots swelled into ‘Auld Lang Syne’, whether the time-honoured tradition of grabbing the new year with both hands and dousing it liberally with drink was the best way to wipe the slate clean.
She knew she was very much in the minority – thousands descended on Edinburgh to join the famous Hogmanay street parties and admire the magnificent firework display that lit up the sky over the castle – but given any choice in the matter, Maura would secretly prefer to spend the final few hours of December in bed with a mug of cocoa and a good book, the better to greet January with a clear head and no hazy regrets about the night before. It was, she suspected, a symptom of reaching her late thirties. And it was absolutely not an option with a boyfriend like Jamie, who never missed an excuse for a big night.
Which was why Maura was currently squashed into the corner of a white leather sofa, at the house party of one of Jamie’s rugby mates, watching a group of grown men down shots like they were teenagers. It wasn’t that she disapproved – she’d done her fair share of drinking in her youth – but nothing could have induced her to join them now.Each to their own, she thought, watching them grimace as they bit into wedges of lemon.
On the sofa beside Maura, her friend Zoe raised two elegant eyebrows and leaned closer, her Home Counties accent cutting through the thumping music. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Maura glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed 10.15pm, and then back at the drinkers, who were enthusiastically setting up another round of shots. ‘Is Archie going to make it until midnight?’
Originally from Dunfermline, Archie was a new recruit to the rugby club, a fresh-faced university student who was doing his best to keep up with his more seasoned teammates but inevitably starting to look a little green around the gills. Zoe followed Maura’s gaze and narrowed her eyes in appraisal. ‘Absolutely no chance,’ she said firmly. ‘But I doubt he’ll be the only one, unless someone hides the tequila.’
That was a mission Maura had no intention of accepting. If five years of hanging around with Jamie’s friends had taught her anything, it was that the Fun Police were never well-received. And while Zoe was a relative newcomer to the group, having only dated her boyfriend, Liam, for ten months or so, Maura knew she wasn’t about to intervene either. ‘They’d only open a bottle of something else,’ she said pragmatically. ‘Best to let them get on with it.’
Zoe nodded her agreement. ‘Good advice. Never get between a scrum half and the bar.’
Maura laughed. ‘Or a fly-half. Or any of them, to be honest.’ She eyed her friend curiously. ‘So what were you thinking, if it wasn’t “how long before Archie passes out”?’
The other woman looked momentarily perplexed, then her expression cleared. ‘Oh, I was looking at the guy who just arrived – the one in the hallway.’ She gave Maura a mischievous look. ‘And what I was thinking was,HELLO.’
