Page 26 of Unapologetic Love Story

Tom had to laugh at his father’s use of the word ‘slovenly’, but he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve got a meeting.’

His father’s eyes sparked. ‘With the lady from Mirren’s work?’

Tom reached out to end the call. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

He could still hear the man cackling as he hung up. He sat on the edge of his bed for a few moments, still and unsure. He’d tried to shake off thoughts of Raina but it had proved impossible. He thought about her all the time; he couldn’t make himself stop.

He’d forced himself to refrain from social media hunting. The urge to find meaning in every like or comment was strong, but he’d managed to override it. His willpower had not, however, extended to her podcast. He’d listened to every episode. One while cooking dinner. Another during a run. They never seemed to be long enough, and so, in an effort to find more, he would watch her interviews on YouTube. She had chemistry with everyone and it was driving him a little mad. One male neurologist had made her laugh a little too much and he’d ended up fantasizing about ways to get the man struck off.

All very normal reactions.

As he walked through Fulham, heading for the pub she’d chosen for their interview, he could feel the London weather turning. The spring which had arrived late was now leaving the party early, ushering in a dry and itchy summer. The kind of summer that demanded cold drinks with ice in the park, bare feet, and avoiding skyscrapers and the heat they seemed to give off.

The beer garden of the White Horse was rammed by the time Tom arrived, a chef cooking burgers on the barbeque.

He spotted her inside. Leaning up against the long indoor bar, smiling through a conversation with a bartender who smiled right back, mirroring her expression with a great deal of familiarity.

‘Raina?’

She turned and her warm expression faded slightly upon seeing him, and he hated himself for feeling hurt and disappointed about it. He felt like he knew her a little better, after days of absorbing her words. He supposed that was how a lot of her listeners felt about her. He wanted her to smile at him, and he wondered if she’d read his work as well, while he’d been devouring hers.

‘Hello,’ she replied, in a perfectly civil tone. So civil it made him want to beg. ‘We’re over at table thirteen.’

She turned on her heel and walked over to the corner of the pub, settling down in a cushy Chesterfield sofa. Tom sat just across from her, and the bartender she’d been flirting with brought them two chilled glasses and a jug of iced water.

‘Thanks, Marc,’ Raina said sweetly to the man, who beamed at her.

Tom’s eyes flickered between the two of them. ‘Am I interrupting?’

‘Yes,’ Raina said cheerfully. ‘But I can make time for you, Alice.’

There was just enough teasing in her voice to relax him. ‘Sorry to clog up your diary, but I’m like a bloodhound.’

‘Not quite. Bloodhounds are adorable,’ she said, steadily pouring them both some cold water.

She pulled her feet up beneath her and watched him expectantly.

‘Mind if I record this? I can send you transcripts afterwards, of everything you want on the record.’

‘Yes, that will make for fascinating reading,’ she said dryly. ‘Please do that.’

He smirked, placing a Dictaphone upon the low, wooden table beside them. He switched it on and named the date, location and time.

‘And I am here under duress,’ Raina said, leaning down to speak clearly and fervidly into the tiny microphone. He had to fight a laugh.

‘Where were you born?’ Tom asked.

She clucked her tongue and paused before answering. ‘Woodstock, Oxfordshire.’

‘Family?’

‘Allegedly.’

He smiled. ‘What was your family life like?’

‘Fine.’

‘Regular?’