Page 70 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Jo looked at her. ‘I dunno…’

‘You don’t have to declare undying love. Drop him a hint or something. Or ask him if he’d like to go on that second date with you, once the festival is over.’

‘Okay, I can do that. Perhaps tonight, whilst we’re running the speed-dating.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

*

Three hours later, the crowd of parents and children had gone home, many promising to return the following day, and the doors opened for the Scrabble speed-dating event. Sal was the one-woman welcoming committee, ticking off each person on her list with brisk efficiency and handing out name labels, whilst Jo and Razz put the game boards on each table.

‘All set?’ said Razz.

‘I think so.’

He looked lovely this evening. He’d slipped home and changed into an open-neck shirt and chinos but was still wearing his Scrabble necklace proudly around his neck.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Today’s been brilliant, hasn’t it? I can’t believe how many people came, can you?’

Jo squeezed his hand back. ‘I can’t.’

And she couldn’t. Couldn’t believe how many people had come. Couldn’t believe how much money they’d already raised for the school. Couldn’t believe that Razz had spelled his name Razz all along and she hadn’t even known. Couldn’t believe that she was going to tell him how she felt.

But she was. She was going to dig deep, find the courage from somewhere to risk rejection and admit her feelings to the man she was beginning to fall in love with. She’d let the dating event get underway, then, as they both stood and watched from the sidelines, she would tell him.

Or at least drop a heavy hint.

Jo didn’t recognise any of the speed-dating participants. The Scrabble club – thankfully – had all decided to give it a miss, even Linda acknowledging that she wasn’t in the age range. Mr Morgan was keeping his beady eye on proceedings, greeting one or two people by name. Single parents, Jo guessed.

Kate arrived with a young, blonde woman. She’d mentioned that she might bring someone; a colleague, Jo vaguely recalled her saying. Or had she said cousin? Whoever she was, she was even more petite than Kate, with a tiny waist, enviably pert breasts and straight, shiny hair down to her waist. Impeccably dressed too, Jo noticed, in a short, black dress with lots of gold jewellery. A little much for an evening in a school hall in Hebbleswick, but she somehow managed to pull it off. Jo reluctantly let go of Razz’s hand and went over to them to say hello.

‘Jo, this is Zoey,’ said Kate.

‘Zoey with a y,’ said Zoey.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Jo said. ‘How do you two know each other?’

‘Work. Zoey’s recently started in the accounts department.’

Colleague then.

Over Kate’s shoulder, Jo noticed Razz talking to a small group of women. Kate and Zoey with a y turned to see who she was looking at.

Razz was a far cry now from the scruffy-looking man in the orange anorak that she’d met on that first date. How had she ever thought that he wasn’t attractive? Okay, so he didn’t have the easy charm of someone like Tarquin who knew how to put a woman at ease on a first date, but – unlike Tarquin – Razz meant every word that he said.

‘That’s Doctor Razz,’ Kate was saying to Zoey. ‘He works with Ludek, Emily’s boyfriend. I’ve told you about Emily, haven’t I?’

‘Your friend with the café?’ said Zoey, nodding. She looked at Razz again. ‘So he’s a doctor? Wow.’ She raised her eyebrows.

Jo felt a sudden sense of unease at the way that Kate’s new friend was checking Razz out. So openly, as if he were a commodity. More prized because of his profession. And there was another feeling bubbling up inside Jo that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

‘We organised this festival together,’ she said, but the blonde woman’s attention had been diverted by a new man entering the hall.

‘Ooh, look at him,’ said Zoey. She nudged Kate and they both looked towards the door.

The man was tall and lean, with sun-kissed, blond hair, a golden tan and several leather bracelets on one wrist. He was wearing just-above-the-knee shorts in faded denim and a tight-fitting, pink T-shirt. He looked like he’d be more at home on the beach in Cornwall with a surfboard in his hands than playing Scrabble in the hall of a little Yorkshire primary school.