Iris quirked her eyebrows. ‘Give me one good reason why not.’
Hope hesitated. ‘It’s unprofessional.’
‘Rubbish,’ her friend replied without missing a beat. ‘It might – might – be considered borderline unprofessional if you actually worked together but that isn’t the case. Next.’
‘I’m not ready.’
Iris gave her a look that was more sympathetic but no less implacable. ‘I get why it might feel that way. But look – it’s been a while since you dated the numnuts who couldn’t handle your past – you’re stronger now. How can you know if you’re ready to swim if you don’t get into the water?’
What if the water was cold, Hope was tempted to ask, but she didn’t doubt her friend would somehow find a way to make it sound rude. ‘I might be imagining the whole thing,’ she said instead. ‘Maybe he was just being polite.’
‘He called you a muse,’ Iris replied and downed the remainder of her cocktail. ‘Guys don’t do that unless they’re trying to get into your knickers.’
‘Iris!’ Hope spluttered but the other woman simply nodded in affirmation then stood up to go to the bar. By the time she came back, bearing two Porn Star Martinis, she’d clearly marshalled her arguments.
‘Okay, let’s recap. A hot guy fancies you. Correct?’
Hope opened her mouth to disagree but Iris carried on talking. ‘Don’t argue – he does. And you fancy the hot guy. Yes, you do – it’s written all over your face.’
‘But—’
‘Don’t even think about using that unprofessional line again,’ Iris warned, raising a hand. ‘It’s not like you work together. So, what’s stopping you from going for a drink and getting to know him a bit better?’
She made it sound so easy, Hope thought wistfully. ‘When you put it like that, nothing, I suppose.’
‘Exactly,’ Iris replied. ‘Although you should try and be a bit more enthusiastic when he actually asks you out.’
Instinctively, Hope looked down at the bare finger on her left hand. ‘Fine. What if I say yes and he’s amazing and I fall in love and it all goes wrong? Or worse, what if it goes right and I start to forget Rob?’
Iris reached across to squeeze her hand. ‘You’re never going to forget Rob. But I can’t promise you won’t ever get hurt again because that’s the risk we all take when we let someone into our hearts.’
Hope picked at the skin around her thumbnail. ‘I’m just scared.’
‘I know you are,’ Iris replied softly. ‘But it doesn’t have to be for ever, or even for a night. Just think of it as a drink in a bar, or a coffee in the park, or whatever it is you decide to do. One step at a time.’
Hope took a gulp of her drink and willed herself to be less of a wimp. ‘Okay. You’re right.’
‘I am,’ Iris said with some satisfaction. ‘And obviously if you decide to tear his clothes off at the end of the date, that’s fine too. Meaningless sex with a hot guy is never a bad idea. Unless you’re still in the park.’
A snort of laughter escaped Hope. ‘You’re terrible.’
‘Damn right,’ Iris said, grinning. ‘And don’t forget to find out if he has any single friends.’
Chapter Seven
Hope exchanged several emails with Ciaran in the weeks that followed. At the Emporium, Mr Young had been through the paperwork that related to the house clearance and tried to contact the number listed in his records but hadn’t had much luck. The house itself had been sold and the trail had dried up. There wasn’t much more the Emporium could do.
‘We’ll keep the ring safe and try again to trace its owner,’ Mr Young explained to Hope, ‘but eventually we might have to accept that we’ve hit a dead end.’
Hope had passed the bad news along but although Ciaran had expressed disappointment that the paperwork hadn’t thrown up any helpful information, he hadn’t seemed particularly concerned at the impasse. He’d simply replied that he was following up a few leads at his end and he’d keep her posted. The messages were so business-like that Hope found herself wondering whether she really had imagined his flirtatious manner. And now that she’d allowed herself to visualize going on a date with him, she had also started to consider introducing a little flirtation of her own. Iris would definitely approve of that.
It was early on Thursday evening when an email marked URGENT! popped into her inbox. Hope sat up on the sofa and dropped the magazine she’d been reading.
To: Hope Henderson
From: Ciaran McCormack
I’ve got NEWS. Can you meet me somewhere? What’s your number?
Intrigued, she typed in her number and sent it. What news could he have that merited an urgent meeting?
Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed again. This time it was a text message and it contained the address of a bar on Walmgate, with the words See you at 7pm?
The sudden certainty that she was going to see him again caused Hope to dither over her reply for almost five minutes. But, eventually, curiosity overcame her fluttering nerves and she reminded herself of Iris’s observation that it was just a drink in a bar. OK, see you there.
And then she spent the next thirty minutes in the shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs, and repeating in her head that this wasn’t date preparation – she’d do the same regardless of whoever she was meeting. And it wouldn’t hurt to look her best, she reasoned as she applied some make-up and tugged on a dress. How long had it been since she’d made this much effort, she wondered as she surveyed her glammed-up reflection. And then decided she preferred not to think about that.
The venue Ciaran had chosen was only a few minutes’ walk from her apartment and she arrived just before seven o’clock. The decor had an understated, upmarket feel and
