Page 55 of Knotting Hill
I snicker and put my phone down, flopping back to my nest. I knew days ago that this was what I had to do. I don’t have timeto pratt about looking for another job right now. The rent is due next week, not to mention every other bill due on the first of the month.
I absolutely adore her for not forcing me to ask and yelling I-told-you-so in my face. She is the best mum, ever. And this isn’t forever. It’s my plan to look for something else immediately, but this eases the financial burden for now.
My thoughts drift to this pack she has lined up. I wonder who they are. I know better than to ask. Mum loves surprises. She wouldn’t tell me even if I begged. She knows I would go and do my own research and probably find something to dislike about them before I’ve even met them. Mum is also big on first impressions. She will make sure everyone is on their very best behaviour. I snort in amusement as I think about some big bad alphas cowing to her demands. She doesn’t take any bullshit and can sniff it a mile away. All of this leads to the conclusion that they will be good guys, so I’m not worried. My concern is what to wear.
My pretty white top that got coffee all over it was delivered by the dry-cleaner yesterday after I rang them to explain I couldn’t get there. They charged me a bit more than I’d have liked, but no way was I emerging from my nest to walk the forty minutes round trip to get it.
Climbing out of bed, I break the plastic and decide this entire outfit is perfect. It’s flattering, pretty and, with the pink cardigan, is gorgeously feminine.
“Sorted,” I mutter and then head to the kitchen for coffee before I flop on the sofa to watch TV until my brain goes numb.
Thirty-Three
Storm
Climbingout of the taxi outside my parents’ massive house near the park, I wobble slightly on my high, thin heel but steady myself when I place my other foot down and gulp. I am nervous about this blind date but also a bit excited. I haven’t heard anything from the St. Lucs since the karaoke night, so I’m guessing that maybe they’ve moved on.
Fine.
I will too.
I knew they would get bored, and that is why I didn’t let them in.
Mum is waiting for me with a smile when I push open the front door, probably peeking through the windows to see me arrive.
She gives me a once-over with an approving nod and leads me into the dining room, where I nearly burst out laughing. When she said ‘luncheon’, I thought she was being a sophisticated, posh older lady, but she seriously meant it. I think they call this High Tea in places like Harrods.
I blink when I take in the pack, already assembled like good little boys, dressed in smart shirts and pants.
I recognise one of them and focus on him with a small smile.
“Storm, this is the St. Michaels pack.”
“Hi,” I say awkwardly and move forward as my mum gives me a gentle shove. They are all really good-looking and friendly enough. Their prime, who introduces himself to me as Anthony, takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I feel a slight shiver at the gallantry but nothing more.
His scent is…basic. I don’t like thinking that because they all seem really lovely and friendly, but when we sit down, I feel like I’m wasting my time. When I think about JP's scent or Russell’s, I can describe it in vivid detail and almosttasteit. Here, I’ve got lemon on the prime, coconut on the one I vaguely know, cinnamon on the other and baked bread on the last one.
“Will you excuse me?” I ask after about ten minutes of idle chit-chat.
“Of course,” Anthony says with a smile.
I return it and make my way slowly out of the room, so I don’t look like I’m making the Great Escape.
I find my mum and dad talking in earnest, hushed tones in the living room.
Dad looks up and smiles, coming over to give me a hug and a kiss. “Miss you, Stormy, but I’ve got to go. Please come back and live with us, this house is too empty.”
“You assume I’m not getting together with this pack,” I point out.
“Hah,” he says with a knowing laugh. “I know you too well. They aren’t for you.”
Mother snickers as well, making me laugh. “So why them?”
“Okay, you’ve got me. My first choice wasn’t available.” Her eyes cloud over momentarily. “But this isn’t about finding youa pack right now, more like showing you the options. So, the second choice is a no?”
I nod. “Sorry. We’ll try again when the first choice can make it.” I’m only saying it to appease her. I know after this whomyfirst choice is, but I need to get up the guts to admit it out loud. Right now, it’s floating around in my head, poking at me to yell it from the rooftops, but I can’t. Not yet.
“Gotta go,” Dad says, and with a wave, he rushes off.
