Mr Right Across the Street Read online

  Mr Right Across the Street

  Kathryn Freeman

  One More Chapter

  a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

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  Copyright © Kathryn Freeman 2021

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  Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

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  Kathryn Freeman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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  A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

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  Source ISBN: 9780008462260

  Ebook Edition © January 2021 ISBN: 9780008462253

  Version: 2020-12-16

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading…

  You will also love…

  About the Author

  Also by Kathryn Freeman

  One More Chapter...

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Mia pressed the phone to her ear and tried to focus on what her mum was saying, but it was hard to when her eyes kept sliding to the flat directly opposite hers. Not the one just to the left, oh no. That was heart-sink territory. The sure way to make her feel like a total failure as a human being. Who on earth looks that put-together at nine o’clock in the morning? Earlier, even, though Mia couldn’t say for certain how early because Immaculate Woman was always there, at her desk, by the time Mia staggered out of bed. Didn’t the woman know that tracksuit bottoms, baggy jumpers and dressing gowns were all perfectly acceptable dress codes in your own damn home?

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay, pet? Your dad and me, we worry. One minute you’re living round the corner. Next you’ve upped sticks all the way to flipping Manchester where you’re living all by yourself, away from your friends and family. It’s not right.’

  Mia sighed. Here we go again. ‘I’m thirty, not thirteen, Mum. And it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been away from you guys. I managed to survive three years at uni.’ In truth, Bath hadn’t been that far away, and though ‘survived’ was accurate, boy had she missed her family. Oh and when she’d got her degree and a job, she’d moved to a house in the next street along from her parents.

  ‘I know you can survive,’ her mum countered. ‘But I want my little gumdrop to be happy.’

  Mia groaned. Seriously, how many thirty-year-olds get called a little gumdrop? And yet … her eyes begin to prick. She’d always been her mum and dad’s gumdrop, just as Elle, her elder sister, had always been their little peanut. Because that’s what they’d been nicknamed in the womb. God, she missed her family.

  ‘Mia?’

  Mia drew in a shaky breath. Nope, now wasn’t the time to show weakness. At the first hint of it, her parents would jump into their car and bomb up the ruddy motorway. ‘I am happy, Mum.’ Or at least she would be, once she’d made a few friends up here. So far the only person she’d spoken to was Stan, her neighbour. Sixty-seven, divorced, overweight and lonely, he wasn’t exactly who she imagined hitting the nightlife with.

  ‘Have you met anyone else yet, aside from your neighbour?’

  As Mia debated how to reply, she glanced at the time on her computer and saw it was ten o’clock. Immediately her eyes skimmed over to the flat opposite. Bingo.

  The highlight of her day.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  Guiltily Mia tried to recall her mum’s question. ‘Of course I’ve met people.’ Did it count if you hadn’t actually spoken to them? All you’d done was ogle them from across the courtyard while they’d lifted weights? Or, in the case of Immaculate Woman, glowered at them every morning. ‘But I’ve only been here two weeks and friendships take time, so please quit worrying. I’m perfectly content. I’ve got plenty of work to do and my new place is great.’ With a dynamite view between ten and eleven in the morning.

  Dear God, Hot Guy Opposite, as she’d nicknamed him, had started his routine with bicep curls. Even from across the courtyard, she could see the pump of his arms. The hard muscles of his naked chest…

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’ Her mum’s voice jolted Mia out of her lusty thoughts. And the way she paused to clear her throat, sent alarm bells ringing. ‘I saw Debbie yesterday, who’d spoken to Anne.’ In other words, the gossip grapevine. ‘Pete’s been asking around for your new mobile number.’

  Mia froze at the mention of the reason she’d had to leave the comfort of life in Somerset. Maybe it had been too comfortable, maybe moving to Manchester would turn out to be an inspired idea, but fact was, she’d not been drawn here by the idea of a better life in singleton city (apparently it had the highest concentration of single people in the UK, so at least she wouldn’t feel too out of place). She’d come here to escape Pete. The boyfriend who’d seemed so nice. Until he’d proven he wasn’t. ‘It’s okay, Mum, he won’t get my number. The only people who have it are family and my best buddies, Heather and Gill.’

  ‘Good. Because if I find that despicable man sending my gumdrop any more nasty messages, I’ll hunt him down and … and…’ Mia’s lips began to twitch as she waited with interest. ‘I’ll knock his block off.’

  Mia burst out laughing. ‘Way to go, Mum. With you in my corner, I have nothing to fear.’ And really she wasn’t afraid of Pete; he hadn’t hurt her physically. But in the year she’d dated him, his messages had gone from sweet, to possessive, to downright mean when she’d told him she no longer wanted to see him. Yet another boyfriend who’d turned out to be vastly different from advertised. Clearly, her judgement when it came to men totally sucked. Either that, or there were only two decent
men left in this world; her dad, and Dave, her brother-in-law.

  God, what a depressing thought.

  The guy in the flat across from her, the one flashing his muscles, caught her attention again. If her theory was right, he was probably an axe murderer, and all this weight training was to help him wield the deadly weapon with greater precision.

  ‘Mia, are you still there?’

  Shit. ‘Sorry, yes I’m here.’ Just a tiny bit distracted.

  ‘Well whatever it is you’re looking at, you need to stop and listen to your mum. I know friendships take time, but I don’t want to think of you up there with only your pensioner neighbour to talk to. It would be okay if you worked in an office, but all you do all day is sit in front of a computer.’

  ‘I don’t only sit here. Sometimes I work.’

  ‘Very funny. Now promise me and your dad that you’ll drag yourself away from that screen and go … wherever you youngsters go these days to meet people. A café, bar, gym.’

  ‘Gym? Do you not know your daughter at all?’ Mia had never fancied the idea of sweating next to gym bunnies in tight lycra. She preferred exercise with a purpose. As a kid she’d tried out loads of sports before finally finding one where her individuality – or as her school mates had called it, her weirdness – was respected, not mocked. ‘I’ve found a local judo class, Mum.’ She omitted the part about it not starting up again until September. ‘As for meeting people, we youngsters do everything online now. No need to brave the outside. I can view prospective dates from the luxury of my own four walls.’

  ‘Not that Grinding app I hope. Debbie said she overheard her niece talking about it and it was like dial-for-sex, no, wait, swipe-for-sex.’

  Mia burst out laughing. ‘God, Mum, have you any idea what you’re talking about? But okay, message received,’ she added quickly before her mum could take the conversation down any further dodgy alleys. ‘Now I need to get on and do some sitting at my computer. Love to Dad and I’ll phone next week.’

  As she ended the call, Mia gave the view opposite a final ogle before dragging her eyes back to her computer screen.

  Luke rattled the bar back onto the rack and heaved a sigh of relief. Shit, this was getting harder, not easier. Was it possible that at thirty-four, he was getting old? A shudder ran through him. No way. He was just having an off day. Probably his body was exhausted following the workout it had been given last night by Tanya; long legs, flaming red hair and apparently boundless energy.

  After giving Pickles a pat on the head and her daily carrot – the name wasn’t his idea, nor was the rabbit, but he was stuck with both – he dived into the shower. At exactly 11.29 a.m. – Fridays were one of the days they opened for lunch – he slammed his front door behind him and bounded down the stairs.

  ‘Morning boss.’ Sandy, waiting outside the bar for him to open up, glanced at her watch. ‘A whole three seconds early today. Wow, you spoil me.’

  ‘I cut out the shave.’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Tanya reckons the rugged look suits me.’

  ‘Tanya?’ Sandy raised her right brow. ‘What happened to Sophie?’

  Luke flipped on the lights and started lifting the chairs off the tables and onto the floor. ‘Nothing happened to Sophie. We saw each other for a bit, now we’re not.’

  As Sandy mumbled something along the lines of not being able to keep up, Luke took a moment to survey his domain. Ten years since he’d moved into his flat and started work at the bar beneath it – and yes, the one-minute commute to work had been part of the appeal, though the decision on where to live hadn’t solely been his to make. Those first few years had been tough, money had been tighter than a duck’s arse, and he’d lived on tips, his wages gobbled up by a mortgage and … other expenses. But he’d worked his butt off, learnt the trade thanks to Bill, and over the years, actually begun to enjoy working there. Then Bill had decided to sell up – said he was looking to reduce his hours and stress – and Luke figured the opportunity was too good to miss. As of a month ago, the place – cleverly or lazily named The Bar Beneath, depending on your point of view – was his. No longer the employee, but the employer.

  Who the chuffing heck would have thought it?

  Had he always wanted his own bar? No bloody way.

  Could he imagine himself doing something else now? His eyes skimmed across the dark wood furniture, the black and white tiled floor, the polished mahogany bar with the lines of optics behind it, back lit in green, put in last week as a homage to his part-Irish ancestry. It was home to him now, just as much as his flat. And for a guy who liked people, liked shooting the breeze, it wasn’t a bad career to stumble into.

  ‘Hey Mateo, you’re looking hot. Great haircut.’

  Luke glanced round as Sandy greeted the youngest member of their staff. Mateo was twenty-five, and though he had the swarthy looks of a Spanish matador, he had the accent of a Mancunian. A combination that was proving to be a hit with the female punters.

  Mateo flashed her his grin. ‘Thanks, babe.’

  Luke stared at Sandy and cleared his throat. ‘I assume I wasn’t told I was looking hot because you didn’t want to be accused of sucking up to the boss.’

  Sandy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’

  It was banter, and as Sandy had been a friend a lot longer than an employee – all the way back to school days, in fact, when she’d started dating his mate Jim – he was well used to it. Still, together with the more-arduous-than-usual weight session this morning, it added up to him feeling old again.

  Not that long ago he’d been the sexy young bartender the girls had come to flirt with.

  Now he was the bar owner, with a responsibility towards the people he employed. Hell, he was finally growing up, as his brother liked to mock. His phone buzzed with a text and when he glanced down at it, he grinned.

  Hey hot stuff. Had a great time last night. Let me know when you’re up for a repeat. Tanya xx

  Fine, he was growing up. But he still had some appeal with the ladies.

  ‘Are you going to help us, or are you going to leer at your phone all day, as usual?’ Sandy stared at him, hand on her hip.

  Guiltily he stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. Old habits were hard to break but Sandy was right, he was the boss now, he had to set an example. ‘I take exception to all day, as usual and the word leer,’ he replied mildly, pulling down the rest of the chairs. ‘Especially leer. I mean, that’s what dirty old men do. I was smiling. Aside from that, you have a point and I apologise.’

  ‘That wasn’t a smile. It was an I’ve-just-had-an-invite-for-sex smirk.’

  Luke stared back at Sandy. ‘You could tell that, just from my expression?’

  ‘Duh, you’re acting like I haven’t known you for twenty years. When you look at your phone, which you do far more than anyone else I know, by the way, you leer when you get a booty call, and give out a pained sigh when the booty call gets too keen.’

  Her observations were a bit too close to home to be comfortable. What did it say about how many times Sandy had seen him pull those faces that she’d learnt to recognise them? ‘Haven’t you got lunch menus to be putting out?’ he muttered, not liking the way he felt right now.

  Sandy must have seen something in his expression – clearly she really could read what he was thinking – because her face softened. ‘I wasn’t having a go, you know. It’s up to you how you live your life.’ She paused, wrapping the end of her ponytail round her fingers in a gesture he knew of old. It meant she was gearing up to saying something she knew he wouldn’t like.

  ‘Come on, spit it out.’ He gave her a half smile. ‘You once told me I was an irresponsible prick. It’s not worse than that, is it?’

  ‘No.’ She caught his eye and he didn’t miss the fondness in her expression. Or the edge of sympathy. ‘I just … I can’t help hoping one day you’ll find what Jim and I have.’

  Luke tensed. There had been a time when he’d believed he had had that.
God, he’d been dumb. ‘You mean a life where the highlight of your week is eating take-out curry in front of Britain’s Got Talent?’

  Sandy narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Yes, okay, I can go with that. It is a highlight, because the person you’re sitting on the sofa with is the same person you woke with your arms around that morning. The person who kissed you goodbye until your knees went weak, then sent you a silly text in the afternoon to make you laugh. That evening they listened to your gripes about work, hugged you when you felt low. Then made love to you to remind you what was really important in life.’

  Because he didn’t want to hear what she was saying – it wasn’t the first time he’d had the lecture – Luke silenced her by placing his hand over her mouth. ‘Quit rabbiting. No amount of fluff can hide the fact that in your scenario, Britain’s Got Talent is on the television, so no thanks. Now get your arse into gear. I’ve got a business to run here.’

  She huffed and walked towards the cabinet where they kept the menus. ‘What if I’d said Match of the Day was on?’