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A Home at Honeysuckle Farm by Christie Barlow (4)

I lay on top of my bed with my laptop open and scrolled through my messages. There was nothing of much interest except a few audition emails, notifications of upcoming Broadway Shows which I’d subscribed to. I sighed then hit the unsubscribe button. What was the point in torturing myself, reading those emails? After all, they only ever resulted in yet another rejection letter.

Logging on to Facebook, I clicked on Grace’s profile which was a portfolio of success compared to my own disappointing timeline. Currently, she was starring in the musical Mamma Mia in the city of Birmingham. I’d followed her career over the last few years and marvelled at how well she was doing. She was living the dream – our dream – the dream we’d had as small children, two best friends. Of course, I was happy for her, but a part of me felt envious of the roles she’d played and what she’d achieved.

I noticed Grace had uploaded an album of photographs, herself and the cast from her latest production enjoying a night out. She looked stunning, her long russet wavy hair bounced on top of her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled. The Cath Kidston floral dress she wore with her vintage-stitch scallop-edge cardigan looked like something straight out of a fashion magazine. She was standing alongside different groups of people in the various photos, drink in hand and always wearing a perfect smile. I casually flicked through the album, but I didn’t know any of them. They all had that immaculate polished West End look about them, bright smiles and not a hair out of place.

As my eyes flicked over the next photo the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a flurry of goosebumps ran down my spine. My eyes locked with a pair of mesmerising hazel eyes and an almost perfect symmetrical face. This man had stopped me dead in my tracks, which took me completely by surprise!

‘He’s undeniably a damn fine-looking man,’ I mumbled to myself as my breath caught in my throat and I hovered over his name tagged in the picture … Sam Reid.

‘In fact, that’s what you’d call orgasmic.’ I knew I was talking to myself, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the photo. I stared at him for a moment longer and felt my body flush with warmth. Something inside me had awakened. I was, purely and simply, attracted to him. There was a softness to his eyes and a gentleness in his smile which drew me in. He sailed the fine line between handsome and downright sexy. This was a photo of a person I’d never met but felt an immediate connection to, a feeling that had been missing from my life for a long time.

‘Who are you talking to?’ Molly asked, appearing in the doorway with a grin. ‘Do I need to send for the men in white jackets?’

Even though I’d been expecting Molly, I jumped out of my skin. ‘Ha, funny, just talking to myself, as you do,’ I answered, smiling. ‘In fact, I’m just looking through Grace’s uploads from last night,’ I said, scrolling back to the first photograph.

Molly pointed at the screen and sat down next to me. ‘I love Grace’s dress. Very quintessentially English.’

‘She knows how to dress.’

‘And who’s that?’ Molly’s eyes were wide, her finger pointing at exactly the same photograph that had caught my eye.

‘Sam Reid, according to Facebook.’

I looked closer at the photo again. He was standing next to Grace with his arm draped around her shoulder wearing a faded vintage T-shirt and Levi jeans.

‘I wouldn’t mind ruffling my face against that chest,’ Molly rolled her eyes.

‘Molly! You’re taken,’ I said, slightly miffed, even though I knew she was joking and Sam Reid lived on the opposite side of the world, and who knew whether he was in a relationship or not?

‘That T-shirt is fitting snuggly around … well, actually, every muscular part, and those eyes, oh and that shaggy, mousy hair …’ She tilted her head and dreamily put her hand on her heart.

‘Just for you, Molly. Stalk all you like while I nip to the restroom.’ I stood up and stepped over my packed case before glancing at my watch. ‘Time’s ticking, the taxi will be picking me up in fifteen minutes,’ I said, with mixed feelings, sad I’d be leaving Molly behind, but with a realisation that life wasn’t offering me any new challenges of late. In just a few hours I would be flying halfway across the world and who knew what my adventure might entail? I felt a twinge of excitement at the thought of it.

‘I know, I don’t want to think about it, but this Sam Reid is going to help us pass the time before you fly off back to the land of farmyards and people who speak like the Queen,’ she attempted an English accent before tugging the laptop towards her and tipping her head towards the screen.

‘They don’t all have accents like the Queen, you know,’ I insisted with a smile, disappearing inside the bathroom.

‘Works on the same production as Grace,’ she shouted after me, ‘according to his Facebook profile, but I can’t see whether he’s single or not. There’s no relationship status.’

‘Not everyone lives their life through Facebook, you know.’ I grinned at my own reflection in the mirror, waiting for Molly’s outburst.

‘Mmm, is that a dig at me?’ she exclaimed huffily, knowing full well she checked in at every bar, and documented her life like it was a Reality TV show.

‘If the cap fits.’

‘You have some very funny sayings, however … oh no!’ she suddenly exclaimed the second I walked back in the room.

‘What have you done?’ I asked, noticing the mischievous glint in her eye.

She tried to arrange her face into an innocent expression. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I accidently pressed the friend request button when I was scrolling through his profile.’

‘Oh God! You haven’t?’ My eyes fell towards the screen.

Molly scrunched up her face and bit down on her lip.

‘He’ll have no clue who I am!’ I said in mock indignation but secretly curious to see if he noticed I was friends with Grace and accepted the request. I closed the lid on the laptop and stowed it away in my bag.

‘Something tells me it’s going to be an interesting trip back to little old England! I’ll be watching your every move, Alice Parker, whilst I’m missing you like hell!’

I swiped her arm playfully. ‘By the time I get to England you’ll find yourself blocked from all my social media!’

‘Such a spoilsport,’ she laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘Sometimes the English are so uptight!’