One Day In Summer. Shari Low
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the screen. Three moving dots. He was replying.
On way. I’ll find you.
Oh God. Her heart was racing again as the doors opened. Closed. Opened. Closed.
Don’t faint. Do not faint. The cops will find the pepper spray and his first act as father will be to bail you out. Do. Not. Faint.
Doors opened.
Was that him? A grey haired, forty something hipster type in a suit seemed to be searching for someone. Hope was about to step forward when he spotted one of the signs and gestured to the driver holding it. Nope. Not him.
Another guy. Mid forties. Dad chinos. Brogues. Corporate haircut. He paused, scanned the crowd, then turned to the left and seemed to continue his search as he walked out of the area. Was that him? It could be. He’d be completely unfamiliar with this airport so he may think the arrivals area stretched along the corridor.
She was still staring at the man disappearing from view when someone much closer spoke. ‘Hope?’
Her head spun back and there he was, right in front of her. She knew. Just knew.
Eyes wide, she managed to nod and stammer out a reply. ‘Y… y… yes. Hi.’
It was the strangest sensation she’d ever experienced. When she was a little girl, she would wonder if she looked like anyone. Sometimes she’d search the faces of people in the street, in the library, in airports, to see if there was anything there that she recognised, any sign of who she belonged to. There never was. Until now.
Same colouring. Same shade of hair, although his was flecked with salt and pepper strands. But the most striking thing of all was the eyes. Grey. A shade of steel that she’d never seen before except when she looked in a mirror.
‘I’m not sure what I should do,’ he said, his smile revealing the kind of white teeth that were natural and not the result of an expensive set of veneers. ‘Is it okay to give you a hug?’
Slowly, wordlessly, Hope nodded and was immediately enfolded in the broad, muscular arms of a man who was at least six inches taller than her, definitely over six feet tall.
The most surprising thing was that he was handsome. That wasn’t something she’d even considered before now, assuming he’d just be like most other dads of that age. Maybe he was – if the dads in question had a square jawline and an outdoor tan that creased into attractive lines at the side of his eyes when he smiled. His clothes helped too. A black T-shirt and black jeans, with leather boots that stopped on just the right fashion side of cowboy.
After seconds that felt like minutes, he pulled back. ‘Your eyes, they’re…’
He paused, and she finished for him. ‘They’re yours.’
It was the moment that all doubt was blown away. This man was her dad. And now she just needed to find out so many things. Who was her mum? How did he not know she existed? And the biggest question of all… did they have something much more important in common than the colour of their eyes?
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