**Rain Brings Happiness**
After a sweltering summer, a chilly and damp autumn arrived, with biting winds and endless rain.
On her way home, exhausted from the wind and relentless drizzle, Poppy ducked into a corner shop to escape the weather and pick up something for dinner. Inside, it was warm, bright, and dry. She wandered slowly between the aisles, studying the shelves.
Poppy filled her basket with groceries. In the produce section, she grabbed a lemon and a bunch of grapes. She imagined curling up on her sofa, sipping hot tea with lemon, plucking ripe grapes and popping them into her mouth. Maybe she’d even have a glass of wine to warm up faster.
She paused by the deli counter, debating between sausages and sliced ham. Right now, she’d happily eat both. She hadn’t had a crumb since breakfast. Swallowing, she reached for the ham—it didn’t need cooking—just as another hand stretched toward the same packet.
Poppy pulled back, turning to see a tall, handsome man beside her. Stylishly cut black hair with just a hint of silver at the temples, warm brown eyes, full lips. And a long black coat. Everything she liked.
“Sorry,” the man said, flashing a perfect, white-toothed smile.
*Hollywood eat your heart out. Straight out of a magazine. What’s someone like him doing in a Tesco Express buying ham?* Poppy felt her cheeks flush. She barely managed to tear her gaze away and step back. *Staring like a lovesick schoolgirl.* She scolded herself all the way to the checkout.
Catching her reflection in the drink fridge, she cringed. *God, what a mess. What must he think of me? Not that it matters. He’s out of my league.* She unloaded her items onto the conveyor belt. Someone placed identical groceries beside hers, including the ham.
She must’ve stared too long, because a voice beside her said, “Looks like we have the same taste, don’t you think?”
Poppy turned to see the handsome stranger and his dazzling smile again.
“Hardly. Just the basics. Half the customers here buy the same.” She turned away, painfully aware of her bedraggled state.
“True enough,” he agreed.
*I’m a drowned rat, and he looks like he just stepped out of a salon.* She imagined how soft his hair would feel between her fingers, then shook herself. *Stop gawking. He’s not for you.*
Poppy packed her bags, paid, and forced herself not to glance back as she headed for the exit. Outside, a gust of wind slapped her face—payback for daring to seek shelter. She’d forgotten how brutal it was. The door swung open behind her.
“Not exactly walking weather. Do you live nearby?” asked the man, stepping out after her.
“Why?” Poppy tensed.
“I’ve got my car. Could give you a lift.”
She hesitated. *Probably knows exactly how charming he is. Doesn’t seem like a psycho.* Then again, how many psychos had she met? *This could be your first.*
*If he’s a psycho, at least he’s a good-looking one.* The thought made her smile. They stepped off the curb, and he opened the passenger door.
“Hop in. Let me take your bag—easier that way.”
The car was warm, dry, and quiet. He slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine purred like a contented cat.
“Where to?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Maple Street, number sixteen. Near the station,” Poppy added.
“Got it,” he said, pulling away.
Poppy stared ahead, watching the wind whip coats and flip umbrellas. Every so often, her eyes flicked to his hands on the wheel—steady, confident. *Stop swooning. He’s just being nice. You’ll never see him again.*
“I’m Oliver, by the way. And you?”
Poppy nearly quipped, *Who’s asking?* but that sounded childish. Why was she being so prickly? It wasn’t his fault he was ridiculously attractive.
“Poppy,” she said.
“Lovely name. There was a girl in primary school called Poppy. I swore I’d marry her.”
“Did you?”
“Ah… we were six.”
Only then did Poppy notice the quiet music playing. Had it been on the whole time? Or had she been too distracted by him?
She inhaled—leather and something faintly spicy. The scent wrapped around her. She shifted, settling deeper into the seat.
“Which building?” Oliver asked.
Poppy blinked. They were already there? She’d braced for a longer ride. *Snap out of it.*
The car stopped. Poppy climbed out into the wind.
“Your groceries,” Oliver called, stepping out to hand her the bag.
“Thanks.” She took it without meeting his eyes and hurried inside.
Fumbling with her keys, she finally got the door open and slipped into the lobby. Only then did she exhale. The engine’s hum lingered—he’d waited until she was safely inside.
*God, what must I look like?* She checked her reflection in the lift mirror. *Men like that aren’t single. Probably married to someone just as gorgeous, with mini-mes running around. He was just being kind. Move on.*
She stopped by the shop every day after work, but Oliver never reappeared.
Then, two days later, she spotted his car outside her building. At first, she thought she was mistaken—she hadn’t memorized the plates—but something in her gut knew. Had she been hoping? Or was he actually a stalker?
Oliver stepped out.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Poppy.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t get you out of my head.”
“Still hung up on primary school?” *Why did I say that?* Now he’d leave.
“Maybe,” he echoed, amused. “Only met two Poppys in my life. Maybe fate? It’s freezing—get in.”
She should invite him up. But why? Instead, she slid into the car, enveloped by that familiar scent and soft music.
“You a student?”
“No, I work. Optometrist at the clinic,” Poppy said proudly.
“Interesting job. Helping people see.”
“Mostly just reading charts. And you?”
“Engineer. Bit boring. Just finished work? Fancy a coffee?”
*Obviously.* Only a fool would refuse. Honestly, she’d do more than coffee with him, but Poppy had been raised properly. Coffee was safe.
They talked over lattes—about nothing, really. His attentive gaze and easy smile melted her resolve. To keep her guard up, she asked bluntly,
“You married?”
He paused.
“No. Divorced. You seeing anyone?”
“Not right now,” she said coyly.
He drove her home. In the car, he took her hand, leaning closer.
Poppy froze, then yanked her hand free and bolted like a startled cat.
In the lift, she cursed herself. *Such a catch, and you play hard to get?*
She invited him over on their third date. Pulled him close in the hallway before he could even take off his coat.
Later, curled against him, she marveled at her luck. He never stayed the night—and that was fine. Morning Poppy was puffy-eyed and pale. But she’d lie awake, replaying every touch.
He visited two or three times a week, rarely overnight. She knew someone like him couldn’t be short of options. Maybe she wasn’t the only one. Or maybe he *was* married—no ring, but that meant nothing. When he was with her, none of it mattered. When he wasn’t, she ached.
Time passed; she fell harder. Jealousy gnawed at her—who else shared his time? She wanted all of him.
One day, she asked outright: “Are you married?”
“I told you—divorced.”
“Then why won’t you stay? Why only see me sometimes?”
“Look, it’s complicated. My ex drinks. Badly. We’re separated, but the flat’s mine. I can’t kick her out. She’d be lost without me.”
Poppy didn’t buy it. But she couldn’t bring herself to end it, even though she knew she should.
She needed to talk to someone. Then, after her shift, the head nurse stopped by. No patients. Work talk faded when the nurse said,
“You’re smart, pretty—why single? Dr. Lewis fancies you. Young, free, no ex-wives. Why not him?”
And it all spilled out.
The nurse sighed. “Definitely married, love. No man puts up with that. You’re in too deep, aren’t you?”
She got Oliver’s address from a police contact. Poppy agonized—did she *want* the truth?
Two days later, she confronted Oliver.
“Why can’t you just be happy?” he snapped. “We’re good as we are. Need a ringEventually, Poppy realized that true happiness wasn’t found in chasing illusions but in the quiet, steady love of someone who chose her—every day, without exception.
