Neither did he. We walked arm-in-arm to the pub at the end of the road. It was as ready for Christmas as the rest of the village, though the music was fucking awful.
“Not a Wham! fan then?”
“Not unless you buy me another seven of those.” I jerked my head at the pint of dark beer he’d set down in front of me. “I generally hate anything nice.”
“Even me?”
“Except you.”
“Good to know.” Fen took a deep sip of his own beer, eyes dancing with mischief that looked much better on him than the conflict in his gaze when we’d talked about Dante Pope. It made me want to forget we’d known each other in a lifetime other than this, but because I was a wanker who could never let anything go, I picked at the festering wound. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Working in the prison. I know it ended, uh, badly, but you were so passionate about it.”
“Was I?”
“Yeah. I mean, I always thought so. It was what made me like you so much. At the start, at least.”
“What about after?”
“You were funny. And happy. It didn’t seem to matter what hellish crap was going down in that place, you always managed to make me smile.”
Fen traced a bead of condensation as it ran down his glass. “And what about now?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you like about me now?”
“All of those things. Plus, you look amazing with a beard.”
“So, all of those things exist without the uniform, right?”
“Right, but—”
“But nothing. What we do isn’t who we are.” Fen stood abruptly and left the table we’d commandeered in a quiet corner.
He strode away, but I trusted him not to abandon me in Christmas Hell and gave him the space to do whatever he needed to do. It was a trick I’d learned from him, actually, the first time of many Dante Pope had shied away from me and walked out of our meetings.“Give him space. He’s a thinker. He’ll come back once he figures out you’re the best thing he could have on his side right now.”
It had taken Dante Pope two months to come back to me. I had faith Fen wouldn’t make me wait that long.
He didn’t.
A few minutes later, he returned with another bag of doughnuts. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“Flouncing off.”
“No need. I knew it was dodgy ground when I brought it up.”
“So? You shouldn’t be afraid to have a simple conversation with me.”
“I’m not afraid. You are.”
Fen sighed. “I know.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t make him. This was date night, not therapy.