He looked different this morning– fangless and with every last trace of eyeliner scrubbed off his face, of course, but it wasn’t just that. He finally looked relaxed in the space, and that made me relax too. It was comfortable, like an old routine, and not at all like the truth, which was that I was sharing breakfast with a near-stranger.
Although, after everything that happened yesterday, he’s beginning to feel less and less like a stranger.
My time at Bitten gave me butterflies I can still feel today, and though it could have been down to the three gin and lemonades, there was a hum in my chest the whole night. If you’d have told me a week ago that I would end up at a vampire-themed bar, let alone that I’d enjoy it so much, I’d have thought you were losing your marbles. But I honestly think that was the best night I’ve had for a long time. The atmosphere, the acrobatic drink preparation, the fangs– I loved it all.
Meeting everyone afterwards was the icing on the cake. I mean, I’m halfway in love with Fox already– it feels like we’re two different shapes cut out of the same batch of cookie dough– but all of them made me feel like an old friend. Like I belonged there. They felt like a family, and they welcomed me into the fold without question, which meant more to me than any of them could have known.
And Bram? He walked me home like a gentleman, made me hot chocolate when I was cold, and didn’t look even slightly fazed when I drunk-blurted one of my darkest secrets at the top of a windswept cliff.
Not my finest moment, I grant you. But it’s out there now, and the world didn’t actually crumble around me the way I’d suspected it might. Onwards and upwards, as my grandpa always used to say.
It’s just unfortunate that my onwards for today starts with Dean Ratcliffe.
I still have a bad taste in my mouth when I remember the way he spoke to Fox last night. He was drunk, I think, or at least it seemed that way, but his snide little comment about her gender identity really rubbed me up the wrong way. And combined with the bad vibes I got from him at the interview yesterday, well, let’s just say I’m not looking forward to meeting him again.
But Jon set up a follow-up chat for us in– I glance down at the clock on my phone– three minutes’ time. And as this is, afterall, my job, I’ve had to suck it up. Especially as Jon had nothing but good things to say about Dean, and as we’ve established, I’m desperate to impress Jon. I remember our call last night, and I can’t help the flutter in my chest at the memory of his words.
I’ll take you out to celebrate when you absolutely smash the story.
Just the two of us.
And that’s what I really want– much more of Jon than a few stolen kisses in the back of a taxi. The chance for something real between us. It’s what I’ve wanted the whole time I’ve worked at theGazette.
And who knows, maybe I’m being unfair. Maybe Dean just had an off day yesterday, and today will be better.
If nothing else, cake will help.
Dean pushes through the door of the tea room bang on ten, and he smiles broadly as he clocks me, sliding into the seat opposite without ordering anything.
‘Lucy Lou,’ he says, by way of greeting, and though the overfamiliarity of the nickname makes my teeth clench, I smile past it. When Mina calls me it, it feels affectionate. Coming from Dean? Patronising. He doesn’t know, I tell myself. He’s probably just trying to be friendly.
Probably.
‘Dean,’ I reply. ‘Nice to see you again.’
It isn’t, actually, but I’m a professional and a people-pleaser, so I’m quite sure that Dean thinks I’m being genuine, even if having to tell the lie in the first place sends a little rumble of nausea through me.
He doesn’t mention our run-in at the bar last night, and I’m grateful for that. I just want to get through the next half hour with as little fallout as possible. We make small talk for a couple of minutes until we’re interrupted by the arrival of my tea and cake.
Dean raises an eyebrow. ‘Cake for breakfast?’
‘I’ve had breakfast already,’ I say with a shake of my head. I almost addedwith Brambut caught myself just in time. I don’t know if Dean knows we’re staying together at the annexe, but I feel like I don’t want him to find out. So I smile instead. ‘It’s a mid-morning treat.’
He laughs, but there’s a split-second delay to it, and I notice. He excuses himself and goes to the counter to order something for himself.
While he’s gone, I pull out my notebook and turn to a clean page, writing Dean’s name and the date in the top margin. And then I take the opportunity to study him now that his back’s turned and he won’t know I’m doing it.
He’s not quite as tall as Bram, but a little broader, with almost-black hair slicked back from his face and a beard just shy of hipster. They dress similarly too, which is no surprise, but while I’ve only ever seen Bram in a T-shirt, Dean is wearing a dress shirt, his sleeves rolled to expose a cascade of tattoos down his forearms.
I eat a forkful of cake and look back out of the window before he can catch me appraising him, and when he slides back into the chair opposite me, he looks out to sea too.
‘I never get tired of this view,’ he says, and I register that this is the first genuine thing I think I’ve heard him say. I jump on it.
‘You grew up here.’ It’s not a question, I already know he did, but he nods anyway.
‘Born and bred,’ he drawls, one tattooed hand smoothing over his beard as he contemplates something. ‘I moved to the city for a little while, but when I got the idea for Ravenskull, it seemed the obvious choice to come home.’ His eyes dart to mine. ‘There’s really only one place a Dracula-themed bar belongs.’
He smirks, and it feels like a challenge. I can’t resist rising to it.