‘I’m not sure on mine,’ I mutter as I search. ‘It’s all just so… black.’
He chuckles. ‘Jet black, some might say.’
And that’s when I see it.
A tiny thing, the smallest of the brooches on display, a simple jet shape surrounded in silver. It’s perfect.
‘That one,’ I say, pointing it out on the display, and the sound that comes out of Bram is somewhere between amusement and despair.
‘A bat?’
I chuckle. ‘His name is Lestat.’
Another sigh, world weary, and then he draws himself up taller and calls over to the older man behind the counter.
‘We’ll take this one, Mal.’
I try to protest, but before I know it, Bram has bought the bat brooch and is pinning it to my jacket, right next tothe badge from the market. It is adorable, I can’t deny it.
‘To remind you of this weekend,’ he mutters quietly as he thanks Mal and guides me out of the shop.
‘As if I’d ever forget it.’ I don’t think I mean to say it out loud, but I do. And when I do, Bram’s face lights up with a smile so bright that I’m not fully sure I’m going to forget that either.
Chapter Twelve
BRAM
I’m still smiling an hour later as Lucy pulls me through the door of a shop that I’m not sure I’ve ever been into in my life, though I recognise the woman behind the counter as one of Peggy and Wladek’s neighbours. It’s a relatively small shop– warm and bright– with books crammed into every available space and a wooden staircase winding up to a mezzanine floor. It reminds me a little of the annexe– small and perfect.
Lucy darts off to one corner and grasps at my jacket sleeve to pull me after her. Her eyes light up as they land on one of the tables, the books’ covers a kaleidoscope of colours that contrast with the bold fonts of their titles. I’m not generally a big book guy, but it’s clear that Lucy’s in her element here, and her enthusiasm is nothing short of contagious.
I watch as she grazes her fingers along book spines, and flips through pages. Now and again she picks one up to read the blurb on the back before carefully returning it tothe table, her fingers lingering on the cover a moment before they trail to the next book. The way she touches them is almost sexual– careful yet intimate– the way she might be with a new lover, maybe.The thought of it makes heat start to smoulder in my belly, and though I try to mentally scold myself, it doesn’t do a damn thing except fan the flames.
At some point along the line I realise I’m staring, and I snatch my gaze away before she can catch me in the act. Isee a brightly coloured stack of books out of the corner of my eye and wander over, hoping for a distraction.
To my surprise– and, let’s be honest, relief– there’s a familiar name on the cover, which actually goes some way towards distracting me. Millie Partridge is Peggy’s absolute favourite author, and she’s been waiting for this particular book to come out since the release was announced earlier in the year. I wonder for a moment if she might already have bought a copy before realising that, if she had, she’d definitely have made one of her overenthusiastic Instagram posts about it with more emojis than words in the caption. I can’t resist grabbing a copy for her to say thank you for letting me stay in the annexe this weekend, but also just because I know she’ll love it. I’m a good nephew that way.
I turn the book over in my hands the way that Lucy did, reading the blurb and trying to recreate her level of excitement. It doesn’t work. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the book sounds pretty good, but I’m not sure that words do it for me in quite the same way as they seem to for the ray of fucking sunshine across the room.
I scan down to Millie’s author photo. I’ve seen it before– it’s on half the books on Peggy’s bookcase, for God’s sake– but something about it hits different this time. It’s like there’s something I haven’t noticed before– some other level of familiarity. I just can’t put my finger on what.
‘I’m sure it’s shocking to precisely no one that I’m a romance girl,’ Lucy says then, suddenly appearing next to me, and I turn to face her, grasping the copy of Millie Partridge’sThe RoadBetween Themto my chest. I see her eyes dart down to it before jumping back up to mine. There’s a shift in her expression– a momentary catch in her breath. It feels like something just happened in that moment, and I don’t know what it was.
It was like the moment earlier at the Dracula Experience where I made a stupid, throwaway comment about watching out for vampires and then could almost see the cogs turning in her head. I felt the energy change between us then too, just for a moment.
‘Love,’ I say with a shrug, trying to temper the sudden awkwardness between us, ‘is as good a muse as any.’
That’s true at least. I’ve read a romance or two in my time, and no, not just for the sex bits. But my answer seems to surprise her even more than the book I’m holding, and for a moment or two she just stares, blinking a few times, her brows creasing into a question which never comes.
‘I’m buying it for Peggy,’ I say, needing to fill this strange silence. ‘She loves a Millie Partridge.’
The name repeats itself in my brain.
Millie Partridge.
Partridge.
‘Any relation?’ I quip, and before she can fully suppress her flinch at my words, it turns into a ripple of tension that sets her jaw and clenches her hands into fists at her sides.