Mercifully, it works.
‘Want to eat in here or outside?’ he asks, clutching a paper parcel of food to his chest.
I look longingly out of the window. I can just see the glimmer of the sea through a gap in the buildings. ‘Is that even a question?’ I ask. Seaside fish and chips, in my opinion, always taste better outside.
‘It is,’ he replies with a shrug, his eyes following my gaze out to the harbour. ‘The seagulls here are pretty intense.’
And that’s when I remember. Lestat the bat. Bram’s mortal fear of flapping creatures.
‘Inside,’ I say, definitively.
His brows pull into a frown. ‘I can cope with a little bird-related anxiety if you want to eat on the seafront. Remember, I grew up here. I toughed it out for years.’
I shake my head and reach a tentative hand out to squeeze his forearm. ‘You can, but you don’t have to. You made me feel comfortable earlier. Let me do that for you now.’
The sigh of relief he breathes out is palpable, his gratitude obvious. I squeeze his arm one more time before letting go, and when I turn away, I find Diane watching us intently with a faint smile on her face. She looks away quickly as our eyes meet, and she busies herself behind the counter, humming to herself as she does.
There are three small booths along the front window, and we slide into one, the space so small that our knees touch underneath the table as we sit across from each other. Bram unrolls the paper packaging from around the food and lays it out carefully, sliding one of the wooden forks over to me with a grin. I stab a piece of fish and pop it into my mouth, my eyes closing at the familiar flavours of salt and vinegar and freshly fried batter.
‘So,’ I ask, lowering my voice enough that Diane won’t hear me, ‘do you know everyone in Whitby?’
He laughs at that, one hand going to his mouth as he finishes chewing. ‘Not everyone,’ he says once he’s swallowed his mouthful, ‘but a lot of people. It’s not a huge place. Looking like this’—he gestures vaguely to himself—‘you kind of stick out. I mean, not so much today’—he looks out of the window, lips quirking into a grin as a group of four goths walk past—‘but generally, people remember me.’
‘Sounds nice,’ I say, stabbing at a chip and dunking it into the small polystyrene cup of mushy peas.
My words make his smile twist to the side. He looks almost wistful. ‘It is, and it isn’t,’ he says, after a moment or two, and he doesn’t elaborate.
I worry that I’ve said something wrong– that I’ve somehow offended him– but there’s sadness in his expression rather than anger.
‘I’m a big city girl,’ I say, awkwardly trying to lighten the mood. ‘Forgettable is the preferred option in my neighbourhood.’
But that only makes the crease in his brows deepen.
‘Lucy,’ he starts, his voice low and gravelly. Those green eyes fix on mine, soft but unyielding, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his mouth parts like he’s about to say more. He doesn’t though– not at first. He just keeps looking at me, holding my gaze as his eyes slowly darken. No one’s ever looked at me with quite this much intensity before. It’s like he can read my thoughts, and the feeling sends goosebumps across my arms as a warm shiver slowly licks down my spine.
‘You are anything but forgettable,’ he says eventually, and it lands like a punch, knocking all the air from my lungs. His eyes are locked on mine, focused so intensely that it feels like he can see into my soul.
‘I…’ I don’t know what to say. I’m not completely sure what just happened. Eventually I manage to mutter anok, and that seems to break the spell. Bram goes back to spearing battered sausage with his tiny wooden fork, and I chase a pea around the pot of mush, trying to catch my breath. An image of Jon pops into my mind and I’m suddenly flooded with guilt. He said we’d go out when I finished the story, something I’ve wanted for so long. This is not the time to be breathless over another man.
I make a stupid joke to compensate for my discomfort, and it breaks the tension entirely. We go back to eating incompanionable silence, save for a few small squeaks of pleasure on my part and a chuckle or two from Bram.
‘I take it you enjoyed that,’ he says as we finish, crumpling the empty packaging into a ball with a grin as I down the rest of my drink.
I nod as I swallow. ‘Almost as good as eating it outside.’
His face falls before he can hide it.
‘Stop,’ I say, slapping him gently on the arm. ‘I’m kidding.’ I try and fail to suppress my giggle. ‘It was perfect. Thank you.’
He huffs, but the twitch at the corners of his mouth tells me it’s just for effect. ‘Another perfect moment not ruined by seagulls.’
I’m just about to ask him how the hell he survived growing up in a seaside town with a fear of seagulls when I see a familiar figure pass by the window, and freeze. My heart kick-starts, racing in my ears as I move closer to the window so I can see better.
I feel Bram move closer, like he’s straining to see what I’m looking at. ‘What?’
‘That was Jon.’
‘Jon?’