‘My boss.’ I press my face closer to the glass as I follow the direction Jon was going in. ‘He told me he couldn’t come this weekend because he had a family situation, and that’s why I had to cover the story.’
‘Ok…’
‘But he’s here.’
‘You’re sure that was him?’
I can’t help but laugh as I turn to look back at Bram. ‘Almost positive.’ Then my mouth takes the reins and continues talking after it probably should have stopped. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time studying him.’
Bram’s eyebrows fly up, and I immediately blush, regret flooding my cheeks.
‘We kind of… have a thing.’
His eyes widen even further. ‘A thing?’
‘It’s hard to explain,’ I say, but it isn’t. I’m just too mortified at this moment to know where to start.
That is, until Bram grabs my hand and gently pulls me away from the window.
‘Come on.’
I frown in confusion. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re gonna follow him.’ Bram’s grin pops that dimple again. ‘I thought you were a journalist?’
My chest lurches at the thought. ‘I’m more of an elderly-bats-and-school-fun-runs type of journalist,’ I squeak out, panic clutching at my throat.
Bram’s smile widens.
‘Hey,’ he says steadily, ‘you’re already out of your comfort zone. Let’s run with it.’
There’s something in his voice that gives me a rush of confidence. Bram’s eyes widen in delight when I nod. He shouts goodbye to Diane, and we scurry out of the shop, speed walking in the direction that I saw Jon going.
Bram predicts that he’s heading downhill to the sea, and he’s quite right. I catch sight of him as we round the first corner. He’s not going at breakneck speed like we are, but he’s still clearly in a rush, and my curiosity is piqued. Where could he be going in such a hurry?
He takes a left when he gets to the bottom of the hill, as if he’s heading to the bandstand, and we trail him, careful to stay a safe distance behind. At one point he turns to look behind him, and Bram grabs me by the shoulders and sweeps me out of view, down the side of a seafood hut. He shrugs off his jacket anddrapes it over my shoulders before we carry on, and I raise my eyebrows in a question.
‘Disguise,’ he says seriously. ‘I look like every other idiot out here today, but he’ll spot you a mile off.’
I smile to myself, holding the jacket together with my free hand. It’s a comforting weight on my shoulders, sun-warmed and supple, and even though I’m starting to sweat, I can’t resist tightening it around myself.
Jon heads for the bandstand just as I spot another familiar face inside, and as Bram and I tuck ourselves out of sight behind a small fishing boat, I point her out to him.
‘That’s Amy,’ I say. ‘She works with us. Mostly on the HR side, but she does a few PA duties for Jon too.’
I’m just wondering if perhaps there’s a work situation they’re having to attend to when Jon reaches her and, without even a moment’s pause, grasps her face in one hand and kisses her lightly on the lips.
My heart, which had been thundering like a herd of elephants from the combination of unexpectedly seeing Jon and my speed march through the streets of Whitby, falls to my feet and shatters like fine china. I can already feel the burn of tears in my eyes.
‘I, um…’ Bram mutters as he strains to see around the hull of the little boat. ‘Oh.’
Their kiss intensifies as we watch, and if it wasn’t clear at first that the two of them were into each other, the grip of Jon’s hands around her hips would have confirmed it.
Shock and betrayal come together at once to send a sob up my throat, and when Bram turns to see me crying, his face softens in an instant. He pulls me in by the lapels of his own jacket before wrapping lean arms around me. I can feel the ripple of his muscles through the thin band shirt he’s wearing, hear the rumble of his voice in his chest as my ear pressesagainst it. It’s lovely and comforting, and I just want to lean into it and let him soothe me and forget all about the snivelling snot trails I’m probably leaving on his leather jacket.
But I can’t. My mind won’t let me.
I start to replay interactions with Jon in my mind. Could I have misread what was happening? I mean, I’m fairly sure I didn’t imagine kissing him, but did I build it all up to be more than it was? I’ve never felt more ashamed in my life. But then I remember something else– something that starts to turn the grip of shame into sharp stabs of anger.