When the final file is gone and I close my laptop, I feel like a different person. I’ve never gone against a direct order in my life, not once. I always thought that by not pleasing people I was letting them down, but that isn’t what’s happening here.
I’m not letting Jon down, I’m standing up to him. And something about this town, or its quirky inhabitants, or a tall, tattooed bartender who may or may not be undead has given me the strength to do it. Well, they’ve shown me the way, anyway. I think the strength has been in me all along.
And now, speaking of this town and its quirky inhabitants, I have the very important matter of a family gathering to get to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
BRAM
I’m absolutely buzzing when I walk through the front door of the bar.
I mean, sure, it was a strange morning and all, but that was completely overshadowed by the utter magnificence that is Lucy Partridge. Waking up this morning to see her next to me in bed was a sight that’s going to stay with me for a long time. And then the way that she was with Gilly, I just can’t even put it into words.
It’s always bittersweet, going to see my mum. I crave and dread it in pretty equal measure. It never fails to remind me of everything I’ve lost. But it felt different with Lucy there. It was like I was more easily able to focus on the good bits, because there was someone there to support me through the bad.
I could get used to that.
Ok, the chances are that I won’t get used to it at all– that Lucy will get back on her train tomorrow and I’ll never see her again– but it’s not a day for dwelling on that particular fact. Today I kissed a pretty girl, and now I’m going to hang out with my favourite people in the world. One in particular who, if mycalculations are correct, should be landing in the country right about now.
If I’m going to dwell on anything, it’ll be that.
Quinn looks up as I push through the door. ‘All right, dickhead?’
Yeah, I’m even counting him as one of my favourite people in the world. That’s how good my mood is.
‘Always,’ I reply, and maybe I unknowingly sing it like I’m in a damn musical, because three more pairs of eyes snap in my direction.
‘He slept with her,’ Quinn says without missing a beat, and he steals a packet of pork scratchings from the box in front of Emmy before she can swipe his hand away.
Emmy tuts at him. ‘Slept with who?’ she asks, as she picks up another bag and throws it at Quinn’s face. He dodges it easily before hooking it onto the hanging strip behind them.
‘You know, Pastel.’
I hold a palm up, confused. ‘Pastel?’
Fox snorts. ‘Blame Quinn for that one.’
We all look at him, and he does at least have the good grace to look repentant. ‘She was wearing pastel colours at the bar the other night,’ he says with a shrug. ‘It just really made her stand out in that crowd.’
To be fair to him, he has a point. And it’s by far the least offensive nickname he’s ever given anyone. I don’t even want to mention the things he calls me.
‘Her name’s Lucy,’ I remind them, rounding the bar and resting against the worn wooden surface. My chest warms when I say her name. ‘And no, I didn’t sleep with her.’
‘You wanted to, though,’ Quinn says, throwing a pork scratching and catching it in his mouth.
‘Obviously.’ I snort a laugh. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘I liked her,’ Fox says, from a stepstool down the end of the bar. ‘She had good vibes.’
Emmy nods her agreement, still guarding the box in front of her.
‘I like her too,’ I say, with what I hope is an air of finality. ‘Now can we stop invading my privacy and start getting sorted for tonight, please?’
It’s then that Sammi– who I only just realise has not said a single word since I walked in– straightens on the other side of the bar, dark eyes snapping to mine.
‘A minute of your time first, if I may,’ she says, and the formality in her tone worries me. What the hell have I done now?
She leads me out into the storeroom at the back, pulling the door closed behind us.