‘Yeah,’ I say. And God, isn’t that the truth.
So I don’t come out with a stupid line, the way I normally would. I don’t flirt shamelessly with her, even though every cell in my body is willing me to do just that.
‘I heard you need a friend,’ I say instead.
She sits up straight on her stool, smoothing pale hands over her floral skirt. It’s ridden up to mid-thigh on one side, and I try my hardest not to trace the line of it with my eyes.
‘You heard right,’ she says. ‘Since everyone I once knew in Whitby is dead.’ She traces a finger down her glass, her nails painted the same deep red as the wine inside. She doesn’t look at me, but I see her mouth pull into a soft smile. ‘Orundead.’
I huff a laugh. ‘I can see how that might limit your social circle.’
‘It’s a pain in the neck,’ she deadpans, and it makes me laugh again, more loudly this time. ‘Vampire jokes,’ she says with an apologetic shrug.
I nod sagely. ‘They suck.’
This time it’s her that laughs and the sound of it catches me off guard. I imagined she’d have a pretty, delicate laugh, but it’s a rough mess of a thing– part wheeze, part hoot. I’m pretty sure she snorts at the end.
I’ve never seen anything more attractive in my entire life.
And that’s the moment I realise what I’m doing. I’ve been officially free of my last ill-advised relationship for less than twelve hours and here I am, already trying to screw myself over. Florence might be so beautiful that it makes my chest physically ache, but God, I’m a better person than that.
Slightly.
I’m aslightlybetter person than that. Probably.
I like her, but nothing can happen.
So I shove down all my warm, wobbly feelings, and hit her with my brightest smile. ‘I could be your friend,’ I say. ‘If it’s not too weird with the whole dead-fiancé doppelgänger thing.’
She looks at me, her eyes still a little watery from her laugh, and her lips curl into a small smile. ‘I’m into weird.’
‘Me too.’
‘You want to be my friend?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I do.’
‘You’re not going to fall in love with me, are you?’ she asks, that thread of humour back in her voice, and it puts a big, stupid smile on my face.
‘I mean, probably,’ I say, with a shrug. ‘But I’ll keep it to myself.’
She hums an almost-laugh, her golden-brown eyes gleaming in the warm light of the bar. ‘I can live with that.’
‘Ok,’ I say around a yawn. ‘It’s been a long day, so I’m going to turn in.’ I hop off my stool, leaning a hip against the bar and holding out my hand again. She takes it in hers, her skin cool against mine. ‘I’ll see you around, buddy.’
I’m not surebuddyis the right choice here, but it’s out there now, so buddy it is. And she doesn’t seem thrown by it, just smiles and sweeps a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll be around,’ she says, with a smile.
And as I walk back into my flat, I spot the divorce certificate stuck to the fridge with a Whitby Abbey magnet and for the first time in a while, I feel a little bit proud of myself.
I finally made a good choice.
Maybe Florence is a good influence on me.
ChapterFour
FLORENCE