Chapter Thirty-Nine Zig
Zig stayed in bed long after Si had left for work. He’d slept badly, and several times considered leaving Si’s embrace for the cold comfort of the sofa, but somehow he hadn’t been able to. Too fucking selfish. Si had held him all through a restless night, not asking for anything more.
Zig wasn’t sure what had kept him awake the most: the worry about Dad and Trent tracking him down, or the guilt that had punched him in the gut when Si had blithely said, “Same here”—like Zig could possibly be the best thing that’d ever happened to him.
Worst thing, more like. They’d barely been back together a day and already the crap in Zig’s life was threatening to overwhelm them.
Maybe he should say something to Si? The reaction to that was swift and visceral. I’d rather chew off my own arm. He couldn’t bear the thought of ruining Si’s happiness. Christ, how could Zig even hope to make up for all the hurt he’d caused Si already?
All the hurt he might yet cause?
Sod it. He wasn’t gonna do it by moping in bed. And it might all be nothing. He had to remember that. Zig forced himself to get up, and checked his phone to see if Kai had answered his hurried text last night.
For fuck’s sake, his own message was still there, cursor blinking at him. Looked like he’d missed when he went to hit Send. Too busy trying to stop Si seeing the message: You ever worry your past’s going to catch up with you?
He deleted it, not feeling like sending it now, and then went looking for stuff that needed doing around the flat.
He put on a load of laundry but failed to find anything in need of cleaning, Si clearly not believing in the stereotype of bloke-living-on-his-own slovenliness. The fridge was well stocked too.
Giving up, Zig grabbed his jacket and headed downstairs. Maybe a walk would clear his head.
Esme, dressed today in a smart navy trouser suit with a cropped jacket, caught him before he could set foot outside. “You’re looking a little peaky this morning. Too much bed, not enough sleep?”
“Something like that.”
Zig’s face must have given away more than his words, as she replied with, “Oh, dear. Tell you what, if you mind the shop for a minute, I’ll pop out and get us some coffees.”
He couldn’t have heard her right. “What?”
“You: shop. Me: coffees. Capisce?” She gave him a motherly smile that almost, but not quite, took away the sting of her patronising tone. “You work in a pub, so I’m assuming you know your way around a till.”
“Ain’t you worried I’ll nick something?”
Still smiling, Esme pointed to a sign hanging up behind the counter: Shoplifters will be cursed.
Zig had to laugh. Like he needed that on top of everything else. “Fine. But if the punters are put out that I don’t know shit about this stuff you sell, that’s on you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can spin them a line if you put your mind to it.” She marched out of the shop, nodding en route to a couple of twentysomethings who came in past her.
Zig winced and nipped behind the counter so as to look like he belonged here. Although, come to think of it, his all-black combo of jeans and long-sleeved shirt probably made him look more the part than Esme herself did.
He’d sold six packs of incense and a book on the healing power of crystals before it occurred to him that Esme hadn’t asked how he liked his coffee. Maybe she could tell by looking at him that he wouldn’t be fussy.
Some candles, an amulet, and a divining pendant later—how far had she gone for this coffee? Bristol?—Esme was back with two large cups with no logo. “I got you white with an extra shot. That okay?”
“Yeah, that’s good. Ta.” Zig took the cup, then couldn’t resist adding, “Was that what my aura told you?”
“Mm, no. The white was Si buying more milk than usual, and the extra shot was the bags under your eyes.”
“Cheers.” Zig toasted her, with a grimace. “You always keep an eye on your tenant’s shopping?”
“Not generally, but it’s hard to ignore when a large, hairy man runs through your store muttering, ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, run out of milk already.’”
He had to laugh. “Fair enough.”
“How’s the job going?”
“What, the bar work, or this unpaid job you got me doing?”
“Excuse me, I’ve remunerated you with a very decent and not inexpensive cup of coffee. Which, I might add, you haven’t so much as tasted.”
“Gimme a chance.” Zig made a show of bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip. Then he took a larger one. It was, actually, bloody good coffee. “Not bad. Still it oughtta be, for over a fiver.”
“And how do you work that out?”
“Minimum wage, and I’ve been minding your shop for half an hour—”
“Twenty minutes, if that.” She smirked at him over the top of her coffee cup. “Sell much?”
Zig reeled off a list of the items he’d sold.
“Not bad.”
Zig was almost, but not quite, certain she was mocking him. “The crystal book was an upsell too,” he went on, cos he’d been proud of that one. “I noticed she was wearing one of those tree of life necklaces, the ones made of wire and crystals, so I gave it a go.”
Esme raised an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to make this a regular thing, I might see my way to paying you actual money.”
“Huh. Seriously?”
“Seriously. Think about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” Esme put down her cup on the counter and slunk over to a shy couple loitering by the spellbooks.
Zig took his chance to escape, taking his coffee with him.
Should he take Esme up on her offer? It’d been okay, manning the till and talking to the customers, he thought, as he walked down the street dodging the shoppers and their dogs.
It shouldn’t conflict with working the bar on weekend nights.
And it’d mean, for some days at least, that his hours would line up better with Si’s.
And if Dad turns up and you have to do a runner, that’ll be one more person you’ve let down.
The coffee turning bitter in his mouth, Zig chucked the cup in a nearby bin and jammed his hands into his pockets.