Chapter Two
Anders
There was a man taking my photograph.
I’d looked up from my laptop for two minutes and found myself gazing off into the near distance while I tried to figure out how to write myself out of the corner I’d wedged my characters into. When I’d snapped out of it, I’d seen him and his camera.
I’d seen the man flitting around for the past few hours with his numerous bags of camera equipment, taking endless photos of a variety of cosplayers, so I’d assumed he was some kind of professional.
Now he sat on the ground near the trees, at the other end of the long, marble-effect benches I’d tucked myself away on, his tousled brown hair fluttering in the wind.
From the distance between us, I couldn’t tell if he was smiling at me or someone else.
I looked back down at my laptop and hit Save.
I was tempted to go over to him and ask him to delete whatever picture he’d taken of me, but that would mean I’d have to talk to him, and I’d done enough social interaction this weekend to last me a lifetime.
The marketing and publicity team from my publishing house had insisted I attend London Comic Con and take part in some of the panels they’d volunteered me for.
Apparently it was good publicity for my new book.
I’d grumbled to Oliver, my editor, about it, but he’d said his hands were tied.
He had managed to get my panel appearances and signings reduced from three panels and four signings to two panels and three signings across the weekend, which I’d begrudgingly accepted.
I knew a compromise when I saw one, and considering how much the publishers had done for me, I wasn’t going to bite the hand that fed me.
Like most writers, I was an introvert. I wasn’t good with people, especially people I didn’t know.
It meant I tended to come off as a bit of a grumpy asshole, but after forty years, I wasn’t going to change unless I had to.
I was polite to fans though. I answered their questions, signed their books, smiled for their photos, and then as soon as the signing was over, I went and found a quiet corner to be by myself for as long as possible.
Usually that meant going back to the hotel, lying on the bed, and reading, but since the weather had been nice this afternoon, I’d decided to just set up shop on a bench in a corner where there weren’t too many people.
I had my laptop as well, and it usually meant people didn’t disturb me.
Until I’d looked up and seen the photographer taking my picture. Now my mood had started to sour.
“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice said. I glanced up, frowning as I saw the same man now standing in front of me, camera in hand. There was a warm smile on his face, but that didn’t stop me from scowling. “I’m Bastian Roche,” he continued, sticking out his hand. “I’m one of the cosplay photographers.”
“You took my picture,” I said shortly, declining the hand. It was rude, but I was tired. I closed my laptop and glared up at him, but it seemed to have no effect.
“I did. Actually, that’s why I came over.
” He sat down next to me, his smile widening as he held out the camera to show me the view screen.
“I know I should have asked, but you looked so… Anyway, I couldn’t resist taking the shot, but I figured I should tell you and show you. I can delete it if you want.”
“You should. And you should ask next time.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked like a kicked puppy, and my sourness wavered. There was something about his honey eyes and dark lashes that caught me off guard. “Truly I am. I normally never take photos without people’s permission. There was just…” He trailed off, and somehow I felt worse.
“It’s fine,” I grunted. “No harm done.”
He beamed again. The smile highlighted the youthfulness of his handsome face. “Do you want to see?” He held out the camera again. “I can send it to you if you like it. I think it would actually look lovely in black and white too. Very editorial.”
I doubted he was going to back down until I looked, so in the hopes he’d leave me alone, I took the proffered camera and looked at the screen, squinting.
It didn’t look like me. Well, it did—same short hair greying around the temples, same greying stubble I’d tidied this morning, same glasses that I’d started to need to write, same white shirt with the sleeves rolled up—but the way it was shot made me look different.
Like another version of myself, handsome and charming.
I stared at it a little longer because I’d never liked myself in pictures, but this one was different.
Maybe because I wasn’t being forced to smile for once.
Bastian had caught me off guard, and in doing so, he’d captured something I’d only ever felt.
“Do you like it?” Bastian asked cautiously, and I realised I’d been staring at it for longer than was polite.
“It’s nice,” I said and handed the camera back.
“My publicist will love it. She keeps badgering me to get a new head shot.” The other one I had was at least six years old and was from my brother’s wedding—the last time anyone had been able to get me in front of a camera.
I looked different now—there was considerably more grey for one—and apparently the photo I had looked rather forced. This would pacify her.
“Amazing.” Bastian’s bright smile was back. What was with this kid? Although kid was probably the wrong term. He had to at least be in his mid-twenties. But that was still younger than me. “Do you have an email address? I can send you the files next week. Do you want a black and white one too?”
“Sure.” He pulled out his phone, and I rattled off my email. I’d expected that to be it, but Bastian showed no inclination to move or go back to his bags.
Instead, he leant back on the bench and asked, “So, what have you been doing here this weekend? Have you had a good time?”
“How do you know I’ve been here for the weekend?”
“Your lanyard.” He pointed at the orange string around my neck. “It’s one of the weekend ones they give out for guests and panellists. That and the look on your face that says you’ve been here way too long and just want to go home.”
“And yet you still came to talk to me,” I said.
“Yes.” Bastian smiled. “I’m incorrigible.
Besides, your whole grumpy bear act doesn’t scare me.
I’ve seen worse.” I stared at him, not sure how to respond.
I’d been called grumpy before, but not in such a playful way.
It threw me. Since I said nothing, Bastian seemed to take it as a sign to continue.
“I’m guessing you’re not an actor since they’re never allowed to walk around unaccompanied.
Neither are the TV guests. You might be an artist, but most of them hate leaving their booths for too long, and you’ve been here for a while, so that rules that out.
Since you’re staring at your laptop, I figured you’re either some form of writer or some sort of studio guy.
But you’re not American, so I’m doubting the studio thing. ”
“I could be from a British studio.”
Bastian shrugged. “You could be, but I don’t think you are.”
“What am I, then?” I was surprised by my patience with him, but his openness and casual charm had thrown me.
“I’m going with… writer.” He looked at me with wide, excited eyes like he was waiting to see if he’d gotten it right. It was almost endearing.
“I am.”
“I’m right? Awesome!” Bastian kicked his legs against the bench, his face lighting up with happiness. It was like he’d just won the lottery or something. I chuckled.
“It’s not that exciting.”
“But it is,” he said. “It means I figured it out! Usually, I’m not good at puzzles. When I play Cluedo, I’m always the one who figures it out last.” He sighed as if that bothered him. “But today I got it right.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“So, what do you write?”
“Are you just going to sit here all afternoon and ask me questions?” I asked in response, then felt bad when Bastian’s face fell. I shouldn’t have felt bad. But I did.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. I always overstay my welcome.” He went to stand up, and before I could stop myself, I said, “It’s fine. Sit.” Bastian froze. “Sorry,” I continued. “It’s been a long weekend, and I’m not good with people. You can stay.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”
You already are was what I wanted to say…
but I couldn’t bring myself to actually say it.
Because while I hadn’t wanted to be disturbed, I was suddenly intrigued by the young man beside me.
And I wasn’t convinced I was actually annoyed by his appearance.
Maybe it was just my general lack of people skills and the fact I was mentally stretched thin by days of being sociable.
“You’re not.”
Bastian didn’t look convinced, but he settled back onto the bench. We sat in silence for a moment, and I realised I hadn’t answered his question.
“Fantasy,” I said. “I write fantasy novels.”
“That’s really cool.” He smiled at me, but it seemed a little dimmed. A band of guilt tightened around my middle. I hadn’t meant to upset him, and while I usually wouldn’t care that much, right now I really did. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t even ask your name.”
“Anders,” I said, giving him a small smile. “Anders Flynn.”
“Seriously?” He stared at me as if he was wondering whether or not to believe me. “You’re Anders Flynn?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” His smile broadened and turned almost cheeky. “My sister-in-law loves your books. She’s gonna be so jealous that I met you. I should get a selfie with you before I go, otherwise she’ll never believe me.”
I chuckled again, surprised at myself. I was never this… open with people I’d just met. “Two photos in one day? You might be pushing your luck.”
He must have seen the rare smile on my face and heard the lighter tone I’d tried to use because he didn’t look upset this time. He just slid closer to me and pulled out his phone. “I’m good at doing that. Say cheese!”
He snapped a photo then looked at it, nodding happily before turning the phone to show me. It didn’t look as forced as I thought it would. I was almost smiling.
“Aw, that came out nicely,” he said. Then he sighed and glanced at his phone again. “Well, my break is nearly over. I’ll have more clients arriving soon. But it was really nice to meet you, and I promise I’ll send the photos over next week.”
“There’s no rush,” I said, watching him stand and stretch, unable to stop my eyes from lingering on the lines of his body. What the fuck was wrong with me? Since when did I blatantly check out strangers? “And… thanks. It was nice to meet you too, Bastian.”
Bastian smiled at me, and it reminded me of the sun over the sea—bright and sparkling. He walked back to his bags, camera in hand, and I watched him for a few minutes until more cosplayers arrived. Then I folded up my laptop and headed back to the hotel.
For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t get Bastian out of my mind.