Chapter 12
chapter twelve
i thought lightning never struck the same place twice?
“So, when’s the wedding?”
I tried to shoot my best death glare at Rory, but looking at her like that was like death glaring Bambi, and I wasn’t morally corrupt enough for that. So instead, I smiled and reined in my sigh.
“He touched my hand for a second. And for the last time, it’s not, nor will it ever be like that with Marcus.”
She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out. “Way to burn the fairytales.”
I loved Rory to pieces, I did, but she was the kind of hopeless romantic that I’d just never been.
Everything was clear skies and tiny cupids with that one.
And sure, that was one of the reasons why I adored her so much, but she would take any little detail and turn it into something it could never be. Especially when I was the one sharing.
Take two seconds ago—I’d let it slip that Marcus had saved me from the rainstorm, and he and I had as close to a heart-to-heart as I’m positive we will ever have, and our hands accidentally brushed, and now she’s picking out bridesmaids' dresses.
“I’m sorry; I just think it’s cute.” She gushed as she swept her half of the floor behind the counter.
Closing shifts at Flo’s were only fun with her, so, imaginary wedding planning aside, I was glad she was here.
“This stoic man, whom I’ve never seen smile, suddenly being all soft and warm? The man’s got layers.”
I shrugged as I finished counting the notes from the till. “Okay, that’s fine. I don’t want to see those layers. And better yet, I don’t even want him around. But he’s adamant on being by my side every waking minute—”
“Which we like, might I add.”
“Okay, I get it. I’m safe. But does he have to be such a pain in the arse about every little detail?
” I tucked the notes away in the plastic folder and slammed the till, lowering my voice.
“Cora, you’ve deviated from your usual route; are you safe?
Cora, I’m outside. Where are you? Cora, you woke up thirty seconds later than you did yesterday; are you still alive?
Like, fuck me, let a girl breathe for once. ”
Rory propped up her brush and headed my way, picking up her matcha as she sat on the counter behind me. “But wouldn’t you rather have someone who was making sure you were safe than someone who couldn’t care less if something happened to you?”
I rolled my eyes as I spun to face her. “Of course I do, but he just annoys me.”
Her head bobbed as she slipped the straw between her lips. “If good looks and a protective streak annoy you, then I don’t want to know what your type is.”
“Okay, A. there’s protective, and there’s whatever that human padlock is. And B, my type has nothing to do with him because that’s not what’s happening here. I’m not ready, Ror, nor am I even interested in him.”
Don’t roll your eyes at me. I get it. Marcus is handsome and every girl’s dream man when they’re picking a romantic scenario to fall asleep to.
I’ll even admit guilt to that. But contemplating the idea of starting anything romantic, not just with Marcus, but with anyone, was enough to make me want to live under my covers for the rest of my life.
Even for the few minutes I’d dipped my toes into those waters with Rainie, that was more than I thought I was ready to handle. So, single Cora was staying single, and that thought made me happy.
Rory popped her cup down and slid off the counter, leaning against the one beside me. “Fine, you’re right, I’m sorry.”
I nudged her, letting my smile show just a little. “It’s fine. But when the time does come when I’m ready to let my heart run wild, I know who to tell first.”
Her smile beamed. “Good, because I have candidates ready. There’s someone in Daisy’s band that I think is totally your vibe, and Bindi told me the new girl on the Lionesses squad seems like a bit of you.”
My smirk pulled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
We finished cleaning the rest of the counter and moved on to boxing up the pastries that hadn’t sold today.
I truly loved this job, for more reasons than one.
Florence, the owner, was a saint. A true fairy godmother figure when mine was all the way back in London.
She knew what having this job meant, that it made me feel normal when my other source of income was anything but.
Luckily, I hadn’t had that many encounters with fans over the counter whilst working, and even when I did and they questioned why I was here, I simply said I was helping out a friend.
Image was everything online, and I’d made sure to keep mine squeaky clean up until the incident with.
Once the news broke, most of my fans were on my side about the whole ordeal.
Thankfully. But of course, there were a few that weren’t, but I ignored it, because the only thing that mattered to me then was getting better—
My phone dinged on the counter, and like my thoughts had manifested, I swiped to find another message from a random account, victim-blaming me. I sighed and blocked the account, pressing play on the Lily Allen playlist that was softly humming through the speakers, and went back to boxing up.
“You okay?” Rory asked, turning and folding open a new box.
I blew a breath out of my nose, and shook my head as a humourless smile invaded my mouth. “It just amazes me how people can always find a way to blame women for something that wasn’t their fault.”
She placed a palm on my back. “What happened?”
I scrolled through my phone until I found the message and passed it over to her.
She took the thing and read out loud, “Women like you make themselves victims by being too polite.”
Even hearing it back made me want to find this dickhead and ask him if my knee in his likely small dick was being too fucking polite.
I shook my head and taped the box shut. “It just makes me so angry how people can think that if a woman was sexually assaulted, she must have done something to deserve it.”
“Don’t even waste your time thinking about it, Cor. If you do, you’ll just go backwards, and you’ve made so much progress to let that all go.”
I shrugged, grabbing the last bakewell tart. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Are you kidding?” Her gasp echoed off the lavender walls.
“Look at where you are right now. Look at where you’ve been today!
Cora, back in November, you wouldn’t have so much as let a little bit of light slip between the curtains.
Now you’re back at work, back in your classes.
” Her hand fell atop mine. “We’re so proud of you for that.
Even if we have to remind you every day that everything that happened was never your fault, we’ll happily do that.
” I smiled up at her before she added, “And just a reminder, Marcus has to stay around for you to be like this again. You know it. We know it. So don’t fight it. He’s got your best interest at heart.”
Before I could open my mouth and agree with her, the bell above the door chimed, and my heart plummeted. I turned back to look at the clock, which read 8:07 pm.
We closed at 8:00 pm
I flicked my eyes to Rory. “We forgot to lock the door at eight.”
“Shit.”
Before either of us could take a step, we found a man dressed in a grey t-shirt and black jeans, with a woolly hat over his head and fingerless gloves covering his hands, closing the door behind him.
I opened my mouth as he turned to face us. “Hi, sir. We’re actually closed now. I’m so sorry.”
Sunken eyes met mine, swirls of grey and green orbiting his pupils. His eyebrows were bushy and raised, the wrinkles on his forehead that gave away his middle age bunching with embarrassment.
“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry.”
Those words were enough for me to clock his accent.
His hand landed in the middle of his chest. “I saw the lights on and thought I’d chance my luck at those Bakewell tarts I hear so much about.
” The shifting vowels and the absence of his H’s were enough for me to pin his twang to London.
East London. Tottenham, if the Hotspur tattoo on his arm said anything.
I looked down at the box I was just about to tape up, eyes drawn to the only Bakewell tart left after today. I raised my eyes to his, instantly lingering on the colours that swam in them. “Well, I’ve got one going if it’s of any interest?”
His face lit up. “Honest?”
The tart was in the bag before he finished. “I can let the rules slip for a fellow Brit.”
His eyes narrowed as he neared the counter, his face masked with cockney charm that reminded me of home. “Islington?”
“Camden,” I replied, as I handed him the bag.
He bent down to look at the cabinet before pulling his wallet out. “$5, yeah?”
I shook my hands at him. “Oh no, don’t bother. I already counted the till, and I’m not really one for maths… well, ever.”
His smile gave away his age, and the chesty laugh that left him made it clear he’d been a smoker for a decade or two. “Cheers. You’ve just earned yourself a regular.”
I smiled as I taped up the box that was going to the women’s shelter. “Why thank you.”
As he took a step back, he hesitated. “No, thank you. Good deeds are tough to come by these days. Especially in this city.”
I shrugged. “I get it. New Yorkers make Londoners look like Northerners.”
His head flew back as a deep laugh sputtered out of him, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the joke too. As they died down, I clocked Rory in my peripheral, her face confused.
“Inside joke,” I murmured.
“I’ll leave you to it, ladies.” His voice caught my attention as he backed away to the door. “But really, thank you…”
I smiled. “Cora.”
He nodded at me. “Arthur.” He waved. “Have a great night.”