Chapter 6 Quin
SIX
Quin
Operation Apologise-to-Kit was underway.
Quin had done some soul-searching and concluded that it was a bit creepy to turn up on somebody’s street, trying to make friends with them, all because you’d liked their smell.
He’d accepted that what was normal for a werewolf—being driven by your scent and the inclinations of your beast—was not as acceptable to a vampire.
Which was fair. But now, Quin needed to express his sincere apology to Kit without coming across as a stalker.
Again.
It proved harder than Quin realised. Food was out. Wine was out. He didn’t know what else might be to Kit’s taste. And he didn’t want to go for something elaborate, but it still needed to be a statement. The conundrum ran through his mind as he waited on Louie’s front step.
The door opened, and before Quin could utter a greeting to Louie, he had an armful of excited cocker spaniel. “It’s good to see you too, girl,” he said as he rubbed his hands over every inch of her. The parts of her that weren’t waggling out of his reach, that was.
“She’s been missing her daddy,” Louie said, voice warm.
“Uh-huh,” Quin said. As a mature adult, he shouldn’t have given in to the blush that spread over his face. Many people considered their pets their babies, but the word Daddy would forever mean something different to him than it did to others.
If he noticed Quin’s embarrassment, Louie didn’t comment. “Quick cuppa and debrief?” he asked.
“Sure,” Quin agreed.
Louie babbled away as he disappeared into the house, but Quin was preoccupied with staying upright with Mabel underfoot.
“Mabel, girl, you gotta let me walk here.”
Despite Mabel redoubling her efforts to trip Quin, they made it into Louie’s living room, and Quin settled himself on the sofa. Mabel jumped up onto Quin immediately, so he kept her in his arms, indulging her.
“She’s allowed up there if you’re all right with it,” Louie said as he came into the room with a steaming mug in each hand.
Quin stroked his fingers down Mabel’s soft fur as she calmed. “I swear I’ve been teaching her not to jump up.”
“It’s fine. She was a delight to look after. Ate all her food, happy to go on her walks, and barely even barked when we saw a squirrel.”
As if to emphasise how deserving of a reward she was, Mabel looked up at Quin beseechingly. He dutifully scratched her head.
“So, how was your time away?” Louie asked.
Quin’s mind blanked. He had no idea what he’d told Louie he was doing. “Good,” he said, hoping that would suffice.
Louie gave a self-conscious chuckle. “You don’t need to share. I’m being nosy.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Quin admitted, but then a thought occurred to him. “Don’t suppose you can recommend any local shops where I could buy someone a decent apology gift?”
Louie perked up in his armchair. “What did you do? Who are you apologising to?”
“A…friend? Well. I’d like him to be a friend. I, uh, came on a little too strong, if you get my gist.”
Louie bobbed his head. “It happens. But I need more info about him to advise. What’s he into?”
“I don’t know much, honestly.” Quin knew Kit enjoyed petting werewolves, but that wasn’t something he could make a gift out of, unless it was a gift for Quin himself.
“Well, in that case, you can never go wrong with flowers,” Louie said, earnest.
Quin considered this. Flowers seemed obvious. He hadn’t considered it an option because Lark had never wanted flowers, preferring more expensive gifts.
“You don’t think that it’s a bit of a present that women might appreciate more?” he asked.
“In my experience, most guys have never received flowers, so it’s a first for them. Makes for a pleasant surprise.”
Quin nodded along. “That tracks.”
They went back and forth, Louie advising Quin on which local flower shops offered the best value for money, and even schooling Quin on the meaning of some common flowers. By the time he left Louie’s house, Mabel in tow, Quin believed that Operation Apologise-to-Kit might actually be a success.
As it turns out, showing up on someone’s doorstep without prior warning isn’t cool, even if you come bearing apology flowers for the last time you accidentally stalked them.
“What are you doing here?” Kit asked when he opened his front door. His words were more accusation than question.
Quin brandished the oversized bouquet towards him. “I wanted to apologise for the other night.”
Kit surveyed the flowers like one might a particularly offensive excretion. “What are those?”
“They’re for you.”
“Flowers?”
“Flowers,” Quin confirmed.
“Why?”
“To say sorry.”
“I have nothing to put them in,” Kit said, sounding satisfied with his excuse.
“Well, isn’t it handy that I have a solution? Hold these.” Quin shoved the flowers into Kit’s chest and ran to his car. Thanks to Louie’s advice, Quin had prepared for such an eventuality. After giving a dozing Mabel a quick pat, he jogged back, holding the vase in careful hands.
Kit still stood at his door, hands full of the bouquet, looking down at it.
“Look,” Quin said, showing Kit the vase. He’d picked it up from a horrendously expensive little consignment shop, but the purply blue almost exactly matched Kit’s eyes. His beast had seen those vibrant eyes up close, and now it was the only colour Quin dreamed in.
Quin tried to hand Kit the vase, but realised his hands were already full of flowers.
“I’ll, uh, leave it here,” he said, putting the vase on the ground at Kit’s front door.
Each of the houses had a small paved area that some of the other neighbours filled with pots of outdoor plants. Kit’s, however, lay empty.
Kit had stood preternaturally still at his door since Quin thrust the flowers at him. “What’s the catch?” Kit asked.
“There isn’t one?”
Kit’s head tilted, his attention diverted. “What’s that noise?”
“What noise?” Quin could hear plenty of distinct sounds coming from all directions.
“That noise coming from your car.” Kit narrowed his eyes at Quin. “What do you have in there?”
Quin relaxed. “That’s Mabel. I probably woke her up.”
“Mabel?”
“My cocker spaniel,” Quin explained. Kit’s gaze kept darting to the car, so Quin risked it. “You can meet her if you like.”
Kit’s lips pursed in a considering pout.
“I only got her a few weeks ago when I moved here, but she’s friendly,” Quin added.
Kit nodded tentatively. “Okay. I’ll put these”—he shook the flowers in his hands just that side of too hard, leading to a few precious petals falling to the ground—“in the house.” Kit was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving more petals in his wake.
Quin poked his tongue into the side of his cheek to stifle his laugh.
Operation Apologise-to-Kit was, so far, going better than expected.
Quin walked back to the car, opening the door. “C’mon, Mabel. We’ve got a new friend for you to meet.”
By the time Quin got back to the house, Kit was waiting outside again, the vase gone. “You know,” Kit said, with an air of over-practised nonchalance, “part of me wondered if you’d made up the existence of a puppy to get me into your white van.”
Quin held tight to Mabel’s leash to stop her from jumping at Kit. “I wasn’t sure if you liked dogs,” he said. “And she’s not a puppy. Nor, for that matter, do I drive a white van.”
Kit crouched down, shuffling forward as he put one hand out for Mabel to sniff. “How old is she?”
“Five or so,” Quin said, pleased when Mabel gave Kit’s hand a few licks.
“You rescued her?” Kit asked as he changed tack, rubbing both hands over Mabel’s head as she basked in the attention.
“Her owner died, and the woman’s family wasn’t able to take her in.”
Kit looked up, horrified. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“They had kids and cats already, I think,” Quin said, touched by how offended Kit was on Mabel’s behalf.
“They should have got rid of them,” Kit said.
“The cats?”
Kit shot Quin a wicked smile that made his heart beat faster. “The kids.”
Quin chuckled, too loud for how late it was, but he didn’t care. Kit seemed thrown by the sound, but relaxed as he started in on Mabel’s belly when she flopped onto her back, demanding more rubs.
Quin dug around in the pocket of his battered old Barbour jacket. The crinkling packet he fished out had Mabel’s ears perking up, and she was on her feet in a flash. Dejection flitted over Kit’s face, but he schooled his expression back into placidity.
Quin held the treats out to Kit. “You can feed her a few of these. I’ll run it off with her tomorrow.”
Kit took the packet with care, sniffing. “They smell rank,” he said, even as he dived in for one of the mini bone-shaped treats and held it out for Mabel.
“They do.”
“Oh, so you don’t also partake?” Kit asked in such a deceptively neutral tone that Quin didn’t clock the insinuation at first.
Quin pointed to himself. “Werewolf.” Then he pointed to Mabel, who chewed on the treat and looked up at Kit with pleading eyes. “Dog.”
“Doesn’t answer my question,” Kit said.
“I’m not a literal animal.”
Kit shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t met a werewolf before.”
“You’re the first vampire I’ve met, too,” Quin said, glad to be Kit’s first werewolf encounter. It made it more special. “And yet, I still know that you’re not a bat.” Kit was more like a feral street-kitten: all claws, mistrust, and defensiveness.
“How do you know, then? I could be a bat.”
“Okay, then. Turn into one right now.”
Kit stood up to his full height, which wasn’t very high at all, considering he only just reached Quin’s shoulder. “I’m not a performing monkey.”
“Never claimed you were a monkey,” Quin said. “But if we’re doing animal idioms—”
“No,” Kit cut in with. “Absolutely not. I’ve had quite enough of that.”
“Fine. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
Kit’s lips twitched. Quin took it as a win for Operation Apologise-to-Kit. Mabel figured out that Kit wouldn’t be giving her any more treats, so she came back to Quin’s side, demanding head scratches. He complied.
“Here,” Kit said, and threw the packet back at Quin. He caught them, tucking the packet back in a pocket.
Quin chose not to overstay his welcome this time. “Well, me and Mabel will get out of your hair.”
Kit raised an eyebrow but nodded. “I don’t suppose this will be the last I see of you?”
Quin put his hands over Mabel’s ears. “If you’re going to rebuke my offer of friendship, I’d rather you tell me now so that I can let Mabel down easy.”
“I couldn’t do such a thing to Mabel,” Kit agreed.
“She’d be devastated. How can you say no to those eyes?”
“Impossible,” Kit said, a smile ghosting over his lips. He hesitated, then added, “I ought to thank you for the flowers.”
Quin waved him off. “My pleasure.”
“Even if they’ll be dead in a few days, they’re nice.”
“I have it on good authority that they’ll last a few weeks if kept in water.”
“A fleeting moment,” Kit said, more to himself than Quin.
Quin wanted to leave before they ended up in a back and forth on the subject. He wasn’t sure how he could win such an argument when faced with someone who would be beautiful forever. “See you around, Kit.”
“I’m sure I will,” Kit said, gracing him with a short wave that Quin chose to interpret as non-sarcastic. “Goodbye, Quin.”
Quin had to restrain himself from punching the air with victory as he walked away.
Operation Apologise-to-Kit was a success. He didn’t lose his good mood on the drive home, humming along with music on the radio, and not even when he had to deal with Mabel doing her business on the street outside before they went into the house.
No, Quin’s good mood remained until his phone vibrated. It was late enough that he checked it immediately, worrying that, at this time of night, it would be an emergency. But no. It was Lark. And he was wasted, judging by the message that Quin could see from the preview.
It was like being drenched in cold water. The reminder of why he was here, why he was alone, why he’d up and moved with no plans.
Against his better judgement, Quin opened the message. And he wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t just a drunk text. It was a drunk sext. Lark had—according to his own words—been feeling rather unfulfilled ever since Quin had left.
Quin scrubbed a hand over his face. He shouldn’t respond.
Five minutes later, he’d thumbed out several responses that ranged in tone from feigned indifference to righteous anger. He didn’t send any of them, though. Not before he got another text from Lark.
Lark
I can see you typing
Fuck. He’d stupidly forgotten Lark’s habit of watching and waiting for a response.
Lark
You better pick up
Quin was confused before his phone went off in his hand. He flinched and declined the call. It didn’t take Lark long to message again.
Lark
Answer me, Daddy
Quin turned his phone off. He knew that if he didn’t, Lark would keep calling until he got what he wanted. One night, when Quin had gone out with Sage to celebrate their rugby team winning, he’d woken up to fifty-four missed calls.
Fifty-four.
Quin hadn’t even done anything but have a few too many beers and pass out on Sage’s sofa, and he had kept Lark in the loop all night until then.
Regardless, Quin had grovelled for days before Lark forgave him.
Quin needed to stop doing things he had to apologise for. At least Kit had accepted his gesture.
Only time would tell if their fragile peace lasted, however.