Chapter 3
Chapter Three
QUINN
Isn’t it just exactly my luck that on the day I run into the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, two things would happen.
Firstly, that it would fall on the very day that my divorce was finally granted. And secondly, that when I met her, I’d have my arms full of toilet rolls.
I carried some toilet roll, for fuck’s sake. Not exactly Dirty Dancing, is it?
Anyway, maybe the universe has done me a favour. Maybe this whole thing is it trying to show me that I should probably steer clear of love for a while. I’ll be honest – I don’t have a particularly strong history of making good choices in relationships. I mean, I did end up here, divorced at thirty.
To be honest with you, it could have been worse. Robyn was actually the third woman I’ve proposed to in my life, so the fact that I only ended up making it official with one of them is somewhat of a blessing.
First there was Stella. In my defence, Stella was nice.
Maybe a little too nice, in fact. We ended up being engaged for almost six months, because she was too nice to tell me that she was still in love with her ex.
He sure as hell let me know he was still in love with her, though. His fists were very clear on that.
Next was Abby, who, in retrospect, might have been a rebound thing.
I remember almost nothing about our time together, other than that we fed off each other’s bad energy.
I proposed while steaming drunk, and we were engaged for all of seven hours until we woke up the next morning and realised it was a terrible idea.
By the time I actually made it down the aisle – or to the registry office, as it happened – with Robyn, I was determined to prove that I had the capacity to be a real grown-up.
A husband, no less, and not the stupid kid that most people thought I was.
Unfortunately, it turned out that I actually was a stupid kid.
We both were. And we made each other miserable for two long years before I finally tapped out.
Ironically, it was the end of the marriage that taught me that I had the capacity to be a real grown-up. Those months in the divorce trenches were absolute hell, but I treated Robyn with a grace that she very often did not deserve, and I walked away a better man.
A better man who is trying his best not to jump headfirst into any more relationships, no matter how pretty the woman who just accosted me in a hallway was.
But God, pretty isn’t even the right word for it. She was a vision there, all glossy brown hair and caramel-coloured eyes, a faint trace of freckles high up on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. She had the kind of beauty you might see in a painting, something not entirely real.
Weird that I obviously have some kind of family resemblance to her late fiancé, too. I always hated that I looked so much like my dad, given how terrible a person he proved himself to be. I sometimes wondered, in my darker moments, if that meant maybe I would turn out to be like him in other ways.
So it was kind of a relief to discover that I look like someone else in the family, too, maybe someone not quite as flawed. Someone decent.
He must have been, to deserve a woman like her.
I sigh, trudging into the tiny bathroom in the flat to stash away my contraband before anyone notices they’re missing. It’s not ordinarily my style, pinching toilet rolls, but hey, needs must. I had a late appointment so I couldn’t get to the shops before they closed.
I’ve not been feeling myself lately. Just small things, individually, but it was enough to make Emmy – one of the bartenders I work with – look at me with concerned eyes and make me promise to see a doctor.
The doctor wasn’t too concerned either, but said he wanted to rule a few things out.
So that was how I ended up with the night off and a 6pm appointment for a blood test.
I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just a few too many late nights. Or stress. Something like that.
The test itself, though? Well, that wasn’t exactly nothing.
It ended up taking three people to hold me down while I hyperventilated and fought, but they managed to get the samples they needed eventually.
And at least no one from my actual life was there to witness my humiliation.
I mean me, a full-grown adult, scared of a bit of blood. I’d never live it down.
I flop onto the sofa, but I can’t settle. I turn the TV on and then back off again. I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker but can’t decide what music to listen to. I amble to the fridge, hoping some delicious homemade food has magically appeared there. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it has not.
I’m just debating whether I should go for a run – something I have yet to do in the entirety of my thirty years of existence – when Sammi, our business manager, pokes her head around the door.
‘Quinn, come and meet Florence,’ she chirps, before disappearing from view. She’s only gone a few seconds before her head reappears and she adds, ‘She doesn’t date humans!’
Never a dull moment in this place.
‘Sam, I’m human,’ I say, like there’s a chance she might have forgotten that detail.
‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘So she won’t entertain you when you try to propose after knowing her for three days.’
Ok, harsh.
But not necessarily unfair.
It’s like this with Sammi, and with my boss, Bram.
The two of them own this place, and they took a chance on me when I was nothing but a clueless kid running from a bad past. I owe them everything, and so I put up with the occasional overbearing remark or meddling in my private life. I know they mean it with love.
‘Look,’ Sammi says, stepping fully into the room.
Her voice softens, which is quite a rarity for her.
‘I actually think you might be good for each other. She needs a friend and you need a distraction. It’s perfect.
’ Her smile, which was earnest a moment ago, shifts into a shit-eating grin.
‘And she’s been alive for, like, two centuries, so maybe she’ll have some great relationship tips she can pass on. ’
‘I hate you,’ I mumble, but I follow her anyway. Maybe whoever Florence is will take my mind off the beauty that I just met.
I just about hear Sammi muttering, ‘You love me,’ under her breath as we walk out of the flat, and the most annoying part is, it’s true.
I realise my stupidity about three seconds after I set foot in the bar.
It’s her.
Of course it’s her. ‘Doesn’t date humans’ should have been my clue there. I’m not sure why I didn’t make that connection. How many non-humans did I really think I would meet in one night?
Ok, fine, I didn’t make the connection because my brain was scrambled. She scrambled my brain. And now Sammi thinks she’d be good for me and she doesn’t date humans.
‘Quinn, this is Florence,’ Bram says as I approach, gesturing to the beautiful stranger, who’s sitting at the bar opposite him.
‘And you remember Cam?’ He nods at the older man sitting next to her that I vaguely remember meeting a week or two ago.
He was back in town after a long time away; said Elias had recommended he drop in.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a friend of Elias?
Back in town after a long absence? He’s not going to be human either, is he?
I take Cam’s outstretched hand and he shakes it enthusiastically, his palm cool against mine. Yup, definitely undead.
‘Good to see you again,’ he says, his grin so wide it takes over his whole face. He holds eye contact just a beat too long, and it genuinely makes me blush. I’m not even into guys that way, but this dude’s got game.
I shake off my awkwardness, and then I brace myself and look over at Florence.
I feel it the moment our eyes meet. It’s the same as it was in the corridor – that strange hum deep in my chest, a vibration that makes my breath catch.
I wonder if she might tell the others that we already met, but she doesn’t.
Just holds her hand out for me to shake, the slightest twinkle in her eye as she smiles.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say. It’s weak, in terms of opening lines, but it’s all I can manage. No one seems to notice, though, except maybe Cam, who’s considering me carefully.
‘Quinn?’ he asks, his greying eyebrows pulling together, like he’s trying to figure something out. ‘First name or surname?’
‘Surname,’ I say, ‘but it’s what most people call me.’
He nods, still looking at me with that same expression. ‘We knew some Quinns once upon a time,’ he muses. ‘You look like… Florence, doesn’t he look like—’
‘Josiah,’ she interrupts, with a nod. ‘He does, a little.’
I’m entirely unsure what to do in this situation. It’s clearly more than a little given the way she came at me earlier, but she’s giving no indication of that now. I decide to follow her lead and pretend that whole exchange never happened.
‘Maybe a distant relative,’ Cam says, and Florence nods again.
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Anyway,’ Cam singsongs, raising his glass of wine in a toast. ‘Here’s to being back in Whitby.’
Bram slides me a beer seamlessly and I take it with a smile, before raising my glass with the others and trying my best not to spend every last moment staring at Florence.
* * *
It’s almost kicking-out time before we’re alone again.
It’s Friday night, so by ‘alone’ I actually mean still surrounded by plenty of people.
But, just for the moment, no one’s listening to us.
Sammi’s deep in conversation with Cam, and Bram’s wife Lucy wandered in a little while ago, so he’s down the other end of the bar trying to pretend he’s not feeling her up.
I see my opportunity and I seize it.
‘So…’
Ok, so I don’t seize it very well.
Florence turns to me, a smile playing on her lips. ‘So.’