Chapter 3 #2
I flip through my mental file of conversation starters, but my brain returns nothing. I’m normally so good at this. I’ve never struggled to talk to women, not once in my life, but around her I’m suddenly tongue-tied.
‘You don’t date humans,’ I finally blurt out, and I immediately feel regret creep up my throat. I wasn’t really planning to lead with that. Although now it’s out there I can’t deny that I am curious.
She holds my gaze for a moment longer than I can bear it. I almost panic-blurt something else, but I just about manage to hold it together.
‘No, I don’t,’ she says, carefully, and I feel the weight of the words she isn’t saying.
Not anymore.
‘Why?’
She ponders the question for a while before she finally says, ‘Bad experiences.’
There’s more to it, that much is obvious, but she’s not giving anything away, and I don’t blame her. Whoever I do or don’t resemble, I’m a stranger, and I know most people aren’t chronic oversharers like me.
So I don’t push it. Instead, I gasp in mock offence. ‘Hey, don’t tar us all with the same brush.’
She raises an eyebrow before a smile follows, and I might be imagining it, but I’m sure there’s a hint of relief in there. ‘I heard you’re not dating at the moment anyway.’
Oh yeah. That was definitely a thing I was supposed to be doing. I think I probably threw that whole idea out of the window the first time Florence smiled at me. But it’s been hours since my divorce was finalised. Hours.
And I could well do with remembering that.
‘No,’ I say ruefully. ‘Not for a little while. Who told you that?’
‘Bram.’
Of course he did.
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, her rosy lips pressing into the slightest smirk.
I realise I’m staring a moment too late and she catches me in the act.
‘He said you jump blindly into relationships with anyone who shows the slightest bit of interest in you, and that those relationships invariably end up being – what were his exact words? – an absolute shit show.’
Fucking Bram, I could kill him. If he wasn’t already dead, obviously. And, more to the point, if he wasn’t absolutely on the fucking money.
I mean, I have the divorce certificate pinned to my fridge that proves it.
When I chance a look back at Florence I find she’s studying me and her expression has changed completely. The smirk is gone and in its place is a different smile, something warm and quiet and understanding. ‘Sounds like you need to learn how to take things slowly,’ she says gently.
‘Yeah,’ I say. And God, isn’t that the truth.
So I don’t come out with a stupid line, the way I normally would. I don’t flirt shamelessly with her, even though every cell in my body is willing me to do just that.
‘I heard you need a friend,’ I say instead.
She sits up straight on her stool, smoothing pale hands over her floral skirt. It’s ridden up to mid-thigh on one side, and I try my hardest not to trace the line of it with my eyes.
‘You heard right,’ she says. ‘Since everyone I once knew in Whitby is dead.’ She traces a finger down her glass, her nails painted the same deep red as the wine inside. She doesn’t look at me, but I see her mouth pull into a soft smile. ‘Or undead.’
I huff a laugh. ‘I can see how that might limit your social circle.’
‘It’s a pain in the neck,’ she deadpans, and it makes me laugh again, more loudly this time. ‘Vampire jokes,’ she says with an apologetic shrug.
I nod sagely. ‘They suck.’
This time it’s her that laughs and the sound of it catches me off guard. I imagined she’d have a pretty, delicate laugh, but it’s a rough mess of a thing – part wheeze, part hoot. I’m pretty sure she snorts at the end.
I’ve never seen anything more attractive in my entire life.
And that’s the moment I realise what I’m doing. I’ve been officially free of my last ill-advised relationship for less than twelve hours and here I am, already trying to screw myself over. Florence might be so beautiful that it makes my chest physically ache, but God, I’m a better person than that.
Slightly.
I’m a slightly better person than that. Probably.
I like her, but nothing can happen.
So I shove down all my warm, wobbly feelings, and hit her with my brightest smile. ‘I could be your friend,’ I say. ‘If it’s not too weird with the whole dead-fiancé doppelg?nger thing.’
She looks at me, her eyes still a little watery from her laugh, and her lips curl into a small smile. ‘I’m into weird.’
‘Me too.’
‘You want to be my friend?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I do.’
‘You’re not going to fall in love with me, are you?’ she asks, that thread of humour back in her voice, and it puts a big, stupid smile on my face.
‘I mean, probably,’ I say, with a shrug. ‘But I’ll keep it to myself.’
She hums an almost-laugh, her golden-brown eyes gleaming in the warm light of the bar. ‘I can live with that.’
‘Ok,’ I say around a yawn. ‘It’s been a long day, so I’m going to turn in.’ I hop off my stool, leaning a hip against the bar and holding out my hand again. She takes it in hers, her skin cool against mine. ‘I’ll see you around, buddy.’
I’m not sure buddy is the right choice here, but it’s out there now, so buddy it is. And she doesn’t seem thrown by it, just smiles and sweeps a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll be around,’ she says, with a smile.
And as I walk back into my flat, I spot the divorce certificate stuck to the fridge with a Whitby Abbey magnet and for the first time in a while, I feel a little bit proud of myself.
I finally made a good choice.
Maybe Florence is a good influence on me.