Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
FLORENCE
Quinn is waiting at the bandstand when I walk down to the harbour front.
I’ve barely let him out of my sight since he got discharged, but I wanted tonight to be perfect and so I had to dash off and do a little bit of preparation.
After all, if tomorrow goes as planned, we’ll have forever to spend time with each other. We don’t need to rush.
It’s a little after midnight and there are still a few people dotted about, mostly drunk or in charge of a drunk. There’s a small group around the side of the bandstand pulling off surprisingly good dance moves for their level of intoxication, but Quinn isn’t watching them.
He’s watching me.
I’ve felt his eyes on me from the moment he came into view, like he knew I’d seen him. That I was here. He breaks into a grin as I jog up the stone steps, reaching out for me and pulling me to stand between his legs.
‘Hi,’ he says, his hands coming to rest on my hips, pulling me into him.
I grin and lean in to kiss him. ‘Hi.’
It’s only been a couple of hours since I left his flat, but the butterflies that erupt in my stomach at the feeling of his lips on mine don’t seem to know that.
I’m tempted to pull him back in for a kiss, to mould myself around him on the bandstand wall, but the group of drunks have already started looking our way and wolf-whistling, so it’s probably about time we make a move.
‘You ready?’ I ask, and then I hold my hand out for him. He takes it in his and pulls himself to his feet. I notice he’s moving more easily now, as though the discomfort in his hip is fading more with every day that passes.
‘Always,’ he says as he gives my hand a squeeze, but I don’t miss the note of anxiety that tightens his voice. He’s scared about tomorrow, I know. I am too.
Elias is heading back off on tour on a late flight tomorrow, so we’ve planned for him to turn Quinn in the afternoon, before he goes.
Which makes this Quinn’s last night of being human. And I know exactly how I want to help him mark the occasion.
I lead him up through the Whalebone Arch and along the top of the West Cliff.
It’s been a proper summer’s day, bright and sticky-hot, and the night is perfect too – clear and mild with a light breeze coming off the sea.
There’s that familiar sea-salt scent in the air, but there’s something else too, something like cut grass or flowers in bloom.
We find a patch of grass near the cliff edge, sheltered a little by the dry-stone wall that runs almost perpendicular to the shore. I reach back for the picnic blanket tucked into the side pocket of my bag and flick it out onto the grass with a flourish.
‘Romantic,’ he says. I can hear the smile in his voice and it makes me feel like I’m ten feet tall.
‘Of course.’ I use the bag to weigh the nearest corner of the blanket down, which seems to be all it needs to stay put. ‘Also, I’m guessing that you, unlike me, are not impervious to insect bites.’
‘No,’ he says, and then his mouth quirks into a grin. ‘Not yet.’
There’s a leap in my chest as he says it, my excitement about his impending immortality tempered a little by my underlying anxiety.
I don’t think I’ll stop worrying until it’s done and he’s ok.
But I don’t share that part with him. I don’t want to give him any reason to think everything won’t be perfect.
I sit cross-legged on one side of the blanket and gesture at the space next to me, which he lowers himself down into, more cautiously than I’m used to from him. I wait until he gets comfortable and then I start unpacking things from my bag.
He watches me carefully as I set four LED candles around the edges of the blanket, switching them on as I go.
Between the middle two I set a small vase of fake flowers, and then I put a plate in front of him, topped with a red and black gingham napkin.
When I look back up at him, there’s an expression on his face I can’t decipher.
‘You made me a picnic?’ he asks, his voice only just audible over the sound of the waves.
‘Yeah.’ I look away, out over the sea, suddenly second-guessing myself. ‘You said you’d miss food, so…’ I trail off, doubt nagging at me. ‘Is it ok?’
He smiles softly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
I look back up at him, realising as I do that the emotion I heard in his voice wasn’t a bad thing. He seems touched.
Our eyes meet, the warmth of the flickering fake candlelight making his seem more green than usual. The eye contact makes something swell in my chest, like it always does.
He hums a laugh, a small breath of a thing. It sounds like happiness rather than humour. ‘What’s on the menu?’ he asks.
Reaching back into the bag, I pull out the food I brought for him: ham sandwiches, tiny scotch eggs, a pork pie, and fancy crisps from the nice shop in town. I can’t take credit for the selection – that was all Sammi – but in my defence, I rarely eat human food these days.
The garlic bread though, that was all me. I hear his breath catch as he spots it.
‘You didn’t!’
I’m going to hate myself when I want to kiss him later, but seeing the joy on his face right now, I know it’s worth it. He grabs the slice I packed for him and brings it under his nose, inhaling deeply.
‘This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,’ he says, gazing at the overhyped toast like it’s the answer to all his prayers. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to brush my teeth so hard later.’
I snort a laugh. ‘You’d better.’
And then he takes a bite and the noise that comes out of his mouth as he does is absolutely filthy. I’m not ashamed to admit that I watch him eat the entire thing and I don’t even bother trying to hide my hunger. Not for the garlic bread, obviously. For him.
He notices me watching as he licks his fingers clean and suddenly his eyes fly open ‘I almost forgot,’ he says, reaching into his pocket. ‘I brought a little something for you.’
He pulls out a small sandwich bag with four full vials of blood inside it, and puts it in front of me, looking away quickly.
I’m so surprised that I laugh. ‘Where did you get these?’
‘Cam.’ He grins, his gaze locked on my eyes, maybe so it can’t inadvertently drop down to the blood.
‘He was at the bar earlier, and when I said I was on my way to meet you, he reached into his pocket and pulled these out.’ His smile drops, brow furrowing.
‘Does he just have blood on him at all times?’
That makes me laugh again. ‘I think he might.’
Quinn smiles back, but I notice the tug in his expression, the pounding of his pulse in his temples. I scoop the bag of samples and stuff it into my bag where he doesn’t have to see it.
‘I can have these later.’
But that makes his frown deepen. ‘I don’t mind if you—’
‘It’s ok,’ I interrupt gently. ‘I don’t want you to, you know…’
He leans forwards so I’m forced to meet his eyes. ‘I mean it. It’s something I need to get used to.’ His non-garlicky hand goes to my cheek, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth. ‘I want to know you, even if it’s scary.’
I frown. ‘Are you sure? We can ease in.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Ok.’ I fish one of the vials out of the bag and read the tiny text on the label. ‘Collins, Jennifer.’ I hold the tube aloft for a moment before screwing off the top. ‘Cheers, Jen,’ I mutter, and I down it in one.
And then he gags. He gags so hard that I’m a little afraid he’s going to pass out again. I immediately regret doing it in front of him, no matter what he said, and I shove the sandwich bag deep down at the very bottom of my bag.
‘Quinn,’ I start, already spiralling. A sudden wave of concern hits me, the reality of this life suddenly very vivid before us. He holds out a hand, breathing deeply, and when he’s got the retching situation under control he does something I don’t expect.
He smiles.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he says, that dimple popping in his cheek, ‘but you don’t need to worry.’
I take a steadying breath. ‘I just want to make sure you’re making the right choice for you. I know you can be—’
‘An idiot?’ he asks, his smile not dropping even a little. But that’s the last thing I was going to say. He says this about himself a lot, but the Quinn I know is far from an idiot.
‘Impulsive, I was going to say.’ I reach for him, trailing my fingers under his jaw, where I can feel his pulse. ‘I know there’s pressure with Elias’s schedule and your symptoms, but if you’re anything less than completely sure, we could wait.’
His smile drops, brows pinching again. He looks as serious as I’ve ever seen him.
‘Florence.’
‘It’s just such a big decision,’ I blurt out, ‘and I hate the idea that you might feel pressured. Like you might just be doing it for me.’
He holds up a hand to stop me. ‘Florence,’ he says again, more weight to it this time.
‘Of course I’m doing it for you.’ His smile returns, a little softer now, and when he speaks, it’s careful, like he’s thought through every word.
‘Of course I am. For you, for us, for me. It’s all the same now.
’ He reaches a hand for my face again and strokes my cheek reverently. ‘You’re an essential part of it all.’
I’m suddenly hit with a wave of emotion so intense that I’m not sure how to deal with it. Tears blur my vision, as something soars in my chest.
‘Really?’ I manage.
Quinn’s fingers move to cup my jaw. ‘Really.’ He takes a deep breath, and I hear it catch. ‘I’m a better me when I’m with you.’
I sob out a little laugh and lean my face into his hand, overwhelmed by the idea that my happily ever after is within reach after all these years.
‘Ok?’ he asks.
‘Ok.’ I say it like a promise, because it feels like one.
Quinn takes another breath, deep and unsteady, and his thumb drags a slow path across my lips before it drops, and he lightly pinches my chin.
‘I’m also a better me when I’m not hungry. Just saying.’
And with that, all the tension and fear and uncertainty of the last few days escape me in my roughest, messiest laugh.
It’s a few seconds before I can compose myself, but when I do, I look over to see him watching me with an expression of absolute adoration on his face.
It’s a look of such wonder that I think it changes something fundamental in me.
He’s mine, I think. My home. My everything.
But I don’t tell him that. Not yet. Instead, I wipe my eyes and slap him on the shoulder.
‘Eat,’ I say, my voice thick with every unspoken feeling inside me. ‘Eat your godforsaken food, and after you do, I’m taking you home, scrubbing every last molecule of that garlic off you, and dragging you to bed.’
His eyes blaze, a knowing smirk pulling at his lips. I want to kiss him, to bury my face into his neck, where I can feel his heartbeat. I want to memorise the rhythm of it and keep it with me long after it has stopped.
I want everything, and I want it with him. Only him.
Always.