“Leave it alone, Reeve,” I say softly just as the doorbell goes off again. Saved by the bell, literally.
His jaw clenches, but he says nothing as I walk away from him. A strangely familiar action between the two of us. If only life would bring us together instead of pulling us apart, but I’m starting to see that’s not how the universe works, especially when it comes to the two of us.
“So, that’s about everything,” I say, all three of us sitting back on the couch after the tour. Reeve eyes Cora up and down. Her black hair sits just past her shoulders while deep-brown lipstick lines her lips. Her wardrobe seems to consist of only black, but I have no problem with that. Her arms are lined with intricate colored tattoos I can’t fully make out, except I’m almost positive I see a dragon and some sort of Wiccan star. I may or may not have dabbled in witchcraft when I was fourteen. Thankfully Demon and she don’t seem to hate each other, so I’m counting that as a blessing.
“He doesn’t come with the house, right?” she says, eyeing Reeve with distaste. He seems taken aback, something unusual for Reeve, and I try to keep my laughter in check.
“Definitely not,” I confirm. He shoots a look my way, but I ignore him.
She nods. “Well, then, I guess I better go get the rest of my shit.”
“Do you need help?” I offer. She shakes her head before slipping out of the flat.
“She seems great,” I say aloud, mostly to piss off Reeve, whose eyes look as if they’re about to bulge out of his head.
“Emilia, the girl looks like she just came off the set of The Craft.”
I scoff. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Reeve. Anyway,” I say, standing, “I like her and that’s all that matters, and now that we know she isn’t going to kill me, you can go.”
He gawks at me. “I think I’m more worried now than I was before.”
I dismiss him with a glance before rushing to the door to help Cora with her things. It appears getting Reeve out of here is going to be more challenging than I expected.
It takes another two hours of convincing, but Reeve eventually leaves when he’s sure Cora isn’t going to murder me in my sleep. She sits with me while I have wine and she has a tequila, straight. It’s at this moment that I decide she’s great.
“So, you were born in London?” I ask between sips.
She nods. “Mum and Dad didn’t stay here long. Dad’s job kept us traveling around for years, hence my fucking weird accent.”
She says that as if it’s the strangest thing in the world, her muddled voice, but I think it’s great. Hints of American, Australian, and British all combined in one. She’s a hybrid. I’m sure if I had stayed in Edinburgh where I was born, I’d have my own little mix.
“I think it’s great,” I reply. She takes a gulp from the goblet of tequila she served herself. And yes, I literally mean a goblet, or maybe a chalice of some sort, but Lord knows it’s no ordinary wineglass.
“And no siblings?”
“None,” she tells me.
“I have an older brother. His name is Alistair, but everyone calls him Ali. You should come hang out with everyone at his bar, Saint Street, some time.”
She couldn’t look less thrilled with the idea, yet she nods, and despite her having an attitude I would usually be averse to, I can’t help but smile. Something about Cora makes me curious.
I keep asking her questions, her energy seeming to dim the longer I inquire about her life. It takes a while but I learn she is a pagan and studies Wicca, while working a finance job during the day. It’s clear to me her alone time is essential, something that won’t be an issue to me.
“So, I hope it won’t matter, but my girlfriend, Lara, lives in Newcastle, and she might come over every once in a while.”
I shake my head. “No problem here.”
“Great.” She looks around the room, clearly wanting to have some time to herself.
It isn’t long before the afternoon bleeds into the night and Cora and I call it. I have an early day tomorrow stocking the bar at Saint Street while Ali and Stana prep for their housewarming next week. It’s unlike Ali to take off work, but since Stana’s come into his life, he’s managed to realize work isn’t all life is about. Sometimes, love manages to slip its way inside too.
And then with thoughts of love comes stupid fucking Reeve Sawyer. I swear, he’s going to be the death of me. I sink into a restless sleep, plagued by the night we spent together and the horrible reaction that followed.
My mobile buzzes against the pub’s countertop, but I ignore it. There isn’t a long list of people it might be, and since I want to avoid them all, I take no action to answer it.
“Not gonna get that?” Lottie asks, peeking up from one of her textbooks.
“Can’t be arsed to keep up a conversation,” I tell her, redirecting my attention to the glass I’ve been cleaning for two whole minutes.
“But what if it’s Stana?”
“I’ve got a special ringtone for her. Always prepared.” I wink at Lottie, and she winks back.
“So, you wanna tell me what specific bloke we’re avoiding, or should I guess?”
Finally putting the sparkling glass down, I look to Lottie before playfully rolling my eyes.
“Who said anything about me avoiding a man? The last thing in the world I’m doing right now is dating, so that means no blokes to avoid.” It’s bullshit and we both know it, but I’m just not ready to tell Lottie, and therefore Stana, about what happened when Stana was in the States. I mean, it’s no secret between us girls I have feelings for Reeve. Had—I mean had feelings. Both girls know about my complete embarrassment when I threw myself at him when I was nineteen, but I’m not ready to add this to the pile.
Plus, Stana is finally in a great place with Ali, all loved up, and the last thing Lottie needs is to hear about man drama. Now I can be mad at Reeve all I want, but I thank my lucky stars I don’t know any men like Beck—cowardly, spineless, and a waste of space.
“Well, you know Stana and I are here when you want to talk about it,” Lottie tells me with a wink. “Plus, I’ve got all this pent-up anger from Beck, so I’m sure I could kick some ass if needed. I’ve been told I have excellent aim.”
I grin, happy to have this little spitfire by my side.
“You gals will be the first people I come to,” I confirm before realizing I’ve picked up the clean glass and begun polishing it again.
“You can’t ignore me forever, Emmy.” Reeve tosses a crisp into his mouth, eyeing me from across the bar. It’s at this moment, ten minutes to closing, no one else around, that I regret not letting our other bartender, Stella, close up when she offered. But no, I just had to send her home early, insisting I could do it.
“You think I’m ignoring you?” I ask, not bothering to make eye contact. Of course I’m ignoring him, the dumb-arse.
“Emilia.”
I don’t need to turn to know his face is blank, him not taking any of my bullshit. Too bad for him, I’ve had to put up with his crap for months, and he’s not getting off easily.