Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,65

I’m imagining a scene where I die horribly protecting Jack, and they both weep over my body, when I realise that he’s stopped and we’re standing outside a little bar.

“Here?”

He nods, and I follow him in. The bar is quiet inside, the only sound the low-voiced conversation of patrons and the Pretenders’ “2000 Miles” playing in the background. The walls are painted a butter yellow, and big mullioned windows look out over the canal. Jack ushers me to a table that’s tucked in a corner and vanishes off to get drinks. A couple of burly men sit nearby. They’re holding hands and smiling at each other, and I hope that’s a good omen.

I settle down in my chair and stare out the window. The night is drawing in, and the lamps have been lit. There hasn’t been any more snow, but the sky looks heavy with the promise of more to come.

When Jack comes back with the drinks, I’m so deep in my thoughts that I jump. He doesn’t seem any easier. He sits down and fiddles with the objects on the table, arranging the salt and pepper shakers neatly.

“What’s the matter?” I finally say. “Why are we here, Jack?”

He jumps at my abruptness. “I needed to talk to you.”

“About what?”

He bites his lip and runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the dark strands so they stand up around his face.

“Okay.” He stops and breathes in deeply, and his next words come out in a hurried rush. “I think I met someone who I really like.”

“What?” I croak. My stomach tumbles to the floor, and my heart follows it.

Well, of course, he’s met someone. He’s fucking gorgeous and kind and funny as well as being a bit dorky. It’s a winning combination.

I feel sick as, once again, all my silly little dreams shatter and fall away. This was obviously a mistake in his eyes. Something done on impulse. A holiday mistake. I’m younger than him, chaotic, and a geek. But I actually thought he wanted to be with me. I thought he was the one. I’m a fucking idiot. The thoughts run through my head in a nauseating mixture.

“Do you have a picture?” I croak and immediately want to staple my lips together.

He looks incredibly confused. Maybe he didn’t expect me to want to know anything about this new “someone.”

“Are you sure you need a picture?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course, I do,” I say hoarsely. I actually fucking really don’t. I bet he’s fucking gorgeous, I think sourly. He’ll be six foot four with ten-foot fucking muscles, and he’ll work for free in a donkey sanctuary while helping to save the world.

“Oh, okay,” he says slowly.

I plaster a smile on my face and reach for the phone he’s handing me, only to bobble it as I see the picture on the screen. It’s me in all my gawky glory posing on the boat earlier in the day. My hair is tangled, and my face is flushed. I look a complete mess.

“But... But that’s me,” I croak.

“I know.” He fiddles with his glass, turning it so it sparkles in the light. He looks up suddenly, catching my gaze, and then his eyes flit away like a hummingbird. He stares out at the canal. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. It’s just that I have really strong feelings for you, and I know it’s not what you expected, and I’m fine if you don’t feel the same. I just—”

“Oh my God, I need to fuck you so hard that our dicks fall off from overuse,” I say and then flush bright red, because it was far too loud and several conversations around us have come to an abrupt stop. “I mean… erm… We need to duck out of the pub,” I say in a loud and deliberate voice. “So we don’t miss dinner and—”

One of the men nearby leans forward. “I liked the first option better,” he says in a low, gruff voice. He’s a barrel-chested Daddy with a grey beard. He winks. “But if your dick falls off, boy, you’re doing it wrong.” He looks me up and down. “I’d be happy to instruct you.”

I gulp. “Thank you, sir.”

“Okay, we need to go,” Jack says, jumping to his feet and throwing me my coat. “Now.”

I follow him outside despondently. Why am I such a dork? Why didn’t I say something romantic? He’s probably going to say in a minute, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d shown you Andre’s picture.