* * *
For the next couple of weeks, whenever I take my morning walks, he’s outside. Almost as if he’s waiting for me. We talk, and sometimes I buy a coffee to take away, though I enjoy the aroma more than the taste. One morning, as he makes my coffee, I notice something. His shirtsleeves are rolled up past his elbows, his muscular forearms bare. He has no Raven mark. He doesn’t have a blood port, either. Like me.
‘Here it is.’ He puts my finished coffee on the counter. ‘Your usual, mademoiselle.’ I like how he looks when he smiles. I like how he looks all the time, really, but my heart, still bruised, cannot take it any further.
‘Thank you.’ I dig in my pocket for coins.
‘This one’s on me.’ He slides the cup forward.
‘Really? I mean, thank you.’
‘On one condition,’ he goes on. I raise my eyebrows. ‘Will you go out with me? For a walk, one morning?’
My mouth drops open. His cheeks are pink and he looks down.
‘Sure. I mean, that would be nice.’ It would be nice, actually. I ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
‘Really?’ His face lights up. ‘How would tomorrow be? I can pick you up at seven?’
I frown. ‘I thought you said morning.’
‘I did – 7 a.m., if that’s okay with you. I mean, you did say you liked early, didn’t you?’ He sounds worried. I don’t want him to be.
‘Seven is fine. I’m, er, just around the corner. The little white house.’
‘See you then.’ He hands my coffee to me. Our fingers touch and I blush.
* * *
The next morning I’m up early. I call my mother and speak to her, telling her I’m going for a walk with a friend. ‘Be careful,’ she says, her cool voice chiming down the phone. I can tell she’s pleased, though. I dress warmly, in fleecy leggings and a long jumper, my leather jacket over the top. I feel queasy, for some reason – it must be nerves, though I don’t know why I’m nervous. Still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, even once I’ve had peppermint tea.
Just past seven there’s a knock at the door. I open it to see Michael. He’s wearing a jumper too – black, the sleeves and neckline frayed – over dark jeans with chunky leather boots. His blond hair is pushed back, a faint scruff of stubble on his jawline. He looks… hot. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
‘Morning,’ he says.
‘Morning.’ I step outside, locking the door, my phone tucked in my jacket pocket with my keys. We start walking, our footsteps echoing in the pre-dawn quiet.
‘So where are we going?’
‘I thought we could walk on the beach.’ He takes my hand.
I flinch, then feel stupid. ‘Sorry.’
‘D’you want me to let go?’
I shake my head.
We turn the corner onto the promenade. The streetlights are still on, though a faint gleam on the horizon tells me dawn is coming soon. I’m still not used to the fact that I can be outside when it changes, the magic of night turning to day.
‘Do you think this is what it was like, back in the old days?’
‘Before the Rising?’ He grins, one eyebrow raised. ‘Maybe. It’s pretty peaceful, isn’t it?’
‘It’s lovely.’ It is.
We cross the road, taking the stairs down to the sand. It’s smooth and damp, our feet leaving faint indents as we walk towards the water, still holding hands. I like it, the warmth and roughness of his skin different. Waves crash and whisper against the shore, the endless song of the sea.
‘I love the sound of the ocean,’ I say. ‘I’ve never really spent much time near it.’
