“I’ll look forward to that.”
“Me too.”
We make love slowly and have an unhurried shower and a lazy breakfast. We wrap up in jumpers, coats, hats, gloves, and scarves to brave the bracing sea breeze and cold drizzle as we amble around the abbey. We’re not the only ones daft enough to explore a ruin on the top of a cliff in November. Half a dozen others have decided it was a good idea too. We take photos of the abbey and goofy selfies of the two of us in various parts of it. I point out some of the plants that grow on the grounds, and we agree to return in the summer when more flora and fauna can be seen.
Once we’re done, we walk hand in hand down the one hundred and ninety-nine steps to the old town. A quaint little shop selling Whitby jet occupies prime real estate at the bottom of the steps.
“We should look in there,” I say.
Jett nods. “Can we get food first? I’m starving. I think it must be all that sea air.”
“Probably.”
We stroll along cobbled streets, gazing into shop windows, until we find a fish-and-chip restaurant with good vegetarian options. Jett enjoys a huge piece of battered plaice while I have a vegetable burger. The portions of chips are so big we could have shared one between us. Jett asks for scraps, and he’s given a bowl full of the waste, cooked batter from the fryer, which he sprinkles over his chips.
We tell each other how our weeks have been and make plans for moving my things into Jett’s flat. Not that I have a huge amount. Apart from student accommodation, which was all fully furnished, I’ve never had my own place. My stomach quivers with excitement at the prospect of living with Jett, which makes it a little hard to eat all my food.
Afterwards, we amble through the newer part of the town and even make our way to the beach. Neither of us is brave enough to take our shoes and socks off and go paddling. Maybe in summer, not in November.
The more touristy things, like the Dracula experience, are closed for the winter, but we don’t want for things to do. Whitby is a beautiful town. We walk along the jetty and try to spot boats out at sea. Opportunistic seagulls beg for food, but they stop bothering us once they realise we don’t have any.
Eventually, we make our way back towards the abbey steps and pop into the shop selling Whitby jet. Most of it has been set into jewellery. I find a nice signet ring with a polished rectangle set into it that isn’t too expensive and call Jett over to look at it.
“You should add this to your collection, seeing as this is your stone.”
“My stone?”
“Yeah. Jet for Jett.”
Laughing, he tries the ring on his middle finger, but it’s too small.
“That’s a shame. I’ll ask if they’ve got one in a bigger size,” I say.
“No, don’t.” He stares at the ring, unblinking.
What’s going through his head? I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s figured out whatever has him puzzled. His concentration face is adorable. His brow is furrowed, and his bottom lip is sucked into his mouth.
After a few minutes, he looks at me with determination in his eyes. He nods, takes my left hand, and tugs my glove off. “Let me try it on you instead.”
I frown. “I don’t wear jewellery.”
“Humour me.”
“Umm. Okay.”
I expect him to try it on my middle or pointer fingers, but instead, he slides it onto my ring finger. My chest squeezes tight. Shit, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Still holding my hand, he stares into my eyes. “It’s a perfect fit.”
I swallow.
“How does it feel?”
“A little odd. I don’t—”
“Wear jewellery. I know.” He smiles. “Would you make an exception?”
“Jett—”
