“No,” Kit cut in with. “Absolutely not. I’ve had quite enough of that.”
“Fine. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
Kit’s lips twitched. Quin took it as a win for Operation Apologise-to-Kit. Mabel figured out that Kit wouldn’t be giving her any more treats, so she came back to Quin’s side, demanding head scratches. He complied.
“Here,” Kit said, and threw the packet back at Quin. He caught them, tucking the packet back in a pocket.
Quin chose not to overstay his welcome this time. “Well, me and Mabel will get out of your hair.”
Kit raised an eyebrow but nodded. “I don’t suppose this will be the last I see of you?”
Quin put his hands over Mabel’s ears. “If you’re going to rebuke my offer of friendship, I’d rather you tell me now so that I can let Mabel down easy.”
“I couldn’t do such a thing to Mabel,” Kit agreed.
“She’d be devastated. How can you say no to those eyes?”
“Impossible,” Kit said, a smile ghosting over his lips. He hesitated, then added, “I ought to thank you for the flowers.”
Quin waved him off. “My pleasure.”
“Even if they’ll be dead in a few days, they’re nice.”
“I have it on good authority that they’ll last a few weeks if kept in water.”
“A fleeting moment,” Kit said, more to himself than Quin.
Quin wanted to leave before they ended up in a back and forth on the subject. He wasn’t sure how he could win such an argument when faced with someone who would be beautiful forever. “See you around, Kit.”
“I’m sure I will,” Kit said, gracing him with a short wave that Quin chose to interpret as non-sarcastic. “Goodbye, Quin.”
Quin had to restrain himself from punching the air with victory as he walked away.
Operation Apologise-to-Kit was a success. He didn’t lose his good mood on the drive home, humming along with music on the radio, and not even when he had to deal with Mabel doing her business on the street outside before they went into the house.
No, Quin’s good mood remained until his phone vibrated. It was late enough that he checked it immediately, worrying that, at this time of night, it would be an emergency. But no. It was Lark. And he was wasted, judging by the message that Quin could see from the preview.
It was like being drenched in cold water. The reminder of why he was here, why he was alone, why he’d up and moved with no plans.
Against his better judgement, Quin opened the message. And he wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t just a drunk text. It was a drunksext. Lark had—according to his own words—been feeling rather unfulfilled ever since Quin had left.
Quin scrubbed a hand over his face. He shouldn’t respond.
Five minutes later, he’d thumbed out several responses that ranged in tone from feigned indifference to righteous anger. Hedidn’t send any of them, though. Not before he got another text from Lark.
Lark
I can see you typing
Fuck. He’d stupidly forgotten Lark’s habit of watching and waiting for a response.
Lark
You better pick up
Quin was confused before his phone went off in his hand. He flinched and declined the call. It didn’t take Lark long to message again.
Lark
