Last night was great. Maybe see you later at the club,
Cupcake x
It takes me several attempts to write Cupcake but smile once I commit to it.
Chapter 12
Declan
When I wake up, I roll over to pull Anita’s seriously hot body against mine, but more than anything I want to inhale the glorious scent of her; pineapple, flowers and vanilla which I think is her shampoo. Whatever it is, I love it. Unfortunately, the other side of my bed is empty and cold. I allow myself a few seconds buried in the pillow she lay on and am pleased to find the faint essence of her still there before I get up. I only get as far as the kitchen to realise she has gone, and I regret not waking when she vacated my bed. I didn’t expect her to leave, not really, but then I’d told her previously that girls do not stay all night and they don’t, so maybe it’s for the best. Even I’m not convinced her not being here is for the best.
Reaching for the orange juice I notice a note on the fridge as the door silently closes.
“Oh, Cupcake,” I sigh as I read her words then grin at her use of Stud and the reference to my neighbour who seemed relieved when our shagging ended, allowing him to sleep. But this is what I wanted, for us to go to bed together and for her to leave. That is what I always want, so why do I feel like I have missed something?
Knowing Anita will be in the club today makes me happy and nervous at the same time. We still need to iron out the details of us and I also need to make sure that there won’t be any unpleasantness or cattiness when she runs into Laura and Lindy because the girls are innocent in this. Well, not innocent in the biblical sense but in so far as they have done nothing wrong in terms of Anita. Maybe when she’s back in her own kitchen things will be easier, for us both. When there is no crossover between our working and social lives.
I grab a shower and dress in jeans and a black t-shirt before throwing on boots then head for the door. With ideas of grabbing breakfast on the way, I leave and think about the busy day ahead I have. We are going to start having live bands playing on the slower nights, early, before the club fills and really gets going and today I am going to meet some prospective acts and listen to what they have to offer so I will need breakfast and honestly, I am bloody starving but strangely not tired, even after my lady kept me up for much of the night.
When I enter the club, I’m greeted with near silence. Just the sound of a radio somewhere breaks the quiet and much of the place is in darkness. I gave Nigel a set of keys and the alarm code because I do not want to be out of bed before lunchtime given the choice, especially not when I haven’t climbed into it until three or four in the morning which is quite normal for me, and I guess nightclub workers full stop. I follow the sound of some cheesy and bouncy tune all the way to the kitchen where I find Anita, alone. She has her back to the doorway where I stand and enjoy the view of her mixing something in a huge bowl that one arm seems to be wrapped around while her other hand holds a huge wooden spoon that she is using to mix the contents of the bowl. It looks like one hell of a workout she’s taking part in and as if to confirm that, she suddenly dumps the bowl down, heavily, with a loud thud and a mutteredbollocksas she flexes and stretches her mixing arm.
I am about to speak when a different song starts to play on the radio, Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls and as she sings louder, really throwing herself into it she begins to dance, a little wildly and quite badly. Clearly her and Liv don’t share their dance moves. Walking up behind her I wait until I am almost close enough to kiss her, but I don’t. I simply pull her to me, spinning her so that she can see me. She shrieks before looking mortified, right up to the point where I join in with her terrible singing and spin her around the kitchen until the atmosphere between us changes. It intensifies as we come to a standstill, staring at one another, waiting for the other to do something. But who, and what will it be?
“You have a horrible singing voice,” I tell her, causing her to laugh as a red blush creeps up her cheeks.
“I have a beautiful voice.” She protests, making me laugh too.
“Says who? Helen Keller?”
Her expression turns into one of outrage and then confusion. “Wasn’t she blind?”
I laugh again and with a shake of my head reply, “And deaf.”
“Oh.” Anita seems genuinely surprised by that nugget of information and then smacks my chest before repeating, “I have a beautiful voice. My mum told me.”
I am about to dispute this again and maybe even suggest that her mother is biased. Instead, I lower my lips towards hers but before I cover her mouth with mine, say, “I’m sorry I missed you leaving this morning.”
The atmosphere thickens again at my words, partly because of the possible meaning behind them. The truth is that what I am really saying is that I am sorry she didn’t wake me, so that I might have encouraged her to stay a while longer if not for breakfast, although.
“Dec, it’s fine. I know we didn’t really discuss things, but you had previously made your feelings on overnight guests crystal clear,” she says, and I consider opening up a discussion now, but we are interrupted by the sound of Nigel calling from the corridor, something about needing a hand with stuff from the van.
I move back so as not to cause any kind of confusion to things and then as Nigel appears behind me, I mouth to her,we’ll talk, laterand we will. I need her to know that last night wasn’t enough, will never be enough.
Anita
The sight of Dec was more welcome than I thought it might be after last night, not that it hadn’t been great. It had been, better than that but I did think that after I left, and he woke up alone that might be it for him. He was going to kiss me when my dad’s voice interrupted, kiss and goodness knows what else. I could hazard a guess as to exactly what would have followed a kiss. His words,we’ll talk, laterseemed genuine and I do want to talk to him. Not a full on, what are your intentions kind of talk because I know what his intentions are. Fun, no complications or repercussions. But a talk so that I know what being with him entails.
“Anita,” my dad calls as I stand holding a box of fresh salad, daydreaming so I miss him speaking to me.
“Hmm?” I wonder why he is looking so irritated.
“Love, the door.”
I look around and see that my position is preventing him closing the van door as he looks ready to collapse beneath a huge amount of flour and dried foods.
“Sorry.” I smile and with another flick of his head I finally move and lead him back into the kitchen where we unload the food he has just delivered.
We unpack in relative silence, not an uncomfortable one either. I have worked with him for almost four years and spent multiple years before that helping him in the kitchen, him and my mum. We know how the other works and we work like this, in silence if there is nothing to be said. I am just putting the last of the cream into the fridge when he does speak.
