I wonder what would have happened between us if we hadn’t slipped that day. Would we ever have talked like that?
We carry on until we get to the edge of the main road, when Amber pulls back, looking down at her incredibly small skirt. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
Maybe-Not-A-Complete-Asshole August shrugs off his coat, and though the spring air is warm, she wraps it around so it comes to mid-calf height, then doubtfully examines her tights.
“At least you’re white,” Shashi says, doing nothing to cover her tight jeans. “But we have to see this. Let them stare.”
Yet, perhaps unsurprisingly, once we’re inside, it’s Jon who steals most of the attention. He clearly thrives in the spotlight, loving the wondering eyes on him, and strikes up conversation with some bewildered locals who never heard of hairspray, and who, it seems, think all that jewellery is real.
He tells them he’s a time traveller from the future, a famous singer, and even if they don’t believe him, it’s a great yarn for the pub. Drinks are fast and copious, because August and I both know we’ll have to leave soon, whether that’s through closure of the bar or evaporation of this reality. And it’s not long before beers and bravado have Jon breaking into song, giving them all a life-changing rendition of ‘Bed of Roses.’
August’s head tilts towards me as he watches on. “Is that why you weren’t worried about us changing history? Because you knew that history was about to be wiped out?”
“Yeah.” Apparently, I’m not ever going to get over the guilt of lying to him. “I am sorry about that.”
August’s fingertips toy with the edge of my shirt. “And that’s why you looked sad too.”
“Did I?” I’d never have known he was thinking that, had he not said it.
“There was always a sadness about you. It drew me in. I wanted to fix it. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t see it there anymore.”
Lovely August. I’d do anything to kiss him right now. But I think Jon is enough of a shock for these people for one night.
That confidence in August’s eyes, in his words, is everything. To think I could have helped put that there. Just be being honest with him.
I think I might kiss him anyway. I think it’s worth?—
“Is he really your boyfriend?” It’s Asshole August, talking tomyAugust, interrupting what was about to be my best stupid mistake of the day.
“Who, Jon?” August’s had to follow the direction of his thumb to figure it out. “No. No, he was for a bit. But that’s done. Why?”
“Because… Because…” Evidently stumped for an explanation, he blusters out, “How does he sing like that?”
“It’s not his song,” I can’t help but interject.
Possibly a bad idea. I get a truly vicious glare for it before Asshole August storms off to sit several seats away from Jon, but close enough for Jon to know to start fiddling with his hair in response.
“Why is that August such an asshole?” I ask, watching him sit there like he’s not an actual assassin who tried to murder me.
“I don’t know…” August’s head drops to the side in mock study. “I think he’s kind of cute.”
“You do not?—”
A kiss, quick and frank, cuts me off.
I’m not sure anyone saw it. All eyes are on Jon. And for that, I’ve never been more thankful.
“Not as cute as you,” he whispers.
This man…
One kiss is not going to be enough.
Maybe it’s the beers. More likely it’s that he’s the kind of lovely people write operas about. Either way, I glance towards the back door as meaningfully as I can. “Out of ten, how bad is it if I sneak you away to a private room?”
