Rowan leans back into the booth, sipping on her pint. She sighs happily, her lips broadening in a smile as she grabs a chip. The moan of pleasure that come out of her when she bites down is barely decent.
“Fuck me,” she says around another chip, closing her eyes.
I stifle a groan of my own.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I’m done with attachments. With feelings. No exceptions.
I’m self-aware enough to know that anyone I drag into my mess of a life will take one look at the wreckage and run for the hills. Ma did. Da did. Violet did. And Rowan? There’s no reason to think Rowan will be any different.
The door opens, and a gust of cold air hits my face. I breathe it in with relief. Rowan’s eyes catch mine.
Fuck, but she’s beautiful. Her eyes brighter than ever, motes of gold dancing in the blue like light glinting off rippling waves. She’s wildflowers shooting life into spring, the hazy motes of a summer dawn.
“Priya!” she calls. “You came back! Want a chip?”
Priya and Lila shuffle to the table, Lila’s hands resting protectively on Priya’s shoulders.
“Yes, please.” Priya glances between our laden plates and the empty space.
“Ewan’s popped out for a second.” I point a thumb at the table. “But you should know he’s sorry for what he said. No one’s going to make you get up and play. Not if you don’t want to.”
Priya nods, still hovering.
“Come sit next to me,” Rowan pats the space beside her. “Orange and lemonade, is it? And have as many of my chips as you want. They’re really good!”
“Go on, honey.” Lila shoots Rowan a grateful smile.
The cellists finish with a grand crescendo and lumber off the stage to muted applause. Stavros jumps back on, bringing the microphone uncomfortably close to his mouth, as if he’s about to swallow it whole.
“Some more applause for Three’s A Crowd! And our next act up is Where Did the Sunshine Go, playing ‘Thank God She’s Dead’. Er, right.” He looks at the piece of paper in his hand again, and then at the act who are waiting to go on. I recognise them from the bar: three Goths who look like they’ve been teleported straight from Camden, standing out in the crowd like a sore – and quite bruised – thumb. “A hand for Where Did the Sunshine Go!”
The applause is lacklustre at best, and falters when the trio draw two flutes and a recorder from their cases. First cellists,now this? It takes every bit of willpower I have not to put my head in my hands as the first note squeaks out sharp.
Amid the screeching, Ewan returns with a fresh Red Bull, a packet of crisps, and a broad grin, which widens further when he sees me. I frown. What is he up to? But he slides into the seat without saying anything and slides the crisps towards Priya.
“What are these?” she asks.
“Monster Munch,” he says. “They’re my favourite. I wanted you to have them. Didn’t know if you’d ever tried them before…”
“Monster Munch?” Rowan leans over. “That seems a bit adventurous for a Scottish bar, doesn’t it?”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Rowan’s eyes spark with a wicked glint. “I knew that would rile you,” she says, making finger guns and pretending to blow them out.
Against my will, a corner of my mouth twitches.
“I saw that!” She points her finger guns at the tiny smile I couldn’t suppress. “Admit it. You think I’m funny.”
“Billy Connolly is funny. Cats playing keyboards are funny. You’re mildly amusing at best.”
“Uh huh. Andyou’rea terrible liar. But what do I care?” Rowan pretends to flick her hair and turns to Ewan. “Seriously though. There is no way the bar stocks those. Where did you get them? Who did you bribe?”
“Fine! I got them from my tent. Happy now?”
“But why?” Priya is struggling with the packet, pulling it this way and that, but failing to break the seal.
