Page 18 of Kiss Me Ever After
Her eyes flickered, glassy with tears again. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you call Bryony? Then we can decide what to do.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Okay.”
She disappeared into the back room, which I assumed was some kind of staff area. Snippets of her side of the conversation filtered into the kitchen.
I’m fine…
No, there’s not too much damage…
Yes, most of the cash in the till…
I’ll report it to the police…
No, there’s no need for you to come over…
A friend is here helping me…
It felt strange hearing Lennon describe me as a friend. Honestly, I thought we were anything but.
There was a short burst of silence, then I heard Lennon speaking to the police—the non-emergency number, I guessed. While she was giving them the information about what had happened, I glanced around the cafe. Until we knew if the police would come, I wasn’t sure whether to clean up, or even make a start getting the tables and chairs back to their rightful places. I didn’t enjoy feeling this helpless.
The sound of a door banging and being locked brought me back to the present. Although I knew she’d hate that I could hear, the sound of Lennon vomiting was clear. Apart from the small bout of crying, she’d been so strong. She’d been the one tending to me instead of breaking down.
After a few minutes, she came back into the kitchen. Her eyes were watery, and she had fixed her ponytail, a few blonde strands framing her face.
So fucking beautiful.
I put my hands on my hips. “What do we do now?” I brought my mind back to the matter in hand.
“Nothing. They’ll send someone around tomorrow to chat to Bryony and Si.” Lennon shrugged.
I stared at her, my eyes widening at her seemingly nonchalant approach. “Lennon, you were robbed at knifepoint! Why aren’t they coming right now?”
Lennon hung her head, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t tell them about the knife.”
“Why the fuck not?”
Her shoulders sagged. “I was scared to.”
In two steps, I closed the distance between us, standing close enough for the scent of her perfume to waft into my nostrils. I wanted to envelop her in my arms, to hold her and tell her everything would be fine, that she had nothing to be scared of. Before I could act on my impulse, she moved away. “As the boys have gone, the police suggested we take pictures of the damage for insurance purposes.” Her tone was even, but I could sense my closeness had affected her. “Bryony’s told me what to do.”
“But we can clean up, right?”
Lennon shook her head. “Bryony wants to see it for herself.” She went into the back room. I followed her. “You can go now, if you want,” she repeated.
I blew out a breath. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I’m not leaving you on your own.”
Her clear blue eyes fixed on mine, almost as if she were weighing up what would happen if I chose to go. Eventually, she shrugged. “Okay. Maybe you can help with getting some pictures?”
We spent a good thirty minutes making sure we had pictures of the damage from almost every angle imaginable. A lot of it was superficial, the food wastage would easily be cleaned up and they could replace the crockery. The till though had taken a hit, lying next to the refrigerator with splintered plastic and a cracked screen. At least the only physical damage to either of us was the cut on my arm; I’d weathered worse.
“Do you want me to send these to you?” I waved my phone at Lennon when we were done.
“Please.”
I fired up my messaging app. “What’s your number?”
