Page 7 of Fireworks
“You’ve lived here before?” Nate’s brows furrowed beneath the rim of his beanie.
Warren rubbed at his five o’clock shadow, a lump forming in his throat as he considered whether to tell Nate about his past. As nice as the lad was, he didn’t need to know the whole backstory. Better to just keep it to himself for now. “Near here. Long time ago. Moved to Inverness when I was twelve.”
“What made you want to come back?” Nate’s tone was gentle, lightly nudging rather than fiercely prying. His kind nature wasn’t something Warren was used to: his mates in the city were typical Scotsmen, quick to take the piss at any opportunity and not ones to venture very deep into personal lives. Warren hadn’t minded most of the time, finding it helped him feel “normal”, able to blend in despite his past, something that had been impossible as a teenager. Back then, everyone seemed to have known his story, and he’d spent his high school years shrouded in a sympathy he couldn’t escape.
Nate’s laid-back attitude and patience made it easy to feel comfortable, which meant that Warren’s instinct to evade his past required twice as much work. Although it was easier when he remembered how crap it had been to be the poor lad everyone pitied. He wouldn’t be defined by it again, even if he was agonisingly close to the place that haunted him.
He cleared his throat, resting his elbows on the sticky bar and scooping up a few droplets of condensation on his glass. “Not sure, yet. Felt like a change.” He was quick to prise the attention away from himself. “What about you? Have you always lived in this neck of the woods?”
“Nah, I grew up near Fort William and after the training course, I just took the first job I could find. Anything to get away. Haven’t left Belbarrow since. Might be quiet here, but I’m happy enough.”
“Fair play.” A flash of colour in Warren’s periphery distracted him. A few stools down, a petite woman patiently waited to order while swirling a slice of lemon around the bottom of her otherwise empty glass with a paper straw. Her straight,shoulder-length hair reminded him of the bright gold centre of a flame. She was familiar, and not just because he spent most of his life near fire, though he couldn’t place why at first. Not until the memory of a silhouette with the same supple curves flickered through his mind. Hadn’t she been in the window of the bookshop this morning?
Hadn’t she beenwatchinghim?
He broke into a smirk, hoping he wasn’t wrong and that it was, in fact, her. With the shine of the low autumn sun hitting the bookstore, he’d only glimpsed a curvy silhouette with flashes of that pale amber hair. She’d been quick to disappear when he’d tried to meet her eye. For a moment, he’d considered taking a video, convinced it was an interpretive dance meant to draw in passersby.
Nate eclipsed his view of the woman, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry, mate. Am I getting in the way of your gawking?”
Warren scoffed. “I’m notgawking.”
“Uh-huh, sure. Listen, I’m gonna head back to my mates, but feel free to join us for a game of pool when you’re not too busy trying to pull every woman in town.”
He scowled over his shoulder as Nate wandered off, calling: “Excuse me for being sociable!”
The loud words drew the woman’s attention, though her glance flitted over him and then away again much too swiftly. Maybe he’d been wrong and she wasn’t interested. That seemed to be the theme of the evening.
He told himself not to look again, although with Nate gone, the empty stools between them made her presence hard to ignore.
As her drinks were sorted, the woman began to tap her credit card nervously against the bar, and without even meaning to, he turned to see what the noise was, only to find her staring at a water stain as though it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.
Warren felt the words tumble out of his mouth before his mind could catch up. Was he that starved of social contact – or was it her? “Your face is familiar. Have we met before?” Not the most suave or original conversation starter, but it was too late now.
Crimson seeped across her freckled cheeks, and she tucked her hair behind her ear before letting it fall loose again, deciding it was better used as a curtain to pull between them. His stomach warmed – with the beer, probably, but he’d admit it was a wee bit adorable. Most of the women he chatted to online or dated played it cool, keeping him on his toes. Fun at first, but it’d be nice to feel sparks from the get-go instead of both sides pretending not to care.
“Nope,” she stammered. “Don’t think so.”
There was a hint of a smile as she spoke, and Warren took it as an invitation to lean in a little, aware his voice sounded loud compared to the soft lilt of hers.
“You sure? I could have sworn I saw you in the bookstore recently.” He shifted stools, finally landing right beside her. Though he made sure not to infringe on her personal space, she still shuffled back like they were both the same poles of a magnet, repelling one another. Too much?
Well, he hoped not. She was effortlessly pretty, with a delicate point to her nose and her lips pink as roses, althoughslightly chapped. Everything about her seemed heart-shaped: her face, her mouth, even the dimple on her chin.
She stiffened, frosting over all at once. “You don’t look like somebody who reads.”
“Ouch!” The words struck a nerve. He could read if he wanted to. Very slowly. Growing up with undiagnosed dyslexia had left some of his teachers and classmates, even ex-employers, believing he was just lazy, or, worse, incapable. It had been a long time since he’d last had to defend himself against the accusation, but his vehemence arose like muscle memory now, making him forget that this was a stranger who couldn’t know about his struggles. “Is that your way of saying I look unintelligent?”
“No. Sorry.” She looked down at her hands. “That was rude. I didn’t mean it that way. I do work in the bookstore. It’s just that I’d have remembered if you’d come in.” Finally, she turned so that he could see all of her. Her eyes were the thing his focus snagged on: translucent pools in the dim light, the same colour as a loch under a stormy silver sky and framed by lashes only a shade darker than her hair. They’d likely be twice as beautiful in the sun, perhaps blue or green, changing with the light.
Jesus, was he already drunk?
Through the haze, he worked to register what she’d said. The bookstore. Ithadbeen her, then.
“Hmph.” He clamped down on a grin. “Strange. I was just in the café across the road this morning, and I had a weird feeling someone in the window opposite was watching me. Actually, a few someones.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders hunching with tension. “Isn’t it a bit conceited to assume they were watchingyou? Maybe they were admiring the trees. They’re very … yellow this time of year. Very autumny. Very nice to look at.”
She had to know he was joking, surely. A laugh was creeping its way up his throat, but he tried to force it down. “Autumny. Is that a real word?”
