The evening sky seemed impossibly light, a hazy veil revealing not even a single star, pale with the promise of the season's first, and probably only, snow. The winter weather would be a welcome addition to their walk home, she thought to herself with her face tipped to the sky. A pleasant end to a busy week, at least.
And then there was the hope that a snowy Friday night might give way to a slow Saturday morning, what with the covered streets making it so there'd be no place to be before midday. Or at least, she hoped that might be the case.
She hoped the snow would mean John and Esme wouldn't be calling her over to theirs before the sun was up. The impending snow brought with it a smidgen of hope that John and Esme would spend their morning in, snuggled up with their lot, delaying their usual Saturday outing by a few hours at least. And as much as she loved the routine, she'd be happy to not have John Shelby greet her at his door before six in the morning with a cup of strong tea in one hand and a screaming infant in the other.
Less than six hours prior, she'd almost used the responsibility of sitting with the kids as her excuse to say no to Isiah's invitation in the first place, a justification to spend her night alone at home instead of at the loud, bustling pub. It was such an easy excuse. She'd relented only when Isiah reminded her how many times she'd turned them down lately and when he reminded her she'd be good for nothing by Saturday afternoon whether she went to the pub or not.
Isiah wasn't wrong. She was never quite sure if it was her or John's kids more in need of being put down for a nap by the time their parents arrived back. She always spent the rest of the day lounging about regardless. And she never drank much anyway, sipping slowly from a whiskey, maybe a second if she was thirsty or needed loosening.
Tonight she'd needed loosening, enough so that she still felt light, a steady hum ringing through her as Isiah walked her home. Whether or not the snow postponed her morning plans, allowing her a late lie-in, the impending snow meant she would sip her evening tea in a special kind of peace, allowing her mind to clear itself of the fog of alcohol as she looked out the window at the blanket of white steadily covering the dusty Birmingham lane she called home, the cobbled streets pure and clean and untouched while most of Small Heath lay bundled up in their beds, the rest of them still getting properly boozed up, unaware of the wintry weather or anything outside the walls of whatever pub they'd selected for the night.
"He's been after her for two weeks now," Isiah continued on with his report on Finn's latest romantic endeavors, something they hadn't been free to discuss at the pub, "a bit hopeless, really, but—"
She giggled as the first snowflake caught on her eyelashes, a second and third quickly following to melt against her warm cheeks.
The sound of her laughter cut Isiah off as he slowed his pace, turning to watch her twirl in the falling snow, his stomach clenching as he watched the unfettered glee on her face.
"Snow's a nice change, isn't it?" she said, tipping her head to look at him, his hands shoved into his pockets to spare his chilled fingertips.
It was better than the rain, Isiah supposed, but it was still bloody cold, especially at this time of night. He glanced up at the same sky she'd been watching for most of their journey and then he nodded towards the row of back-to-backs on either side of the lane. "Yeah, it'll be nice until they're all up and about muddying the streets."
She snorted. "Isiah," she whined, "must you always be such a—"
"I'm right," he interrupted. "You know I am."
She hummed, shrugging her shoulders as they got moving again. "You are right about our Finn, I suppose. A bit hopeless."
She idly wondered whether Isiah thought the same of her. She was over a year older than Finn with no prospects of the romantic sort. At least Finn made an effort. No one would say the same of her.
"Maybe you should've gone over, Siah. Help him catch the posh girl."
Isiah grinned as he glanced at her. "Yeah, and who would you entertain yourself with if I did that?"
Celia's name was on the tip of her tongue, but it was a wasted argument even though Celia was her closest confidant. The girls had only spoken a handful of words the entire night, wrapped up as she was with Michael these days, and even if Celia's attention hadn't happened to be directed elsewhere, Isiah rarely left her side if his pestering was enough to get her to the pub. It was simply the way of things between them. Isiah forged on before she could even suggest otherwise. "And what does our Finn need my help for anyway? Boy's a royal fucking Shelby prince, ain't he?"
She smiled at that bit of truth. Their dear friend was a Shelby boy, a title that afforded him an edge over most lads in Small Heath regardless of whether he knew how to wield the power or not. But there was another bit of truth that Isiah didn't always tout—not with her at least—but she knew it anyway.
He was a handsome boy, always had been, even when they were kids. It worked in Isiah's favor more often than not, but it also meant that the presence of one Isiah Jesus was of little benefit to his friends. His cheeky smile muddled things, and that was before he deigned to open his clever, ever so charming mouth.
Regardless of intentions, the only person Isiah helped in order to bring a girl home at the end of the night was Isiah.
She tried to remember the last time she'd walked herself home from the pub, or the last time it had been anyone other than Isiah escorting her for that matter, but nothing came to mind, not since she'd started working at the Shelby offices, at least.
They'd made a habit of it, slipping out during the sliver of time she's come to think of as the in-between, the time after homes were shut up for the night but before the pubs closed. The time seemed to belong only to them, like the quiet streets of Small Heath were theirs and theirs alone.
Isiah always made the offer to escort her at just the right time, the gesture always coming just before she'd been poised to stifle a stubborn yawn behind her hand, almost as if she were on some sort of schedule and Isiah had memorized it. Memorized her.
Not that memorizing her would be a terribly difficult thing to do. She wasn't an enigma like some girls, far from mysterious or intriguing like the girls Isiah usually chased after. She was a bit of routine to him. Easy. Steady. Consistent.
Her nights out at the Garrison were just as predictable as her days at the company offices, tucked away with correspondence letters and rows of accounting from eight in the morning onward, taking her lunch at the same time each day—enjoying the same sad meal, too—always having to be reminded to head home by someone at the day's end.
By Lizzie or Michael or Finn or Isiah, usually.
By Tommy Shelby or Polly Gray, on the far rarer occasions.
'Go on. Go enjoy your evening. Must be something you'd rather be doing.'
That's what they all said, but she found she liked the routine of work. She liked having something to keep her mind busy. She liked that it was predictable. Correcting words and grammar in the correspondence before it went out, tallying up the numbers at the bottom of the page. They were consistent things.
Safe.
Calculable.
Expected.
Comforting.
Like her, they didn't often hold many surprises.
Just like how things were with Isiah.
Routine.
Expected.
There was a certain cadence to their interactions—smirks and laughs shared at Finn's expense, one accepted invitation spared for every three of her declines for a night out with the boys at the pub—all of it the comforting balance of a friendship well-maintained and understood.
She knew their routine, knew him.
She'd done some memorizing too.
She could always be sure that Isiah would keep her company at the pub and predict her yawns, escorting her home before the whiskey glazed her eyes, and by the time she was tucked away behind a locked door, she knew Isiah would be back to the pub. She knew he would end his night with one of the girls sitting beside whatever girl Finn was sweet on for the night.
Tonight, she imagined it would be the brunette. The one who had been eyeing Isiah for half the night. The one he'd smiled back at.
In her mind, Isiah was a different person after he dropped her home or on the nights when she didn't venture out in the first place. It was almost like there was a side of him he didn't show her, a side that they both knew didn't quite fit into their routines. He showed up in the tender moments they both retreated from, the brushes of hands when he passed her drink or a turn of phrase with a particular form of charm.
But she knew Isiah didn't shy away from girls. He charmed relentlessly and got up to mischief. He always left with someone. He had his own pattern, his own little routine that didn't involve her.
"Well, she had pretty friends, at least. I'm sure you can take one of them—"
Isiah's feet skid on the cobblestone as he rounded on her, his eyes on hers, a smirk touching his lips as he watched her, her lips parted in surprise at his sudden closeness.
His hand brushed her waist before dipping into the pocket of her coat, his fingers fumbling around for her keys. "I've already got my hands full taking you home and putting you to bed, don't I?"
Isiah slipped his hand back out and dangled the ring in front of her, his eyebrows raised in wait of a response. Her mouth felt too dry for a rebuttal, her body still searing from the feel of his hand against her side, almost like she could feel his touch in every limb.
She cleared her throat to cover the betraying whimper released from her lips and snatched the keys from Isiah's hand, quickly moving around him to the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as she worked the key into the lock, struggling as Isiah settled leaning against the door frame beside her.
Part of her wondered if he could hear her heart beating so painfully hard in her chest, She couldn't imagine him not hearing it considering how quiet it was out on the lane—nothing between them but the crinkle of falling snow and the subtle scraping of her stubborn house key against the lock.
She huffed when the door finally gave way, stepping in and aside to let Isiah go first, another of their routines. She shifted out of her coat and slipped out of her shoes, watching as he moved about the flat, switching on the lights and surveying the small collection of rooms. He lingered in the living room with the couch between them as she finally stepped out of the hall and started tidying the space, readying herself for her evening in.
"Big plans this evening?" he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him, tugging a blanket from the back of the couch and reaching out for a book, which Isiah picked up first, holding it out for her to take.
He knew what she did once he left her alone just as well as she knew what he did once he made it back to the Garrison. She'd drink her tea and read her book and head to bed once her mind grew clear and her eyes grew tired though she imagined clarity might take a bit longer tonight. She was feeling muddled, something she'd like to blame on the whiskey though a part of her, the part that fluttered at meeting Isiah's eyes as she took the book into her hand knew very well it was more than that.
"Right, of course," she snorted as she cradled the novel, flipping idly through its pages. "The nice lad from down the way slips in just after you leave."
She'd expected a laugh out of it, her attempt at a little banter, her voyage into the unexpected, but when she turned to face him, Isiah's face was distinctly unreadable. She looked at the floor then, swallowing at the lump in her throat and internally smacking herself for the deviating words.
Isiah cleared his throat, finally steering them forward through her jumbled mess.
"Well, I supposed I should take my leave, then."
Back on course, she thought to herself, her head nodding without a conscious effort.
"Wouldn't want to leave the lad waiting out in the cold." Isiah's voice was teasing though the meter read as slow and meandering, a bit uncertain even if she was too distracted to hear the distinction. "And it's probably best to get him in before the snow comes. Wouldn't want to leave any footprints for the neighbors to find. You know how people talk."
She let the words settle between them, any chill left over from the walk home leeched from her body as heat flooded her instead, the warmth of embarrassment hot in every inch of her. Hotter even than the weight of Isiah's hand against her waist had left her as he sought her keys.
This was why she didn't play, why she left the deviations and forging of new paths to Isiah, happy enough to remain in her lane. This was why she kept to their routines, harder to muck things up that way.
"Right," Isiah said, stuffing his hands back in his pockets when the silence between them stretched beyond comfort and he grew certain she wasn't going to give him a response. "Well, I guess I should leave you to it, then. Get back to the pub and make sure our Finn doesn't hurt himself, eh?"
She forced herself to laugh, to meet his eye for a moment, to rebound with something familiar to them both.
"I'll walk you out," she said, dropping her book on the couch, moving toward Isiah and the hall that led to the front door.
She wasn't sure what it was—maybe the extra glass of whiskey at the pub or the lingering feel of Isiah's hand against her waist or the arresting feel of his eyes on her as she approached. Maybe it was a magic spell put on her by the unexpected snow—but without thinking, she deviated again, slipping in front of Isiah before he could reach the door.
Her hand closed over the cool metal of the knob and she waited, stuck somewhere in between her desire to keep to their routine and her desire to chase after the all-encompassing feeling that coursed through her veins, the one settled in the pit of her stomach and flooding her mind, the cold of the doorknob against her skin the only thing grounding her.
This was the part of the evening where she bid him goodnight. Where he parted from her with a smile and a bow of his head while he stood out on the walk, always reminding her to lock up after him. She'd roll her eyes and nod before closing the door.
She never knew Isiah waited outside every time, lingering on her threshold to hear the comforting sound of the lock clicking into place. The summation of their humble routine.
"Your lad will be wondering what we're up to if you don't open the door soon, love." Isiah kept his tone light, but tension still welled up in her body. She rolled her delicately covered shoulders, Isiah's eyes venturing up and down her back as he tried to read her.
"There's no lad," she mumbled, breathing deeply through her nose, her eyes closed, her teeth pinching the tip of her tongue as a few other words welled up inside her.
Isiah's voice sounded so close she imagined his lips were mere inches away from her ear when he responded, his body hovering just beside her, so close she could feel him.
"I know," he said, a lie, because while a part of him thought—hoped—her words had been nothing more than a put-on, there was a nagging part of Isiah that knew it could be true.
He'd made no move, retreating from his desire every time something surfaced within him, dismissing any of her movements as nothing more than friendship. It was easy enough to believe there could be someone other than him, someone other than the men in her novels.
"You gonna open the—?" Isiah stopped himself as she turned, setting her back against the door, eyes still squeezed shut.
"What if you didn't go back?"
Isiah wanted to see her eyes. He wanted her to repeat it. He wanted to hear it again to be sure. She squirmed against the door as the silence between them grew uncomfortable once again.
Isiah smirked when she finally opened her eyes. "You want me to stay?"
"Only if you…"
Isiah's hand caught her warm cheek, stopping her before she hid her face away from him in order to study the hardwood. "What do you want, eh?"
She hesitated for only a moment, her head leaning into the gentle caress of his hand for a cycle of steadying breaths before she reached a hand around the back of Isiah's neck to pull his lips to hers.
Isiah's hands found her waist, the same scorching fire from before burning through her as his fingers moved over the thin fabric of her dress.
"I want you to stay," she said, dropping the entrancing words into the desperate space between their kisses.
Isiah tugged her body to his, slipping a hand from her body just long enough to click the lock in place, a new summation to their humble routine. From now on, she would be the only girl Isiah Jesus ended up with at the end of the night.
