Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
July
Hero jogs the familiar streets of her hometown. Overhead, the sky is a haze of silver clouds, a salt breeze rifles through her ponytail, cooling her face. She tries and fails to keep her thoughts from straying to John and how she humiliated herself at Revellers a week ago.
She is horrified with her own behaviour, assaulting him like that. She wonders if he's told anyone; she hasn't heard anything. Margaret has invited her out several times since that night but Hero has declined, claiming she is busy helping at her family's restaurant — which she then does to alleviate her guilt. She doesn't feel good about avoiding her oldest and dearest friend, but with Margaret there is a risk of Borachio and with him being John's friend there is no telling what he knows or what he will report back or even if John will be there himself. Hero cannot bear to face him again, though she desperately wants to apologise.
She reaches the beach, jogging along the sand. Seagulls flock the shore picking at the shells that have washed in with the tide. There are a few people scattered along the beach, not in the same droves as when the sun shines, but enough to keep the lifeguards watchful. She sees people walking with dogs and children. On the tumultuous waves, those whom this weather attracts are out on their boards.
Hero slows, watching the windsurfers, transfixed by the dance of sails and the surfers' control, how they harness the elements riding wind and sea. Mesmerised by the sport, she doesn't notice a couple of the surfers dragging their boards in until she almost collides with them.
"Excuse me!" She yelps at the same time as the surfer does, dodging out of each other's path.
"Hero?"
Her head whips around. It can't be. She blinks. She must be dreaming. There is John standing before her dressed in a skin-tight wetsuit. She stiffens, pulse fluttering like a bird desperate to flee. Her cheeks burn with the lash of the wind.
"John…" Her eyes drag over his form, darting to the board he had been hauling in-land. "I didn't know you surfed."
She hopes he understands from this that she isn't stalking him. She had no idea he would be here.
"Yeah, since I was a kid." He casts a neutral gaze over her running gear. "Out for a run?"
She nods, fingers twisting into the sleeves of her fleece as the wind batters her back.
"Are you—"
"I'm sorry!" She blurts at the same time. "Sorry. Just, I need to apologise. My behaviour at Revellers was appalling. I shouldn't have shouted at you — or — or kissed you. I — You were right — I was… a little drunk, and — and overwhelmed with — everything. Running into you, realising that we — before — and then everything with Claudio and that — that creep at the bar. It doesn't excuse me a-assaulting you but I really am sorry, John. I promise I'll never come near you again if you wish."
"Hero. Breathe." John cuts off her rambling. "You caught me off-guard, I'll admit. But I'm not mad."
She inhales a trembling breath. "You're not?"
He rakes his hand through his damp locks then points to the waterfront. "The café over there, Tempest in a Teapot. Meet me there in fifteen minutes. I need to change into dry clothes. Then we can have a proper conversation."
Hero blinks rapidly, loose strands of hair whipping into her vision. "Um — um — okay."
John considers her, looking as if he is thinking of saying more but then he just nods. "See you there."
He moves on with his board, hauling it into storage. Hero takes off down the beach, heart thumping, thoughts circling in her head like gulls, squawking over each other. What does a proper conversation with John involve? He said he wasn't mad, that doesn't mean he forgives her. But he wouldn't have asked her to the café if he wanted to avoid her. What if he was just trying to get rid of her and she'll be waiting there but he will never show. What if… what if…?
Hero is shaking as she enters Tempest in a Teapot; her skin prickles with the shock of leaving the wind for the warm. She is familiar with the little café, decorated in seashells and marine blues. It is not full but lots of people have come in for brunch. She smiles at the woman at the counter who greets her and settles at a small table next to the bookshelf, casting an eye over the titles in an attempt to occupy herself. She still has seven minutes until John's promised arrival, but she might implode before then.
Her breath catches as she spies a copy of Georgette Heyer's Friday's Child wedged among the books and reaches for it. Her pulse descends, divots forming in her cheeks as she reads the opening passages so well-known to her. So absorbed is she that she startles when the chair across from her is pulled out and John slides into it. He has changed into a simple sweatshirt that looks unfairly good on him.
"Good book?"
"One of my favourites." She smiles, despite the swoop of feathers in her stomach, closing the book and presenting it to him. "I'm named after its heroine."
He reads the title. "What's the story?"
His interest surprises Hero and she waves a hand nervously. "It's a romantic comedy set in the Regency era… um… a sort of marriage of convenience turned farce."
"Huh."
She tucks a curl behind her ear. "I'm afraid my own copy is in sadder shape than this. It was my mother's before mine. She would read it to me when I was a child."
John nods. "Mine would do the same, but more Treasure Island and the Lord of the Rings."
"Oh I love those stories. My uncle read the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy to me. He used to put on voices."
"Let me guess, Arwen was your favourite?"
She nods shyly. "I adored her and Aragon. I dressed up as her once for World Book Day; Beatrice was Eowyn."
The corner of John's mouth twitches, then he glances towards the counter. "Do you know what you would like to drink?"
"Oh, you don't need to do that. I mean… um… I'll pay. As… um… as an apology."
He shakes his head. "It's fine."
"Please. It would ease my conscience."
He folds his arms on the table, leaning forwards. "Between the two of us, I have more to make-up for… after what I did to you in school… I was an asshole.
Hero gapes. Somehow she never imagined their next encounter would result in him apologising to her.
He sighs, staring at the salt and pepper pots shaped like lighthouses. "I'm not good with words…"
She waits, thoughts growing in mania as the seconds tick by.
At last he continues. "...I should say this before we discuss anything else… I was an asshole and… I am sorry."
Hero gasps, those simple words unlocking something in her that she hadn't realised was caged.
John's words come slow and strained like overgrown weeds he is having to fight to rip out. "What I did to you… was fucked-up. You didn't deserve it. I should have dealt with Claudio directly instead of going through you. It was stupid and cruel." He rakes his hand through his hair. "And… I behaved like the exact same dick when I used you the other day to piss off Claudio. I'm surprised you didn't slap me. You had every right to."
Hero shakes her head because she would never hit someone like that. She looks at him. His face flickers as he meets her gaze, looking for a moment like his younger self, far more vulnerable than she ever knew him. She used to blame him for the fractures in her otherwise perfect relationship with Claudio, his jealous temper and suspicious mind. She realises now that her relationship with Claudio was never perfect.
She exhales. "I will have a matcha tea, please."
John's brow furrows and then his face clears, first with realisation then relief. His mouth quirks, a dimple appearing in his cheek making her thoughts stutter. He rises, heading to the counter. Over the thrumming of her pulse, she hears him place her order and a black coffee for himself. By the time he returns, she has worked herself back up to the same nervous state as when she first arrived.
He places their drinks on the table, reclaiming his seat.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
He nods, silence settling between them. Hero busies herself, blowing on her tea as he stirs his coffee. The chatter of the other customers flows around them.
"So… did…" She finds herself clasping for something to say. "Did anything else happen after my dramatic exit from Revellers?"
John shrugs. "I don't know. I left after you did."
Hero gulps her tea too fast, scalding her throat. "But…" She gasps, attempting to wrangle her tongue but it has taken on a life of its own, "...what about Rosaline?"
She winces at the question, wishing she could stuff it back into her mouth.
John's eyes are as black as the coffee that swirls in his cup. "What about her?"
"You were…" Her cheeks burn like the inside of her mouth, frustrated at him making her say it. "...talking with her all night."
"She was talking to me. I… wasn't interested."
"You weren't… interested?" Hero doesn't know why this revelation fizzes through her like she has gorged herself on popping candy.
"I tried to make it clear to her, but… I'm bad at that kind of thing."
Hero will blame insanity and the fact that her brain feels like marzipan for her next words. "You weren't bad at it… when we… when we met before… at the… uh… um…"
He is staring at her with those dark, steaming eyes. "At The Ducat." She nods. "That was different. I wanted your attention."
Sherbet courses through her veins, sugar mice scratch in her stomach. "You didn't know who I was."
His face shifts and then he is leaning back, the spell broken. "I didn't."
Hero's bottom lip trembles and she bites into it, hands gripping her teacup. "I… I didn't recognise you either."
His mouth twists. "Yes."
Hero's skin feels stretched like hot toffee. She wants to say something but doesn't know what, her tongue clotted and silent.
He drums his fingers against his coffee mug, glancing towards the bookshelf. His fingers still and then he looks at Hero, her breath catches.
"If I'd realised who you were… I never would have kissed you…"
Hero's spine goes rigid, tea sloshing onto the table before she rights the cup. Her face blazes with mortification and she is about to jump to her feet when he continues.
"Not without apologising first."
She stills, gawking at him.
He stares back at her, looking just as alarmed as her by his words but also determined. "When I flirted with you... during the match… it… it wasn't just strategic. I wanted your attention… I still do."
Hero tries to swallow air but nothing seems to be reaching her lungs. "We should leave."
"If that's your polite way of telling me to piss off…"
She shakes her head, her voice little more than a squeak. "I can't… have this conversation here… in front of… all these people."
John glances at the rest of the café. Though no one appears invested in their conversation, there is little room for privacy. He nods and raises his mug. Hero downs her tea, then regrets it.
"I'll be right back."
She dashes off to the bathroom, her whole body buzzing like a sugar eruption. When she returns, John is still seated at the table and she feels a surge of relief. As she approaches, she realises he is reading the first pages of Friday's Child and stutters to a halt.
He looks up. "Didn't escape out the window then."
"There's no window."
His mouth tugs upwards and he slides the book back onto the shelf as if it were the most casual thing. She doesn't call him out, perhaps because her blood has turned to syrup. They leave the café, the wind embracing them and amble towards the beach for lack of a better direction.
On the sands, Hero quickens her pace, trying to release some of her anxious energy. She turns to John, spitting out the strands of hair that the wind blows into her face. "What did you mean; you still want my attention?"
John has his hands in his pockets, unmoved by the battering elements as he walks beside her. "It's not complicated, even if our history is. I didn't mind when you kissed me. If you wanted to, I'd like to do it again."
Hero stumbles over a dip in the sand, staring at him. He looks at her, far too nonchalant for her jackhammer-heart to cope with. She doesn't sense that he is insincere, but even so, she needs to be sure.
"This… This isn't a… a joke? You're not… You're not using me to get at… at Claudio a-again?" Even as she asks the question, she doesn't believe it, but she can hear Beatrice's voice in her ear warning her that people never change.
His expression hardens and she thinks, with a horrifying lurch, that she has offended him and he will leave now. Then his shoulders loosen and he exhales. "I deserve that. But, I really couldn't care less about Claudio. I meant what I said. But if you're not interested… we can forget I said anything…"
His composure fractures for just a split-second and this fleeting insecurity is enough to spur Hero into action. She reaches for him, hand latching in the sleeve of his sweatshirt so he knows she doesn't want him to leave.
"John… I…"
Before she can figure out what she is going to say, a heavy raindrop splashes onto her forehead, then another, and another. Maybe if they had been less distracted they would have seen the downpour approaching but now the rainstorm pounds upon them, drenching them in seconds.
"Over there!"
John points to a split in the cliffside that Hero knows leads to a shallow cave. They make a run for it, the rain beating down on them, clothes soaked through as they skid into the shelter of the cave. It is not a deep cave and they huddle at its mouth where the light spills in. Outside the downpour continues, the world a washed-out grey.
Hero locks eyes with John and her lungs constrict. He is half in shadow, raven locks clinging to his brow, and he is gazing at her again with those dark, simmering eyes. The little space between them narrows as their bodies draw together. She sucks in a breath, gaze tracking the water droplets which run off his nose and over his lips. Her hands rise to his shoulders, his arm settling around her waist, and then they are kissing.
Hero presses into the heat of his body, chasing the warmth of his lips. She can taste the coffee on his tongue and beneath that, the salt of the sea spray. His hand cups her cheek, wiping away raindrops and guiding her closer, kissing her with the same skill that branded the night at The Ducat in her memory and made it impossible for her to forget him. Her fingers clutch at his sweatshirt, tangling in his wet hair. She wants to be surrounded by his furnace, to feel him like water against her skin.
She doesn't hear the pitter of the rain as it keeps on pouring, nor the howl of the wind whipping through the cave's cracks, nor the roiling of the waves crashing on the shore. She is lost to the music of their bodies moving against each other, the meeting of their lips; soft gasps and low pants rebounding off hard rock.
His fingers press between her neck and collarbone, pinpricks of heat over her stammering pulse. "You're shivering," he murmurs, his voice rough
Hero hadn't noticed before but now she trembles, cold creeping under her clothes.
"The rain has slowed. We can head for my car, I'm not parked far from here."
Hero searches his face, colour and shadow spinning across her vision. "Oh… kay…"
They plunge out of the cave, the rain now a light drizzle; the clouds parting to reveal a crack of sunlight. The beach has mostly been abandoned, only a few figures about walking with their dogs. She follows John, neither of them speaking. Now that she is no longer in his arms a chill sinks into her bones, teeth chattering as the wind gusts around her. She is relieved when they reach John's car and clambers in.
"Shall I take you home?" He asks as he settles at the steering wheel.
Hero pauses putting on her seatbelt. She looks at him, his face neutral, revealing no hint of his thoughts. Her heart drums in her chest. It's an innocent question but with different possible meanings.
She clicks her seatbelt into place. "Do you still live in the same house, up on the cliff?"
"Yeah." He starts the engine. "I've more breathing space now Pedro's left on his travels."
Hero's fingers twist in her dishevelled curls, remembering the boys' trip Claudio had planned with his friends at the same time as the implication hits — John has the house to himself. Hero remembers the place from Pedro's parties; more of a mansion than a house, situated out on a limb, far from any neighbours to disturb.
"You're all alone in that big place?"
His hand stills around the gear stick, glancing at her. "I like the privacy. Though… I wouldn't mind company."
He tilts his head in question.
She takes a deep breath and smiles. "Then let's go."