Page 4 of Deja Brew

“I’m working on it.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. We had a drink together and he tried my favourite.” Surely that counts for something.

“He tried a London fog?”

I nod.

“Adorable. Ask him out.”

“You’re one to talk.” Ella’s eyes flash with panic. “Your kinky businessman turn up yet? No new metal for him?”

Her eyes dart around the café and scan her store Chic Metal opposite us as if she’s looking for him. It’s turned out well, having her piercing store and a tattoo parlour opposite the café. Their clients need food so they don’t faint, which means more customers for me.

Ella’s body deflates, and she looks sullenly at the table. “No. He usually comes around spring.”

“And how many years has he been coming?”

“Since the day I opened.”

“And have you asked him out? In fact, have you asked him anything except how far up his dick he wants more metal?”

Ella glares at me. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good.” I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry you haven’t seen him recently.”

“He’s so pretty,” she sighs.

“Because of his face or his decorated—” I cut off at her pointed look. “I don’t understand the appeal.”

“It’s sexy.”

“How would you know? You’ve only seen them because you pierce them.”

Her gaze becomes dreamy and unfocused. “But I can imagine.”

I let her have a moment before I cruelly interrupt the image of pierced dicks. “Is Cas all right?”

“He’s fine. He ate some food and the disgust in his eyes is back.”

My shoulders drop in relief. “That’s good.”

“How was getting to work? Did it happen again?” Ella asks.

“Did what happen?” I avoid the question. I know exactly what she wants to know, but that doesn’t mean I want to discuss it. Would rather discuss my cat. Like what toy he played with before she left for work.

“Don’t lie to me,” she says sharply. “It’s dangerous if you’re right. You need to tell someone.”

“It was fine. Nothing happened.”

“And what would you have done if something did? Lily, it’s not safe.” Ella squeezes my hand tightly.

How do I tell her the person following me makes me feel safe? It’s a shameful thought, but it’s true.

I’d made the mistake of telling her someone’s following me a few weeks ago and proceeded to do nothing about it, which she found extremely distressing. In a way, so do I. Who doesn’t get freaked out when someone follows them? Something’s seriously wrong with me.

But… Walking to work in the dark, knowing someone’s there if something happens—on the basis the person following me wouldn’t harm me, and I don’t get the feeling they will—makesme feel safe. So I understand why Ella’s freaking out. I should be too, but for some reason I look forward to it.

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