Page 25 of Short Stack 3

“Jude Jacobs,” Asa corrects him.

The man looks past Mal at us. Then he offers a smile. It’s kind and warm. “I’ve heard of you,” he says to me. “Lovely to meet you.” He turns to Asa. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he says.

“Was that the stuff done in the war?” Mal offers.

“Mal,” the other man says. “Remember our conversation?”

Mal pouts prettily. “We have somanyconversations, Cadan. It’s very hard to pinpoint which one you’re on about.”

“It was about regrets,” the man says steadily. “And a chance to make things right.”

Mal sighs. “Oh, okay then,” he says. “Rain on my parade, why don’t you?”

Cadan’s mouth twitches as Mal turns to us, striking a rather dramatic pose, much to the other customers’ fascination. “I’m very sorry,” he says, waving a careless hand.

“For what exactly?” I say curiously.

He taps his full lips with a finger. “Oh, for mentioning that Asa is your cuddly daddy.”

“Cuddly,” Asa says in a disgusted voice, and I try to fight my smile. Mal has always amused me.

Mal screws his face up in thought. “Also, for trying to get you into bed.” He eyes Asa. “But not very hard. That wasn’t even remotely my best work, I’ll have you know.”

“Mal,” Cadan says, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mal rolls his eyes and then turns back to me. “And for dumping you in Berlin and going off to Ibiza for the summer when you needed my help.”

I stare at him. He looks as unconcerned as ever, but although the words were flippant, I know Malachi Booth. He was once my friend, or as much of a friend as he could be at the time, given what was going on in his own life. The Mal I knew never offered apologies, being a founding member of the never-explain club. This one seems to be the real deal and therefore rarer than rocking-horse shit.

“Well, there was that music festival in Ibiza,” I finally say. “And the weather was shocking in Berlin at the time.”

He looks at me for a long second and suddenly smiles at me. His genuine smiles were rare back in the day when he was so closed off. When we were friends, they came more easily and were a reward for putting up with his sharp tongue. I remember how much he could make me laugh, and I smile back at him helplessly.

I shrug. “You never made me any promises, Mal.”

“Well, maybe I should have done.”

We grin at each other, and then Mal sighs dramatically. “Apologies always make me so thirsty, and do you know what cures thirst?” he asks the rapt group around the stall. There’s a chorus of interest, and Cadan rolls his eyes. “High Top Farm vodka,” Mal says triumphantly. “It’s a miracle cure foreverythingthat ails you.”

Cadan signs. “You’re going to get us done by trading standards.”

“Not us. It’ll just be my silly little supermodel brain not grasping the facts,” Mal says airily. He looks over at Asa and me. “Come and have some vodka,” he says. “Come and havelotsof vodka.”

“Oh dear,” Asa says faintly.

I smile at him. “I told you he wasn’t as bad as you thought,” I whisper.

“I didn’t believe you then,” he says, eyeing Malachi as if he’s a wild animal. “I’m not sure I do now.”

“Just get to know him. I guarantee you’ll like him.”

“That shouldn’t worry me as much as it does,” he says gloomily.

But I watch him melt as Mal gives him one of those big smiles that lights his pretty face and makes him seem warm and approachable. This smile seems almost shy, which might be down to the tall, handsome man next to him who is eyeing him with affection and pride.

Cadan mouths, “Well done,” at Malachi, and I hold my breath, waiting for Mal to eviscerate him verbally, but instead, he just flushes and gives him a wide smile before turning to Asa.

“Come on,” he says. “I need to get to know you.”

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