Page 35 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
Bram pushes out a held breath. He breaks into his Mad Hatter grin, takes a step closer, and clamps an arm around my shoulders. ‘Lots of screaming, shouting, running about. Alarms blaring. Frequent use of a fire extinguisher. You know what they say – familiarity breeds uninhibited joy.’
I can hear how hard he’stryingto come across as upbeat and carefree, but his voice is missing the usual ease. His fingers are pressing into my upper arm in a tight grip, and I get thefeeling it’s a silent way of asking me to keep up the pretence and not give his father any further ammunition.
He’s still got the deck of cards in his other hand, spinning them on the counter, fanning them out, spreading them into a circle that he can wind out and wind back into a neat stack again with a quick flick of his fingers, like he’s nervous and keeping his hands occupied.
Mr Hastings watches what he’s doing for a moment, and then almost like he can’t bear to watch any longer, he pushes himself off the counter and stalks away to examine the rest of the shop, muttering about the chess pieces being a hazard if they’re not screwed down. God forbid there be anything hedoesn’tcriticise.
Bram’s eyes stay on his father, but his arm squeezes my shoulders without letting go. He turns his head to the side and whispers, ‘I’m sorry.’
I want to be angry. Ishouldshove his arm off and push him away. He’s always seemed so trustworthy, and I know he’s opened up to me over our nights in his kitchen… and all the while, he’s been hiding this secret. But I also think about everything he said the other night when I didn’t ask who his father is. Would he have told me if I had? I think he probably would. The ‘I might need to hold you to that one day’ when I said I didn’t care who his father is. Today is that day.
I reach across and slide my hand over his, stilling the cards he’s shuffling. My thumb brushes the back of his hand and his fingers fold around mine and hold them tightly, and he takes a few breaths to centre himself and then he lifts my hand to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of it.
His dark stubble scratching my skin wasn’t meant to be hot, but the hand kiss is such a sweet, simple gesture, and it sends an unexpected tingle through me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed how gorgeous Bram is. He’s undeniably sexy while playing Hatter, fromthe dark eyeliner surrounding cheeky brown eyes to the megawatt grin and constant sense of mischief, but there’s something more about him in his kitchen in the evenings. When he lets me see the quieter version of himself, the one who’s tired after putting on a show all day, the cheeky eyes and playful grin are still the same, but there’s something extra sexy about someone who isn’t trying to be something they’re not.
I can feel heat rising up my neck, centring in my cheeks, when Mrs Willetts appears, carrying a tray with a teapot and two teacups on it, and Bram drops his arm and takes a giant step away. Tabby gives us a curious look as she swishes out behind Mrs Willetts.
Mr Hastings has got a wooden mushroom under one arm and is scratching at the spots I’ve painted on it, presumably so he can claim it’s poisonous should a child try to eat it. ‘It’s non-toxic paint,’ I call over to ease his many, many fears about how much harm my tearoom could do to the population of Ever After Street. There are a few customers in and his constant nit-picking is doing nothing to reassure them they won’t come to any harm in here either.
‘Would you like something with your tea?’ I ask as Tabby goes to offer Mr Hastings a tour of the back room and Mrs Willetts insists he sit down at the table she’s put her tray on.
‘None of the rose cupcakes from the interview?’ Mrs Willetts peers into the display case.
‘All sold out. Could I tempt you with the Battenberg instead?’ Bram steps in smoothly while I attempt to stamp on his foot to stop him. For the love of white rabbits,don’tget them to eat somethingImade. Mr Hastings could find fault withanythingand this morning has been enough of a disaster as it is.
She reaches over to pat his hand and I get the feeling she’s trying to make up for his father’s rudeness. ‘Oh, Bram, you know full well thatyoucould tempt me with anything. Go on then. We’ll have a sliceof that each.’
Mr Hastings goes to protest and she shuts him up quickly. ‘Well, I’ll havetwoslices then; pay no mind to the miserable old sourpuss.’
Bram opens the display case, picks up the tongs and slides two slices of the Battenberg onto two plates. ‘Take a seat, I’ll bring it over.’
‘Bram!’ I hiss as she goes to persuade Mr Hastings to leave the bunting he’s examining for loose threads alone and sit down.
‘What?’ He grins at me. ‘They want to try somethingyoumade. They came at the right moment.’
‘No, don’t?—’
‘He never does listen,’ Tabby comments, making me jump because I hadn’t realised how near she was standing. How much of that did she hear? What could she deduce from what she did hear? ‘The more you tell him to do something, the less likely he is to do it.’
‘A man with a mind of his own. How unappealing.’ I don’t intend to snap at her, but my heart is hammering from how much she made me jump, combined with the fear of what she overheard and the already frayed nerves from Mr Hastings’ unexpected intrusion. ‘You could have warned me they were coming.’
She gives me an incredulous look. ‘Why would I tell you about an unplanned inspection? That would defeat the object, duh.’
‘A planned unplanned inspection defeats the object,’ I hiss back at her. ‘If you’re going to continue working here, you could be on our side.’
She scoffs. ‘What, likeheis?’
I glance over at her and her eyes are trained on Bram, who has put the slices of Battenberg on their table, thrown a playing card into the air and turned it into a rose, which he presents to Mrs Willetts with a bow and backs away. ‘We’ll leave you to discuss how well things are going. The Wonderland Teapot defies expectations, I’m sure. Not a complaint to be found anywhere.’ It’s his falselybright Mad Hatter voice again, but I donotlike the stone that Tabby’s words have caused to settle in my stomach. What is she implying? That Bram is somehownoton our side?
…Myside?
I go to question her further, but there’s a commotion as the child on the flamingo croquet sends the hedgehog ball flying across the room, hitting a lady’s shoe and disappearing beneath her shopping bags under the table, and Bram springs into action. He retrieves the ball with his foot while using his hands to juggle three tangerines he’s just pulled out of one of his many pockets, swiftly preventing the tantrum that’s nanoseconds away from starting, while the child’s parents eat their sandwiches obliviously.
He can juggle. Of course he can juggle. And he carries tangerines around in his pocket for no good reason. I’m constantly impressed by his level of dedication to his craft, and how he handled that as onlyhecould. No matter who Mr Hastings is, no one could be a better Mad Hatter in this tearoom, and I’m about to say something to that effect, when the door crashes open.
‘Dad! Sadie said I’d find you he— Oh myGod.’ The woman who has just burst in comes to an abrupt halt and looks around in awe.
‘Laura!’ Tabby squeals at a pitch usually only audible to small rodents.
