“Then we need to get to work,” Isay.
Pulling the windows closed, I head to the door.
Chancing a glance at Cyrus, I can tell she wants to say something else but is holding herself back. If it’s not about the plan going forwards, I don’t want to hear it. One problem at a time.
The problem plaguing my home is more important right now.
I’m no longer cowering away. If someone has an issue, they can come to me, where I’ll be waiting with a crew of the fiercest pirates on the open seas.
The night is moving perfectly. Nothing out of place, no attacks. Not even any suspicious activity.
Hago is helping on the bar tonight, non-stop grousing about having to work, when Cyrus is also working. Cyrus has threatened to hit him with a barrel at least twice so far to get him to stop whining like a child. When he does stop, his scowl is so deep, I’m afraid the wind will change direction and keep it that way. Maybe not so worried– because you know,fuck him.
I notice a steady handful of pirates sitting around the tavern. Many in small groups, slowly sipping on their drinks instead of downing them and screeching for more. I know they’re Cyrus’s crew, watching and waiting.
I’m serving drinks, laughing and chatting with patrons, as pirates from the Burnt Bones and others come in. Cyrus washes tankards as Hago waits on tables. Every time he brings back a round of empty mugs, he scowls and grumps at Cyrus.
My protective streak makes me want to go over to him and smack him upside the head. Yet I can’t. She’s not mine, no matter what my heart believes. And we need him to believe that we aren’t suspicious of him whatsoever.
My skin still crawls with every disdainful look though.
God, what I’d give to punch him in the face; regardless if he's the bad guy or not.
The evening spools out around me, nothing worth noting. People drink and eat and laugh. No one even questions Cyrus working behind the bar.
Cyrus’s eyes flit between me and the washing up. I can almost see the gears ticking away in her head each time I catch her gaze. She wants to say something, she's just working her way up to it.
I don’t know whether I’m ready to hear it.
Will there be more rejections? Or another heartbreaking apology? Or has she changed her mind?
I don’t know how I’ll feel if it’s the latter. Do I want to rekindle whatever we are and try for more? Or will it all fall apart again? She’ll be leaving with the ship once this is over and we’ll be back to square one.
Fuck, why does just her existence have to be confusing?
Hago interrupts my spiralling thoughts. He grumbles off a list of drinks for table service, before moving towards Cyrus and glowering through the dirty cup handover.
Cyrus pays him no mind, using the opportunity to drag her gaze over me. The heat behind her irises burns into me. My blood burns as it filters through my veins, my underwear gathering a layer of slick.
No.
Naughty Tally, no.
Not right now, remember?
One problem at a time.
Just as I get that thought through my thick skull, everything goes to shit.
A crash comes through the front door of the tavern, a booming heat engulfs the air as a cart crash lands in the middle of the room, flames and smoke coming from on top.
A black cloaked figure looms behind the flames as people scramble to get out of the way of the heat and choking smoke.
Frozen solid, I watch as the figure moves something and the cart collapses, leaving a scorching pile of flames in the middle of my tavern that's filled with at least fifty people.
With a flash, the cloaked figure races out the door, as patrons stumble to find the exits.
Cyrus immediately jumps onto the bar in front of me, sword drawn as if that will protect her or me from the flames.
