Page 33 of The F*ck-It List

“Hell yeah, no dads club!” Connor holds his hand up to Bea and she slaps her palm to his with a giggle.

“Connor!” Joanie shrieks, incensed and smacking the back of her hand against his shoulder. But we’re all laughing, even Joanie.

I turn only slightly to look at Bea as she listens to my family continue their nonsense. She looks amused by it all, blue eyes warm and affectionate. She doesn’t join in unless someone speaks to her directly but she’s more than happy just taking it all in. Just being a part of it. I find myself staring at that tiny mole beneath her eye again, at the way it disappears when she smiles so wide her eyes crinkle, and her cheeks round out even more. Her smile goes higher on one side than the other and when someone says something particularly outrageous, she looks down at the table to hide her amusement, like she doesn’t think she should have been listening, and a patch of skin on her neck turns bright red. Every so often, she flicks her pink hair back over her shoulders where it’s fallen forward, and when sheleans back in her chair, I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest where her dress scoops low enough to show the fullness of her tits.

Shaking away the direction of my thoughts, I force myself to look away from Bea only to cross gazes with my father who’s smiling at me like he knows something I don’t. My cheeks heat like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Luckily, that’s the moment Mum gets up to start clearing the table and Bea jumps up to help, but she’s quickly shooed back to her seat.

“The first time you’re here, you’re our guest, sweetheart,” Mum says easily. “The next time you can get your own drinks and help with the washing up.” She winks at Bea who dips her chin in gratitude.

I get up to help wash the dishes while Connor dries, Joanie puts away, and Mum finds small plates for the cake. Dad offers coffee and when Bea hesitates, I assure her my parents have a proper coffee machine that grinds the beans and everything. She visibly perks up and accepts the offer, so Dad sets to making the drinks with a chuckle.

There’s a long moment of silence at the table as we all try the cake Connor made. Bea gives my nephew an encouraging thumbs up after her first bite while my family and I all exchange confused looks in between staring down at our plates.

“Connor…” Mum says, trailing off like she doesn’t know what to say.

“What?” he asks nervously.

“This is…amazing!” she says disbelieving.

My too-cool-for-school nephew preens at that, sitting straighter in his chair. “Yeah?”

“This is really fucking good, kid,” I say, taking a huge forkful and shoving it in my mouth. It’s rich and sweet, soft and gooey.

“How did I not know you could bake?” Joanie says, wrapping her arms around her boy. “You clever little bugaboo.”

“Alright, get off.” He shrugs her away, trying to look disgusted but failing miserably.

“I think we all assumed you’d inherited your mother’s kitchen skills,” Dad says, quickly dodging the teaspoon Joanie throws at him.

“Mum burns beans on toast,” Connor explains to Bea.

“I see,” Bea says with a laugh. “Well, this is great, Connor. I’d love you to make it for the café when we open.”

“Really?” The vulnerable hope in Con’s eyes reminds me of when he was still a kid and I told him I’d buy him ice cream, and my mouth hitches up.

“Yeah,” Bea says enthusiastically. “You’ll help me make all the food, but this one is yours.”

Connor tempers his smile, nodding as he looks down at his plate and pushes the crumbs left on it around. “Cool, that’s cool.”

Joanie turns to Bea, a rare sheen in her eyes as she mouths,thank you. Bea just waves her hand dismissing the gratitude. When she turns to me and sees the serious way I’m looking at her, unsure what to do with these uncomfortable and unwelcome feelings brewing in my stomach and chest, her lips part, a sharp intake of air audible between us. I’m staring at the gap between her lips, where the smallest hint of the tip of her teeth is showing and I suddenly feel like I can’t keep myself upright, leaning forward a bare inch before I turn away and rest my arms on the table to centre myself.

Bea gets hugged by my parents when we leave, Joanie embraces her too, and the two of them exchange numbers. Dad gives me a back-slapping hug at the door and pulls away only to squeeze myshoulder, giving me a look I can’t quite interpret before Bea and I are slowly meandering back home. I find myself dawdling, enjoying the walk in the gentle early summer sun and the quiet company of the girl next to me. Darcy sniffs every inch of the ground as we go, enjoying the pace and just being a part of the day.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, cutting through the silence between us.

Bea’s head snaps up to look at me, apparently just as surprised by me initiating conversation as I am. “Sure.”

“What made you move here? Why did you leave London?” It’s been playing on my mind for a while, as far as I’m aware, those who live in the capital tend to believe nothing exists outside of London’s perimeter.

Bea puffs out a long breath. “That’s kind of a long story.”

I shrug. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Well, it was my birthday, back in October, and uh, my boyfriend was going to propose to me—”

“The surfer guy?”

“I mean, I’ve never known him to surf, but yeah, the guy in the photo with the surfboard.” She slides her hands over her hips like she might be looking for pockets to shove her fingers into before realising her dress is pocketless. “Well, I kind of ran away.”