Page 24 of Break Out the Girl

I do a little tip-toe wiggle. “Yes sir, I can boogie, but not tonight. Can’t go in the dark.”

Kitten’s face falls, so I cheer her up. “But we can scout out our trusty steed. Want to go shopping?”

“In the dark?” Shane does his face. “Aurora needs food and rest. It makes the most sense to find our vessel at first light.”

Hmm, that’s when all the fisher men and ladies get busy, but I don’t want to rain on Shaney’s parade, so I zip my mouth. And anyway, I’m cream crackered, and I can tell that Kitten is too by all the cute yawns.

Burt and Shane huddle, and start murmuring about watch rotations and locking down the warehouse doors. I take a bean can, which handily has a pull-tab top, then grab Kitten and pull her onto the floor next to me.

“Here.” I hand her a sliver of wood, and find one for myself. “Two hundred and eleven in three minutes. Shall we try?”

She gives me a smile that squeezes my heart, then tucks in.

Kitten is nowhere near fast enough for a record, but that’s OK, she can work up to it.

My bottom is freezing to a solid block on the cold concrete floor, so I imagine her sweet cheeks are as well. In the bleat of a goat, I shift, then pull her onto my lap. “Better?”

“Much,” she sighs, putting the beans onto the ground, then looking up at me through the gloom. Her eyes are all watery and blue, and then she collapses against my wooly pecs. I wrap the cardie around her, pulling her close until her head is tucked right under my chin. I turn up the faun-fire until I’m perfectly hot-water-bottle temp.

Kitten lets out a long, shaky breath, her body softening into my ribs as the warmth hits her. “I’m just so tired, London. My head won't stop spinning with everything.”

“Then stop the wheels,” I tell her gently. “Close the old eyeballs. London’s got you.”

She rests her hand against my chest, right over my heartbeat, her breathing slowing down to match mine. I rest my cheek against the top of her head and start to sing a shanty.

Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies.

Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.

For we've received orders for to sail for old England.

But we hope in a short time to see you again.

“Isn’t that what they sang in Jaws?” she murmurs.

I’m not sure what she’s talking about, so I just keep singing.

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,

We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt sea.

Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;

From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues

I sing it real quiet, rocking her like I’m her bunk on a clipper.

Across the room, Burt and Shane stop talking. I can feel their eyes watching us through the dark. By the time I get to the verse about the white sandy bottoms, Kitten’s hand goes completely loose against my shirt. Her breathing is deep and crisp and even, just like the feast of Stephen.

Except he was never snuggled under a cardigan with me.

I’ll keep humming into the dark, watching the shadows, and keeping the cold world away from our maypole for as long as it’s needed.

Sleep, Kitten.

9: FRANCOIS

A miserable, watery gray light seeps through the cracked glass of the warehouse office, bringing with it the smell of dead fish.