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I reach for my phone, nearly bumping into his chest when he holds it out of reach. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says.
You’re standing too close, the voice of reason suggests. At least Ithinkthat’s what it’s saying. I’m not exactly listening. “You’re basically a Bad-Boy Aesthetic Pinterest board come to life, but the truth is you’re as fluffy as that cat,” I say, and nod to Sebastian.
“What I’m hearing,” Jack says, “is that you have a Bad-Boy Aesthetic board on Pinterest.”
“I don’t!” Jack raises an eyebrow at me, and I add, “Not technically.”
Jack grins. “What do you mean bynot technically?”
“I don’t have a Pinterest board called Bad-Boy Aesthetic,” I say.
“Then what’s it called?”
“Moody Broody-Boy Vibes,” I mutter.
“You called it what, now?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I pluck my phone from his hand. “You heard me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a tambourine video to make.”
Nine
Jack
A week after Raine starts working at the pub, I find myself at a table with my laptop and a pad of Post-its, pretending to update our expenses while I’m actually watching Raine flit around with her phone as she takes photos for the pub’s social media accounts. Ishouldbe in my office. I never do paperwork out here. But as soon as she came downstairs for the day, Sebastian at her heels, I set up in this corner to make sure no one gave her a hard time.
But as it turns out, I didn’t need to. I’ve known most of the people who have walked in here today my entire life, but somehow Raine manages to pull stories from them I’ve never heard before. When she asks if she can take their picture, they agree willingly. And by the time they leave, it’s as ifshe’sknown them her entire life.
So I’ve got no reason to sit here other than I like watching her. Which seems a good enough reason to me, even if going over the pub’s finances is taking twice as long as it usually does.
Just before lunchtime, Raine peers over my shoulder, then slides into the seat across from me. “I had no idea running a pub involvedso much paperwork,” she says. “The only paperwork I have to worry about are permits and visas.”
I set the pen down, pleased to have an excuse to talk with her. “I think the paperwork is the worst part. When I was tattooing, all I had to worry about were consent forms.”
“I hope you have some on hand. I’m ready for my tattoo whenever you are.”
“I’ll happily take you to a tattoo shop if you really want one that bad.”
“I’m really only interested in a Jack Dunne original.”
Me giving Raine her first tattoo has become a running joke over the last week. At least, I think it’s a joke. I’d hate for her to expect something that is never going to happen.
“How’re the pictures turning out?” I ask. “Anything usable?”
Raine doesn’t answer me. Instead, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crinkled receipt, then smooths it on the table and eyes the pen in front of me. “Can I borrow that?” She snatches it up before I can answer and starts scribbling away on the receipt. The way her hair spills over her face makes it so that I can’t see what she’s writing.
“Raine?”
She continues writing, humming something under her breath. When I say her name again, she shushes me without so much as a pause in whatever she’s doing.
I have no idea what is going on but decide it’s better to stay quiet and wait it out. Every few seconds she pauses, then hums something to herself before putting pen to paper again. After a minute or two, she straightens and pushes the hair from her face. She squints at the receipt, eyes flicking back and forth over it. Her brow furrows, but only for a moment. She scratches something out before scanning the receipt once more, expression smoothing when she turns whatever she’s written face down on the table.
“The pictures are going great,” she says, as if the last two minutes never happened. “The one I posted today already has a dozen likes. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I credit Sebastian. He’s irresistible.”
I’m not sure what look I have on my face, but it must be something like confusion, because Raine pauses. “That’s what we were talking about, right?” She raises her eyebrows. “Did I... shush you?”
“Only a little.”
She presses a hand to her forehead. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I can be a butthead when I’m interrupted... even though I interrupted you... Sorry, sorry.”
