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“I should have made sure we were okay before I went to work. Hell, I should have chucked a sickie.” Jack bit his lip. “I got worried when you didn’t answer my calls.”
“Ambrose confiscated my phone. I only got it back at bedtime. I was still figuring out how to answer.”
Jack let out a relieved breath. “I was worried all those messages in a row came off stalkerish and scared you off.”
“Well,” Harry admitted, “I’d also fallen asleep. But I meant to answer.”
They smiled at each other cautiously, hopefully. Harry felt his face heat up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you two just kiss?” Tristan interrupted. “Some of us need to get home and get our beauty sleep.”
“Tris!” Harry complained.
“He’s annoying as fuck,” Jack said, “but he did find that bear, give me surprisingly good advice and convince me to drive over here tonight.”
Harry glanced at Tristan, and at Ambrose who was trying to wrestle him into the kitchen. “Well, I guess…” He bit his lip. “I guess we should give him what he wants then.”
Jack smiled as Harry tugged him into a kiss.
The bells on the door of the op shop jangled merrily as Harry stepped inside.
“Beryl,” he said, nodding and narrowing his eyes at his nemesis.
She narrowed her eye right back at him. He just knew her eyepatch had been over her other eye the last time. He was sure she could tell he knew, and was just daring him to challenge her about it. He didn’t take the bait. He sauntered through the shop instead and slapped the paper bag down on the counter with slightly more force than was necessary.
“No food or drink allowed in the store,” Beryl snapped.
“Oh? So you don’t want this delicious coffee scroll that I’ve brought you then? I guess I’ll put it in the bin outside,” Harry said, reaching for the bag.
Beryl’s eye narrowed further—Harry would be amazed if she could still see daylight—and her hand clamped around his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Wait.”
Harry waited, enjoying the internal battle playing across her face as she struggled with the temptation to break one of her most sacred rules. “It’s still warm,” he cajoled. “I’ve had mine, and it was really, really good.”
Beryl’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why…why are you bringing me this?” she asked suspiciously. “Did you drop it?” Her mouth twisted. “Or spit on it?”
“No!” Harry put on his best wide-eyed, innocent expression. “I was trying to be nice!”
A furrow appeared between Beryl’s brows that rivalled the Suez Canal. “You’ve never been nice before. What’s the catch?”
Harry ducked his head. “You’ve got me. I need a favour.”
“Ha!” she cried, triumphant. She snatched up the paper bag and opened it, a look of bliss softening her expression as she inhaled the scent of the coffee scroll. Her good eye twitched, and she slid the paper bag under the counter. “What do you want then?”
“I need a suit—a nice suit,” he said before she could open her mouth. “Jack’s taking me to his sister’s wedding.” Warmth swelled in his chest as he said it.
“And you want me to help you find something?” Beryl tilted her head to the side, like some kind of malevolent chickenhawk.
“Something under fifty bucks,” Harry clarified. He sighed. “I mean you probably don’t have anything nice enough here, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Otherwise there’s the Red Shield shop down the road.”
As he’d suspected, Beryl’s eye blazed with barely suppressed indignation at the implied slight against her stock. “I have plenty of nice suits that’ll do the job. Follow me.” She flounced out from behind the counter, muttering under her breath, and Harry followed her, grinning. Beryl hated the Red Shield shop.
She dug through a rack of suits, pushing them aside violently in her search. “What colour?” she snapped.
“Um, black or grey, I guess?”
She hummed and prodded at one pin-striped suit before shaking her head. “Wait here.”
Harry inspected the pin-striped suit while she bustled away. It was nice, but he didn’t really want to look like Al Capone at Mia’s wedding, not when he was trying to make a good impression. He hoped he remembered how.
