‘I didn’t think anyone from Ever After Street would want to hang out with me. You know who my father is,’ Bram adds when Marnie and Darcy both look at him in confusion.
‘I didn’t,’ Marnie says. ‘I only ever dealt with my own landlord.’
‘Me neither,’ Darcy confirms.
‘Yeah, but… guilt by association. He makes life difficult for a lot of people on our little street. If you rent from the council then he’s an ogre to his tenants. If you rent from a private landlord then he still makes life difficult, and if you own outright then you still have his strict guidelines to follow, as you two know.’
The shopkeepers of Ever After Street helped Marnie buy her bookshop last year, and Bram is referring to Mr Hastings’ constant monitoring of her business, and the stringent hoops she has to jump through if she wants approval to make the slightest change. Trust in the shopkeepers who work on Ever After Street is not Mr Hastings’ strong point.
‘I’m also not great at letting people in,’ Bram continues quietly. ‘I know I’m not everybody’s cup of Cream Soda. I dress strangely. I wear eyeliner and jewellery. Not everyone likes magic – some people find it downright creepy. I’m weird, I know that.’
‘As Cleo once said to me about Darcy – all the best people are,’ Marnie says. ‘And it’s certainly true in our case.’
They make eyes at each other across the kitchen, and I meet Bram’s gaze and grin at him, knowing he’ll have recognised the Alice quote too.
‘I don’t think it’s about being weird,’ I say. ‘I think it’s about finding people who are on the same wavelength of weirdness as you are until there’s so much weirdness that it kind of cancels itself out and you’re just normal with each other.’
‘The weirdest sentence that makes perfect sense to me.’ Bram smiles at me again. I might’ve thought he was a bit weird at first, but now I think he’s perfect just as he is.
Darcy’s taller than Bram and he slings an arm around his shoulder. ‘You were always kind to me when I refused to accept kindness. No one knows better than me about looking weird.’ He indicates his facial scarring that he kept covered for so long, and although he no longer wears the disguise he used to wear, it’s no secret that he still struggles.
‘Aww. Thanks, mate.’ The playlist song changes to ‘Kiss from a Rose’ and right on cue, Bram clicks his fingers and produces a playing card rose from thin air and holds it out to Darcy.
He doesn’t have his usual cargo trousers on tonight and seems to have nowhere to stash any trickery. For a moment, I wonder if it’s more feasible that he has actual magic powers.
‘I have no idea how you did that. That’s incredible.’ Darcy pokes at the rose like it might disappear in a puff of smoke at any second.
Bram blushes and I realise something. He’s himself tonight. He’s not doing a Hatter act. He’s letting two… well, not strangers because I know he knows Marnie and Darcy, but not well enough to call them friends. He’s letting them see the real him. The shy side who’s scared of rejection. He separates the parts of himself. He mostly only does magic when he’s got on his loud, untouchable front, and I think it’s taken more than he’ll admit to let my friends in and trust that they won’t ridicule him.
‘I haven’t had Cream Soda since I was a kid, but you’re definitely my cup of it,’ Darcy says. ‘We should do this again sometime. Maybe without the chaos of a few hundred things to bake, but still…’
Bram blushes and makes an excuse about checking things in the oven, and maybe it’s a good thing we’re not alone tonight, because that blush makes me want to wrap my arms around him, press my lips to his red cheeks and make sure he knows that the people who make him feel like he’s barely tolerable are far, far outnumbered by people who think he’s bloody brilliant.
It’s hours later when the final batch of cheesecakes has been slid into the giant fridge. It’s dark outside, and seeing as none of us have had a cup of tea since early afternoon, Marnie’s making an emergency cup while I set out muffins on a plate for us all to test. ‘I can’t believe it’s nearly 10 p.m.’
Darcy is cleaning the kitchen countertops while Bram loads the dishwasher. ‘Time flies when you’re having kittens.’
I can’t help giggling. His mixed-up idioms have become the highlight of my day, and that familiar urge to hug him twinges again. It’s definitely a good thing we’ve got chaperones tonight.
He smiles back at me, but it’s cut off by the ring of his gate security camera, and he dries his hands and goes to answer the video screen beside the door.
‘It’s my father,’ he calls in from the hallway. ‘He will be the one having kittens if I refuse him entry and I don’t fancy cleaning that mess up.’
Marnie’s eyes widen. ‘Should we hide? It’s supposed to be you doing the wedding catering. We don’t want him to know you’ve had help.’
‘No caterer would work alone. The one they hired would’ve had a team of staff. He should see what an unreasonable demand this was. I want him to know that we couldn’t do this alone,’ I say, touched that she thought of it.
Bram is still watching the video screen in the hallway. ‘Judging by the garment bag, he’s here to talk to me about my clothing choices for the wedding on Sunday. Again.’
Mr Hastings huffs and puffs his way up the stairs to the door when Bram opens it, a garment bag draped over his arm as he indicates Darcy’s truck in the driveway. ‘Am I interrupting something, Abraham?’
Bram steps back from the door and invites him in. ‘It’s 10 p.m. and we’re busy. Why would you be interrupting anything?’
If Mr Hastings detects the sarcasm, he doesn’t acknowledge it as he smooths down the garment bag over his arm before he spots me lurking in the kitchen doorway.
‘Oh, Miss Jordan. It’s you.’ He sounds like he’d be more thrilled to find a giant slug in the hallway, chomping on the skirting boards.
‘We’re preparing for the wedding,’ Bram says. ‘We had to call in reinforcements seeing as Cleo is not a caterer and your blackmailing has forced her into doing the impossible.’
‘Blackmail is such a strong word. I merely asked her to do us a favour, and I thought it might be nice for you to be involved in your sister’s wedding. You hardly spend any time with the family these days. You push us all away.’
‘You push me—’
Mr Hastings cuts off Bram’s comeback. ‘Besides, I thought nothing was impossible. Isn’t that what the quote on your wall says, Miss Jordan?’
‘We didn’t say it was impossible,’ Bram answers before I have time to come up with a witty retort. ‘But we are quite busy. I assume the garment bag is for me?’
‘I wanted to make sure you have something suitable to wear on Sunday, Abraham.’
It irks me hearing Mr Hastings use his full name. It isn’t his name and it feels like a little niggling way of insulting him.
‘I have something suitable to wear.’ Bram sounds so weary that I suspect this is approximately the seventh time they’ve had this conversation.
‘Well, why don’t you show me and I’ll be the judge of that?’
‘Because I’m not four years old. I don’t need my clothing choices to be policed by you.’
‘We’ve been over this, son. This is the most important day of your sister’s life. You need to put her first and put aside your own choices for one single day, unlike what you put poor Tabby through when she was trying to plan your wedding.’
