Page 16
Story: Beak Performance
“The one you saw, that’s the Nachtkrapp. And a…raven,” I muttered, my head dropping between my shoulders.
“Hang on.” Arne stopped, grabbed my forearm and pulled me around, a bold look on his face. “You can turn into an actualraven?”
“Yeah, I can. It’s pretty neat when you’re on a date, and he turns out to be a creep.”
What am I saying?
My captain just threw his head back and laughed.
“That’s an actual life experience you had, is it?”
My God, he’s beautiful.
“I’ll just say it came in handy once or twice.” I shrugged, and we walked on. “Never been on a bad date? Where you see her and know you won’t get on the same page with her?”
“I’ve been on bad dates, yes.” His eyes were on me, and he gave me that stunning smile again. The one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed the dimples in his cheeks.
Don’t look too closely. You’ll only hurt yourself.
Perhaps I should turn and fly away from all my sorrows.
“This is it,” Arne told me when we arrived at an old red brick building. “Wanna come up for a beer?”
“You said that cocktail was my last.”
Arne shrugged. “You walked some of it off. And besides, we’ve never hung out together. Come on, do you have anywhere else to be?”
“Nah.” I shook my head.
Nowhere I’d rather be, either.
I followed him to the door. A beautiful marble staircase and high ceilings greeted me. His flat took up the entire top floor. It was an airy space, minimalist and reminiscent of the showroom of an expensive Scandinavian furniture brand.
“Shoes off, please, Raven. Mm.” He grinned at me. “Your nickname just got a whole new meaning.”
“Why did you think they called me that?” I asked him, balancing on each foot as I took off my loafers.
“I never thought about it, to be honest. The feathers, I suppose? It fits you.”
I settled on his couch, accepting a bottle of ice cold beer from him.
We drank in silence, but Arne watched me closely. He waited until I had emptied the bottle and put it on his coffee table.
“Raven?” he whispered, and leaned in.
Oh my God.
The sound of my ringtone made him jump back. I picked it up automatically. “Hello.” My voice shook. I got off the couch and started pacing Arne’s living room.
“Maxi! Why didn’t you reply to my message? Listen, I—”
Fuck fuck fuck. Why the hell did you pick it up?
“No, you listen,” I interrupted the caller. “I told you not to call me again.”
I hated myself for accepting that call. I never learned. It was like muscle memory—or maybe just a sign of how messed up things had been between us—but I knew I had to do it or I’d be sorry.
“Come on, Maxi. You don’t mean this. I miss you so much.”
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