Page 14 of Falling for You

Annie

One thing I did not take into consideration is how I would get the wings back down once I’d revealed them in all their glory.

When I made the costume, I had every intention of popping them out in the comfort of my flat so I wouldn’t need to try and push them back into place.

But now I’m squashed up against a bustling bar, next to a (pretty hot!) man and attempting to not impale anyone else.

I mean, yes, vodka gives you the confidence to get the bat out, but it does not give you any form of thought or preparation for what to do when you can’t get it back in .

‘Sorry,’ I mumble, glancing to a gaggle of girls who are looking at me like I’m carrying the plague as I try and push my wings down. ‘I just …’

‘Hey.’ I glance up at the American guy, properly looking at his face for the first time, which is half hidden by his mask.

I initially offered to buy him a drink because I felt bad for almost stabbing him and to have an excuse to flee the dance floor immediately.

Turns out I was so distracted trying to flee that I didn’t notice how hot he was.

He’s wearing a suit, so gets zero points for Halloween creativity. His mask is also too small for his face, but he has a defined jaw and deep, brown eyes. And there is something else I can’t quite place. A feeling just below my heart. It’s glowing.

‘You go sit down,’ he smiles at me. ‘I’ll get these.’

I’m about to argue, but as I open my mouth I’m shoved closer to the bar by a group of impatient drinkers and I feel my left wing prod into the side of the person next to me. If I don’t get out of this crowd soon, I’m worried someone will rip the wings right off my back.

‘Okay,’ I say gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

As carefully as I can, I manoeuvre my way out of the crowd and sit down on a plush, deep-red sofa to the side of the dance floor.

The music has switched from Halloween-themed to general pop, but Tanya’s plan has worked a trick.

The dance floor is buzzing with people jumping around and throwing their arms in the air.

I can just about spot Tanya’s long arms flailing and see flashes of Penny’s blonde hair, and I smile.

Tanya catches sight of me and gives me a concerned look and I nod, giving her the ‘okay’ sign back with my hands.

The adrenaline the vodka was giving me has fully seeped out of my system, and now that I’m sitting alone with a bent wing, I suddenly feel incredibly exposed.

Every time someone glances in my direction I get a sharp flash of paranoia that they’re laughing, nudging their mates and pointing at me. It’s making me feel a bit sick.

I get to my feet just as American Boy is coming back, holding a beer and a gin and tonic.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I think I need to leave.’

I’ll get a taxi home and just pretend this whole evening never happened. I’ll spend the rest of the night looking on Instagram at the pictures of people wearing the costumes I’ve made and live vicariously through their smiles.

‘Leave?’ He looks down at the drinks. ‘Why? You can’t leave.’

I look up at him. Of course, he’s just bought me a drink.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll pay you for the drink– how much was it?’

He shakes his head. ‘That’s not what I meant. I just … Why would you leave? Have you ripped someone else’s shirt open?’

Despite myself, I laugh. ‘No. Just yours.’

‘Then what is it?’

I glance back up at him. His eyes are kind. I’m about to tell him how it doesn’t matter and that I just need to go and make a break for it. But seeing his worried face, I feel like I can tell him. I mean, it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.

‘I just feel like a dick.’ I sigh.

‘A dick?’

‘Like, a bit of an idiot.’

He smiles. ‘I know what “dick” means.’

I laugh again. ‘Look at me,’ I gesture down to my costume. ‘What was I thinking?’

‘I think you look great,’ he says, his face serious.

That warm feeling in my chest glows a bit brighter.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s have this drink. If anyone is looking at you, it’s only because they’re jealous.’

I take the glass, feeling myself relax. We both sit back down on the sofa. ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I reply, gesturing to his suit with my glass.

He looks down at himself. ‘Me?’

‘What’s scary about your costume?’ I continue. ‘Who are you meant to be?’

He takes a better look at his suit. His shirt is a crisp white and unbuttoned at the top and his blazer is now draped over the back of the sofa. I can see the outline of his muscular arms under his shirt.

‘Ah, well, I am dressed as “man who won’t go to therapy and blames his issues on other people”. If anything, I’m much scarier than you.’

I laugh into my drink. ‘Okay, that’s scary. Is it based on true experiences?’

He shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer. ‘God, no.’

I smile and lean forward, my wings jutting out against the sofa.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Not really,’ I huff. ‘These wings are a pain in the arse. I didn’t think about what would happen when I tried to sit down.’

‘You should complain to the person who made them.’

‘Well, I do love to complain about myself,’ I say, pushing a wing under my arm and clamping it down the best I can. ‘There, that will do for now.’

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Yourself? Did you make your costume?’

I smile, the pride that was fuelled by vodka returning. ‘I did. I make my own costume every year. I made it before I realised we were coming here,’ I add, nodding towards a group of girls who glide past us in ballgowns.

‘That’s incredible.’

I smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘Is that your job, then? You’re a costume maker?’

I take a sip of my drink. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I just do costumes on the side. What do you do?’

I notice him fiddling with a ring that he’s taken off his pinkie. It’s a gold band with a small green stone on it.

‘That’s nice,’ I say, glancing down at the ring.

He looks down at it, caught off guard. ‘Ah. It’s my mom’s. I’m a writer.’

‘Are you here on holiday?’

‘Nope.’ He pushes his lips together. ‘I decided to throw it all in and spend a few months living in the bright lights of London.’

I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘There aren’t many bright lights here.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s rained non-stop since I’ve been here. You know, they don’t tell anyone that? Every film about London is all sunshine, no rain at all.’

I give him a knowing look. ‘It’s our best-kept secret.’

He takes a sip of his beer. ‘Well, are there any other secrets I should know?’ His eyes glint at me and I’m surprised to feel my stomach swoop. ‘You can tell me … this love of tea is all an act, right? You don’t all actually love it that much?’

I gasp in mock horror. ‘Blasphemy!’

‘Oh no.’

‘You can’t say that in a room full of Brits, are you crazy?’ I grin at him.

‘You actually like it, then?’

‘Love it.’ I smile. He almost looks disappointed. ‘Hook it to my veins. I have about six cups a day.’

‘ Six?’

‘That’s on a good day. If I’m in a bad mood it could be closer to eight.’

He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Just when I thought you might be perfect.’

I smile into my glass, my heart jumping about my body. We fall into a loaded silence as we both sip our drinks.

‘Can I tell you something?’ he asks.

‘Sure.’

‘This is the nicest conversation I’ve had since moving here.’

It’s mad, but it catches me so off guard that it takes my breath away. He looks so serious, and he’s looking right into my eyes, leaning towards me slightly.

‘Really?’ I manage.

He nods.

Excitement shoots up my body as he leans a bit closer. Oh my God, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me.

‘Until you met a bat?’ I say.

He smiles. ‘Until I met Bat Girl.’

He’s so close to me now that I can feel his breath on my face. I could easily kiss him. But for the moment, we’re just looking into each other’s eyes. The music is blaring around us, but I can barely hear it. It’s like we’re the only two people in the room.

‘I think I …’

I pause, waiting for him to finish his sentence, when he stops.

He leans back, as if he’s being pulled out of a trance, and reaches for his phone from his pocket.

I watch him, my heart dropping as I feel the moment slip through my fingers.

Suddenly, his face changes as he looks at the name flashing on the screen.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘But …’ I start to reply but he’s already on his feet. He holds his phone to his ear and paces through the crowd towards the door.

I watch him go, my heart chasing after him, until he dips into the night with a phone pressed to his ear.

He’s gone.

I didn’t even get his name.