Not a Chance
Pairing: fem!reader x John Shelby
Warning(s): Alcohol consumption, mild description of violence (against you), being attacked
Word Count: 5.9K
Summary: When one of the infamous Shelby brothers decides you'd caught his eye, you answer his advances with the same thing every time. Not a chance. One fateful late-night throws you closer to the Small Heath bad boy than you ever thought you'd get.
A/N: Wow, look at that word count. IDK what came over me but I started writing and then I just didn't stop. This is my favourite that I've written for Non-Stop August so far, by far.
If anyone has any requests send 'em on in and I just might be able to find a place to slip it in this month.
With a smile on your face you hand the brown paper bag with the delicately folded edge over to Mrs Murphy, careful to pass it to her with the bottom flat and unmoving, lest the cream on top of the bun should get flattened.
“Husband still has no clue?” You tease as you accept her few coins in your outstretched hand.
“I have it down to a fine art. Eat it in the alley just before the turn off to my street and dump the wrapper in the neighbour’s bin. It's full proof.” You laugh along with her, the kind of laughter that two women who share a secret from the men around them allow, before waving her off as the bell above the door loudly exclaims her exit.
It was near on closing so the small bakery only boasted a couple of customers whose chittering about which type of bread to accompany their dinners filled the shop. You decide to get a head start on your nightly routine, changing the prices on the small pieces of whiteboard to reflect your end of day urge to get the last few stragglers of baked goods sold.
The bell above the door chimes again when your back was turned to the door. The store quiets to a complete still, before scurried feet and the bell going again tells you of your previous customers hurried escape. You sigh, closing your eyelids firmly before turning around, knowing exactly the only people that could have that effect on your patrons.
“You know John,” you start, turning around to face not only the one Shelby you were imagining, but two in the shape of John and Arthur, “Mr Mooney would be outraged if he knew you were coming in here and scaring off his customers. Any more of that carry on and he might not be able to keep the shop open.”
Your level stare at the men did nothing but bring a grin to the already smirking face of John Shelby, the toothpick in his mouth lolling to the side at the movement.
“C’mon darl,” he held out his hands by his side in an exaggerated shrug, “when have you ever known me not to be a generous customer?” Arthur had distracted himself with looking around, clearly having been dragged in here on their way to wherever they were actually supposed to be.
“Well hurry up then, what is it you want tonight?” Your urging makes John raise a hand to his chest, clutching at his heart as if wounded.
“Did you hear that Arthur?” John asks all but rhetorically, as Arthur pays his younger brothers’ antics no mind. “What is it you want,” John mimics, “you can tell Mr Mooney that if there’s any dip in sales it’s from how his shop lady talks to the customers.”
John places both of his hands against the front of the counter, leaning slightly towards you. Your eyes stray to the toothpick hanging out of his mouth, noting to yourself that you had seen him with it more often than without. John mistakenly thinking that you were looking at his lips shoots you a wink, making you take a step back from the counter.
“You want customer service?” You question, clearing your throat with a dramatic cough and leveling him with the best fake smile you could muster. “Good evening gentlemen and welcome to Mooney’s Morsels. Now unfortunately we are running low in stock, but if I can divert your attention to the front cabinet, you’ll see you’re lucky enough for there still to be a selection left to sample.” Your voice is both jovial and dead at the same time as you wave your hands illustriously across the very few items remaining for the day, making a spectacle of yourself to prove a point.
“Well, I liked that one much better myself.” You let out a small tsk at the older Shelby who had spoken up from the back of the shop, but not daring to push your luck the same way that you did with John, lacking the same familiarity.
John from his still leant position at your counter lifts up a hand and lazily wiggles a finger at you, gesturing for you to come closer. You comply and rest both of your elbows on your own side of the counter, placing your chin in your hands so you can gaze at him with the set of fake puppy dog eyes you were sporting.
Even though John knew that you were only teasing, your proximity and hunched posture meant that you were close enough that he had to look down at you, your eyes piercing through his chest without you so much as trying. The smell of freshly milled flour from your apron drifted pleasantly up his nose as he allowed himself a moments pause to take you in before continuing.
“You better listen up darl, cause this is a one time offer,” he said, accentuating the word ‘one’ by raising up a singular finger in front of your face before swiftly tapping you on the nose with it, “I’m going to buy every last thing left in this shop.” Your nose relaxed from its scrunched position and the hand you’d just used to swat John’s away stilled at your side. If John bought everything that would mean that you’d get to skip off home early, maybe even be able to have a cup of tea with your mother before you’d both start on dinner.
“But as a reward you have to come for a drink at the Garrison with me. Whaddya say?” He drums his fingers a few times before standing up to his full height, face smug as if he’d just given you an offer you simply couldn’t refuse.
Although for a second you had forgotten that you were talking to John Shelby, the brief prospect of heading home early being snatched away from you as soon as it was offered had you deflating. Not that you’d show it to the men. Instead, you make a show of tapping your chin with a set of your fingers from your still leant position, giving the appearance of genuinely thinking about the offer. You abruptly stood up, a clear sign that you had made your decision, much to John’s initial delight.
“Not a chance Johnny boy.” Arthur chuckles from behind his younger brother, prompting a glare to be sent his way. “Now if you’re not actually going to buy anything can you get out of the shop, you’re scaring everyone away.”
“We’re not doing anything.”
“I think you know as well as I do that you don’t have to.” John rolls his eyes in annoyance, but even he can’t deny the truth in your words.
Arthur clearly fed up with the whole charade his brother had just made him endure purchases a loaf of ciabatta, you happily wrapping it up for him. He hands you his payment but refuses to accept his change once you offered it to him, stating that you could keep it for the trouble. You smile and accept it gratefully, wishing the gentlemen a pleasant evening as Arthur leads John out of the shop by the elbow. Once outside the younger brother shakes off his brother’s hand in irritation, following Arthur down the street and only breaking eye contact with you once he leaves the line of sight of the shop window.
You release a sigh once he was out of view, your chest feeling less constricted by the action. You really thought the Shelby boy would’ve given up well before now.
You’d shifted to Small Heath with your mother and two younger siblings 8 months ago, and 8 months ago you’d caught the eye of John Shelby after your first day working in the bakery.
“You watch out for that lot,” the cheerful Mr Mooney had warned you after seeing the three Shelby boys crossing the street en route to the shop, “those Shelby boys are mixed up in all the wrong things, nothin’ but trouble.”
Although you had appreciated the older man’s fatherly advice, you didn’t need it. You could see it for yourself. People parted ways to make room for them on the street, either avoiding eye contact or giving a pleasant and rushed greeting. They walked with an authority that said how unafraid of everyone and everything they were, that was all you had needed to see to have each of them pegged.
You’d never met the men, but you knew them before they had even stepped a foot through the bakery door. You’d grown up around men like them. Your mother had dated men like them, your brother had hung around with men like they before you shifted. They were trouble with a capital ‘T’, and you may have been the only woman in all of Small Heath to have not been glad to have caught trouble’s eye.
The propositions hadn’t started on that first day, but by later that same week they had started and had ceased to stop since. Every time John asked you out it went the exact same way.
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
“Not a chance.”
“Lets go cruising, just the two of us.”
“Not a chance.”
“There’s a new club opened, I bet we’d look good together on the dancefloor.”
“Not a chance Shelby.”
No matter how many different ways he invented to ask you, your answer was always the same. Not a chance.
You’d have thought that by now the youngest Shelby would’ve gotten bored, having gathered from the gossip around Small Heath that he was the most restless of the three. Week after week you were proven wrong, as the bell dinged before his cocky smile was staring right at you.
How many more times was it going to take before trouble stopped knocking on your door?
Having not been able to close early for the night, you flip the battered sign hanging in the door to closed before locking the front door after you. If anybody was following you home, they’d have been surprised to see you turning off on a street several before your own. If they’d been following you for any good period of time though, they’d know this was a weekly stop.
You rap on a beaten down, shabby red door, before a frazzled mother, whose appearances very much matched her front door, yanked it open. Her annoyed expression softened when she saw it was you. You exchanged pleasantries briefly before you handed over a tote bag containing what few loaves had been left at the end of the day.
“You’re sure you’re not going to get in trouble for this?” Mrs Hawley queried as a handful of her many children raced down the hallway behind her.
“Mooney would have to know to care.” You say with a reassuring pat to her shoulder. You say your goodbyes after she thanks you profusely before your head to your final stop of the night.
The house was quiet as it usually was during the evenings, your mother being an advocate for making both your younger siblings read for an hour or two before dinner. Her reading skills were poor at best, and although she couldn’t afford a good education for your brother and sister, she did what little was in her power to do.
You prepared dinner in almost complete silence, with you humming out a few notes of a song you had caught out of the window of a passing car on your way home.
“Shelley said she saw those Shelby boys in the bakery again today.” Although you liked little old Shelley Wickham that lived in the apartment across the road and up a storey from the bakery, you were sure that your mother had had ulterior motives in befriending her.
“Yes, they were mum.” You sigh out, ready for yet another lecture about the dangerous brothers three.
“I just want you to be-”
“Careful. Yes I know.” You interrupt, earning you a displeased scowl in return. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. That John Shelby couldn’t tempt me if he offered us a gold adorned mansion to live in.” You continued cooking in silence, your mother sufficiently calmed for the evening.
“Now dear even I’d be tempted by a gold mansion.” The joking lilt in her voice has you both dissolving into giggles, you nudging her with your elbow lovingly, glad that you had been able to ease your mothers mind. If only for one more night.
*****
You were watching the clock tick down. It had been one of those kinds of days. You closed your doors at 4, meaning you only had 20 minutes until you were allowed to lock the doors. Mr Mooney had told you that he was really needing the bread stoves cleaned after your shift, and you were only too happy to accept the paid overtime, him telling you to take as long as you needed before leaving for the day.
The bell above the door dinged, forcing a smile onto yourself after you allowed yourself a grimace. before turning your focus to the customer. You immediately allowed the smile to fall off of your face when you saw it was only John Shelby.
“I’m not in the mood tonight John, okay? Can you just head on down to the Garrison like you usually do and find someone there to annoy.”
“Woah woah woah there darl. Is it really too much to ask for to get a look at that pretty face of yours before I drink away my sorrows after you shoot me down again?” That signature grin adorned his face, but you weren’t in the mood for playing games, leaving the frown firmly upon your lips.
“You know you could just skip out the whole middle bit and head to the Garrison to drink happily with the knowledge that you haven’t been rejected in one whole day.” You add a sarcastic tight-lipped smile to the end of your sentence, which only spread his own. He looked up to the clock on the wall before speaking.
“Your shift ends in 15, how about I wait here then walk you down to the Garrison with me for a drink? I swear I’ll be the total gentleman. I won’t even give you a goodnight kiss, even when ask for one.” You opened your mouth to respond but he interrupted you before you got the chance. “Let me guess? Not a chance.” He says, raising his voice slightly in a very poor imitation of you that you find yourself letting out a small laugh at. Much to your annoyance.
“You got better plans tonight then darl?”
“If you must know actually my plans are over time here cleaning the ovens before having a cup of tea with my mother, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You add the last part when it looked as though John were about to launch into a speech about how much more fun your night would be if you spent it with him instead.
“Over time on a Friday? How are you getting home?” He asks with a genuine concern that has you hesitating.
“Walking like usual.” John was very clearly unhappy with that answer, shaking his head back and forth at you, toothpick swaying on his lips.
“No. I’ll come and give you a lift.”
“After drinks at the Garrison? I don’t think so.” You scoff out.
“Then I’ll come and walk you home. Final offer, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” You glance at the clock, seeing that closing was rapidly approaching. All you wanted to do was to get started on that oven, so you did something that you hoped you wouldn’t regret.
“Alright fine.” You said yes to John Shelby. The smile on his face makes you wish you could take your answer back, but you can’t unsay what’s been said. And you can’t un-feel the butterflies that knock about your stomach as you usher him out the front door, him placing a kiss upon your hand before you snatch it back and lock the door.
You find that you put more elbow grease into the furnace than what was strictly necessary in an effort to rid your thoughts of John. You’d dip your brush into the bucket and there he would be, grinning down at you. You’d pick at a stubborn spot and you’d feel his lips upon your hand, soft and warm. You’d get fresh sudsy water and you’d be able to feel his breath upon your face.
You startle out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the glass in the front of the store. You race out of the back room to find two drunken men drawn by the light still on in the shop knocking at the glass and trying the door knob.
“We’re closed. Better move along.” You say, pointing at the hanging closed sign as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. One of the men you recognise from down the street to you, so you address him when the men do not immediately move on. “Mr Hawley, won’t your wife and kids be waiting for you?” You question with a steel gaze that has the addressed man’s lip curling up in rage.
“What’s it to ya?’ He slurs out at you, his companion trying the door for what would have to have been the fifth time since you’d been standing there.
“Absolutely nothing to me, but I’m sure it’s something to your wife and kids.” Graham Hawley stares right back at you with an intent that has shivers racing up along your spine before it settles back in the pit of your stomach.
With his friend still leering and trying the door beside him, Graham grabs him by the collar and pulls him off out of view down the street. You only hope that he was off to his family and not off to find more alcohol.
Your work takes about another hour before you’re satisfied with how the oven came up. Even with the strain that runs across your back and the aching neck you acquired in the process, you turn the lights in the bakery off with a smile, opening and locking the door behind you.
The feeling that comes over you when you realise that John Shelby was not waiting for you has you scrunching up your nose in disgust. Funny how he could have that effect on you without even being in your presence. Usually of course, you were screwing up your nose for entirely different reasons, but for the sake of your sanity you were ignoring that you were disappointed that he hadn’t shown up.
Despite yourself. you find that you linger at the door far longer than necessary. You double check the door and cup your eyes against the glass to see that all the lights were turned off, even though it was plain that they were. With a defeated sigh you give up and start making your way down the cobblestones.
As you usually finished much earlier in the day you were shocked by the calm that the night brought, how cobblestones slick with water and oil from passing cars sparkled under the dim street lights.
For a moment, you pause in your steps, straining to hear into the distance. You start your steps again slowly, but cease them almost immediately after, catching the this time unmistakable sound of steps following behind you. You turn and assess the street, shaking your head at yourself when you realise that there was no one in sight. If you’d have realised you were this prone to paranoia you’d have been counting your lucky stars much earlier than this that your shifts usually ended so early in the day.
Suddenly a hand is thrown over your mouth. Fat, sweaty fingers make screaming an impossibility as the accompanying arm is firmly latched around your waist, pulling you into the darkness of a nearby alley. Your head is slammed forcefully against the brick of the wall, making you see stars as you desperately try to blink them away.
When you get reoriented you see that the figure holding you against the wall is Graham Hawley, his friend hanging just slightly to your left in the shadows.
“You think you’re some real high and mighty bitch, huh? Think you can tell me when I should be getting home and when I shouldn’t?” Your reply is slapped from your mouth as Graham’s hand left your mouth long enough to smack it hard against your cheek before returning its stifling grip on your mouth.
“Think we’re some charity case, is that it? Bringing over what scraps of bread nobody else wanted like I can’t provide for my own family.” Your words of denial can’t make it past the drunken man’s fingers, and you feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you fight to be heard, by him or anyone else that may have been passing.
“C’mon man, we better go.” His friend pipes up, making you nod your head as vigorously as you could against the cold brick, muffled sounds of approval puffing past his heavy fingers. The tears begin to fall down your cheeks, slowly at first, when a sadistic grin spreads across your aggravators face.
“Go?”, he questions to his friend, “I haven’t even gotten to teach this bitch a lesson yet.” He releases the arm around your waist, replacing the pressure there with his beefy torso, as he rears back his fist to the increasing volume of your muffled screams. You close your eyes with ragged breaths, awaiting the feeling of your nose crunching and your skull hitting the wall.
“Let her go.” A new voice joins the fray and the tears freely pour across your cheeks and onto Graham’s fingers when you see John Shelby’s silhouette, illuminated by the street light.
“What did you say, boy?”
“I said, let. Her. Go.” You’d never truly understood the fear the gripped the chests of Small Heath at the sight of the Shelby’s, but John’s clipped, authoritative words had the blood in your veins stilling.
The reaction it has upon the men is instant, with his friend tugging at his sleeve and begging to go, while Graham’s hold on you lessened ever so slightly. Still clearly high on the liquid courage he’d imbibed in he doesn’t relent, shaking off his friend and trying to match John’s stare.
“And what if I don’t? You gonna get your brother to deal to me?” Wordlessly, John reaches up and removes the flat cap from his head, holding the brim between his fingers so the light could catch at the metal hidden within its seams.
“No. I’m gonna deal to you.” Graham’s friend had taken more than enough for the two of them, letting out a frantic ‘lets go’ as he this time successfully pulled on his friends arm, sending the two of them peeling down the alley and into the next street over. Out of your sight but not your mind.
John has you held in his arms before you’d even realised your knees had given out, catching you and keeping you on your feet. He says your name softly once, then when it garnered no response he says it again. His voice was still soft, but the urgency that was laced in the letters were enough to pull your teary eyes to his face.
“Are you okay?” It was a loaded question. Physically, you would be okay. The implications of the evening hadn’t set in for you yet though, the adrenaline wearing off making your knees tremble and your hands shake from their position clutching the fabric of his tweed jacket.
“Lets get you home darl, c’mon.”
“No.” The panic in that one word has John’s brow stitched together until you repeat yourself. “No, I can’t have my mother seeing me like this. She can’t know this happened.” Your mother would never allow you to take any more over time if she found out about this fiasco, and as much as you were shaking like a leaf and incapable of pulling a steady breath into your lungs, your family were in no position to be turning down any extra hours.
John nods at you, seeming to understand everything you were thinking in that small, panicked sentence you were able to muster. Without another word he places a gentle arm around your waist so your sides were flat together, and he delicately places the arm not desperately clinging to his own around the back of his neck.
You successfully place one foot in front of the other as you lean on the support you hadn’t known you needed until it was given. John leads you down the street and although you have no idea where you’re going, with his small muttered words of encouragement you diligently follow his lead. In that moment you’d have followed John Shelby anywhere.
Seemingly out of the blue John stops at a nondescript door, pulling a key out of one of his many pockets and letting you both inside. He places you down on a plush red lined sofa, leaving your side only long enough to light the fire in the room and start the kettle before he’s back by your side with a rag and an unlabelled clear bottle.
With a movement of his head, he motions for you to turn around. You do so obligingly, offering him up the now pounding area on the back of your skull that had collided with the wall. You feel his fingers gently graze over the area, a hiss escaping your lips when he places a tad too much pressure on the centre of the point of pain.
“This is going to hurt.” The popping of a cork has you turning your head slightly to see John pouring the liquid all over the rag. Re-corking the bottle, you face your head forward, nodding for John to continue.
John hadn’t been lying about it hurting, a pained yelp running over your lips as the stinging in the back of your head takes over your senses. You reach out behind your back, fumbling for something to ground you, when a soft hand if offered up to you. You take it and squeeze out of pure reaction alone, finding that tethering yourself to John made it easier to ignore the pain. The more he patted the less it hurt until your breaths were coming in long and slow for the first time since you left the shop.
John clearing his throat makes you realise that you hadn’t felt a pat to the back of your head in a while. Keeping his mooring hand in yours you shuffle around to face him, your feet firmly planted to the ground with your body facing his, while one of his legs was tucked underneath him, allowing him to be facing you completely.
“It’ll sting for the next few days, but you’ll be alright.” You nod in understanding, not knowing what to say or how to even start on how grateful you felt that he had been there.
“How does the rest of me look, like I’ve been in a scuffle?” You ask with a humorous lilt to your voice. John quickly assesses your tear stained face with his eyes, smiling when it was done.
“Your cheek is a bit red,” he reaches up his spare hand and gently places it on your cheek, allowing his thumb to move back and forth in a feather light caress, “but that’ll be gone by the time you get home.” Seeing the brief panic flash in your eyes his reassures you, “I promise darl.”
Despite yourself you feel a smile form on your face. Whether it was John’s calming reassurances or his hand on your cheek while the other was still clutched firmly in your own, you didn’t know.
But what you were suddenly very sure of was John’s eyes had never looked bluer than they did right now, and his face never looked more handsome than when he looked at you with firelight dancing along his features.
You felt yourself getting overwhelmed the longer your eyes stayed on his face until your lip was trembling and your eyes were stinging with tears once again.
John pulled you in to him, resting one arm around your shoulders while one hand went to the back of your head, carefully avoiding your injured spot as he pulled you down so your face was resting against his firm chest when the first sob was pulled from your body.
He held you against him as you continued to cry. His fingers danced across your hair as he rocked you back and forth, shushes leaving his mouth with your name and softly spoken ‘it’ll be okays’ scattered throughout.
Your sobs died, as did John’s shushes, until you were acutely aware that you were being held in the safest arms you’ve ever been in. You allow yourself to pull back just enough to let you look up at John’s face and suddenly your breath was gone as his eyes met yours. You were speechless, swallowed whole by John’s tenderness and beckoning lips that seemed to be coming closer to yours with every punctuated beat of your heart.
The kettle whistling loudly in the background pries you both from your daze and has you clearing your throat to fill in the previous sound of your quiet, drawn-out breaths. With a small smile John is leaving you, pottering around in the kitchen until a cup of steaming coffee is in your hands and a much more respectable distance is between you both, one of his legs now resting over the other.
You take a careful sip of the offered drink, screwing up your nose to John’s short laughter when you realise that it was spiked.
“You needed something to take the edge off.” In any other circumstances you’d have been making yourself a new drink and chiding John for the cheek, but right now you gratefully accepted the warmth the hidden Whiskey offered you as you continued to sip.
You sat in contented silence, sipping lightly on your drink as John kept a weathered eye on you in between looking around the room and twiddling his thumbs.
“John?” His elbows now resting on his knees, his head in hands. He turns to look at you, giving you a small, genuine smile to encourage you on. “If you hadn’t of gotten there-”
“I should have been there sooner.” He bit out, throwing his back into the couch as he rubs a hand down the length of his face. “If I hadn’t agreed to one more drink-”
“I don’t want to hear that.” You cut off, making him look at you as you continued. “You were there when it mattered. And I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.” He smiles at you and you think it may have been the first one you’d seen that didn’t have some cheek or devilishness hiding just below the surface. You could feel your heart falter as you gave him a smile back, hoping that it conveyed all the thankfulness and warmth that had crept into your ribcage since he’d sat across from you.
“Can I ask you a question?” You all but whisper, nervously looking down into your nearly empty coffee cup before looking back into John’s face. He gives you a quick, singular nod, that genuine smile still planted on his lips. “Why do you keep asking me out every day?” He scoffs at you, shaking his head and looking at you incredulously, clearly in wonder that that was what had been so pressing you’d been nervous to say it. After everything that had happened.
“I mean it John. I’ve shot you down more times than I can count, and you come back in everyday as if the last didn’t happen. Am I that much of a pretty face?” You add cheekily, making him laugh at the memory of his words earlier that evening.
“You definitely are that much of a pretty face.” The cheek returns to his smile briefly before it flattens out into a more serious expression. “But you’re also the girl that takes the leftovers to the family that needs it, but definitely doesn’t deserve it.” Your cheeks heat in time with the prickles that raise the hairs on the back of your neck as you bashfully look into your lap before having the nerve to meet John’s piercing gaze. “And you’re the girl that takes over time because she knows her family needs it.” Your breathing halts before a tiny mangled, squeak sounds in the back of your throat.
All this time you thought that John had only been interested in you, the pretty faced bakery girl that wouldn’t give him the time of day when every other girl would. Little did you know he wanted you. All of you. He had really seen you, and maybe if you’d have afforded him the time of day you could’ve really seen him too, for who he really is. A younger sibling who loved his family, with a cheeky smile that hid a heart of gold.
“Speaking of family’s darl, if we don’t get you home soon yours is going to start a search party.” He accentuates his sentence with as playful rap of his knuckles on your knee. You grin before you down the little contents that remain in the mug and hover at the front door as John extinguishes the fire and locks up the house.
The walk to yours was quiet, no words needing spoken between you as you simply exist in each other’s company. Without warning you gently snake your hand into the crook of his elbow which he gladly accepts wordlessly.
You hadn’t realised how close you had been to your house before, or maybe the walk felt too short because you weren’t ready to leave John Shelby alone for the night. You both huff in unison as you stare at your door, both of you knowing you had to cross the threshold but neither of you wanting to separate from the other.
John softly spoke your name, making you slowly tilt your head to catch his gaze. His eyes flick between yours as he subconsciously licks his lips in thought.
“I know how you can make it up to me.” The light lilt in his voice let you know that he was joking and he didn’t actually expect payment for playing the hero. You nod anyway, happy to play along. “Go a date with me. A proper one, to a restaurant.” You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at John’s serious expression, as he seems genuinely concerned at what your answer could be. You stare at him in silence once your laughter had died, but the smile he had elicited stayed firmly in its place.
With a squeeze to his bicep, you lean in and place a lingering kiss on his cheek, reaching up onto your tiptoes to whisper into his ear.
“Do you think I’d miss it for the world?” You place your feet flat on the ground, reaching over to open your door and leave him in the night as you speak.
“Not a chance, John Shelby.”
