The others had already claimed a long wooden table near the fire. The oak top was scarred with years of carvings, initials, dates, and the odd heart with an arrow through it. It was too small for the group, really, but somehow, they made it work, chairs squeezed tight, shoulders brushing.
Clara found herself settled between Watchdog and Valentina. His presence was solid at her side, like a wall that shifted with her movements, adjusting subtly so she never felt crowded but always felt shielded.
Menus were passed around, but most of them barely glanced at them.
“Pie, pint, done,” Reaper declared, tapping his order down without even reading.
“Surprise me,” Lotus said, winking at the barmaid who rolled her eyes but grinned anyway.
“Fish and chips,” Titan rumbled, decisive, Maya rolling her eyes fondly beside him.
“Of course you’d go for the biggest portion,” Damon teased, and Titan only shrugged, unbothered.
Valentina leaned close to Clara, her accent lilting, warm. “Order the stew. Trust me, it’s heavenly.”
Clara smiled, grateful for the kindness. “Then stew it is.”
When the food was ordered, the table dissolved into easy chatter. Stories flowed, missions retold with dramatic exaggeration, inside jokes that had the whole table laughing.
Clara watched, fascinated. This wasn’t the stiff, performative laughter of her parents’ dinner parties. This was real, loud, and unguarded. Lotus teased Damon about his obsession with Formula One until he kissed her quietly. Duchess shot Gideon a sexy look that made him choke on his beer, his ears flaming as everyone howled. Bishop leaned close to Charlie, her hand always resting on his body in some way, her smile never far from him.
And in all of it, the banter flew thick and fast.
“Remember when Titan tried to fix the coffee machine?” Damon said.
“It wasn’t broken,” Lotus snorted. “He just didn’t know how to work it.”
“I knew how to work it,” Titan grumbled. “The thing was older than me.”
“Everything’s older than you,” Duchess said, deadpan.
Even Watchdog chuckled, a low sound that made Clara’s stomach flip.
He caught her looking and shrugged, a faint flush at his neck as though surprised at himself.
The food arrived, steaming bowls and plates piled high, and pints were refreshed. Conversation picked up again, loud and overlapping. Clara ate, letting the warmth of the stew and the cider loosen the knot in her chest.
At some point, Valentina nudged her gently. “You’ll come to Sunday lunch, yes?”
Clara blinked. “Sunday lunch?”
“It’s tradition,” Bishop explained around a mouthful of pie. “One family meal a week, whoever’s free. We take turns hosting. Sometimes it’s fancy, sometimes it’s takeaway. Doesn’t matter. What matters is…”
“Wine,” Lotus cut in.
“Dessert,” Maya added.
“Family,” Valentina finished firmly, her smile soft.
Clara swallowed past the lump in her throat. She managed a small nod. “I’d like that.”
Watchdog shifted beside her, and when she glanced at him, his eyes were on her. She wondered for a second if she’d overstepped. She barely knew these people, and yet she felt more comfortable with them after two days than she did with her own family. Watchdog blinked slowly, his eyes on her holding a warmth, a lightness that hadn’t been there before. There was something in them she couldn’t name, something that warmed her as much as the fire did.
The banter rolled on, louder now, fuelled by food and ale.
Reaper slapped the table, making everyone jump. “Remember when Titan tried to teach me to drive a stick?”
Titan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t start.”
