March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 5

Mother locks up the bakery and we head out into the night. The sky is pitch black, the street lit by the lamps. It's our Friday night tradition — dinner at The Crown and Anchor, the local pub. The barman buys all his bread from us, along with half the occupants, and so we don't need to worry about trouble in here. Plus, their lamb stew is to die for.

The pub's around half full as we enter and take our usual table, tucked against a half-wall closer to the bar than the window. We're only a table away from the fire, which the bartender stoops to light at this late hour — the day was too hot for it until now.

"The usual," the barman says, placing steaming hot plates of food and two glasses of rich, red wine in front of us.

Mother thanks him and we begin to eat. Over the course of the meal, something at the bar begins to nudge at my gaze, catching my eye. I turn and glance a couple of times, but see nothing more than the usual rows of men and a few women ordering drinks. Not until a handful of old men clear off to play darts, do I realise who I'm searching for.

When I see John Shelby laughing with a group of men, I quickly duck my head down.

"What is it?" Mother asks as she presses a napkin to her lips.

"Nothing." I straighten up slowly, realising I'm being ridiculous. There's no need for this to be awkward. I simply won't glance in his direction again all evening. He won't even notice I'm here.

"Is that the Shelby boy?"

"Mama, quiet," I say.

"Is he the one who comes in?"

I place my head in my hands. "Mama, please."

"John, is his name?" She asks. Her voice carries, cutting through even the boisterous men around us.

I hold my head in my hands, and can only look through my fingers as John's head snaps up. He grins in delight when he sees us, excusing himself and walking over to our table.

"Mama, you're going to get us killed," I groan.

"March," John greets me.

I smile weakly in return.

"John Shelby," Mother says, "I am so sorry for the mix up with your payments at our bakery. Please, when you come in tomorrow, we will make sure it is all sorted out."

"Don't you worry about it," he says. "You make the best bread in the world, Mrs March. It wouldn't feel right not to repay you."

"That is very kind of you, but I must insist. Your brother has paid me visits in the past, and his terms have been very clear."

John rolls his eyes. "My brother won't bother you over this, I promise you. Tom loves your pies as much as I do."

"Well, that is very kind of you to say." Mother's eyes are still wary, still sensible enough to not want to anger a Shelby, but I can see John's halfway to winning her over already. "Why don't you join us for supper?"

"John's here with people already, mama," I say.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You don't want me to sit with you?"

Mother holds her breath. But as I look into John's heavy eyes, I find myself forgetting just how dangerous he is.

"Pull up a chair," I tell him.

"What will you have to eat?" Mother asks.

He holds up a hand as he drags a chair over. "I've already eaten. Don't you worry about me."

"Then, can I get you another drink?" She asks.

"You're alright, Mrs March." He smiles.

They make small talk for a few minutes about the new train lines, and John's perfectly polite. I push the remains of my stew around with my fork, until Mother clears her throat softly and stands to her feet.

"Well, I'd best be getting home," she says, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

I'm about to get to my feet too, but she stills me with a hand. "Stay," she says. "You are far too young to be spending your Friday nights at home."

"I absolutely agree," John adds, his eyes shining in the firelight as he sips his whiskey. "I'll walk her home, Mrs March."

"Thank you, John." She squeezes my shoulder. "Don't be out too late, okay?"

And suddenly, I'm left alone with John Shelby.