"So, you don't drink?"
Arthur and Aberama were still holed up inside the factory, discussing business negotiations and fighting techniques. Bonnie and Florence had managed to sneak away from the distracted two as Tommy disappeared for an appointment with Jesse Eden in his office, his brow pinched with an all-too-familiar pained look. He'd barely spared Florence a glance before he left, so she took that as her green light to go.
Which is how she found herself and Bonnie walking along the canal slowly, Florence's arm hooped through his.
Bonnie had forgotten his hat inside, the wind disrupting the tufts of black hair on the top of his head that had just been neatly trimmed, the curls shorter at the top of his head and cut down short near the nape of his neck. His cheeks as well as the tip of his nose were pink with the cold as they got close to the water.
Bonnie smiled down at her, flashing his sharp canines. "Nah," he said, though he sounded a bit disheartened, almost like he was missing out on an opportunity, here. "Not good for my heart, dad says."
Florence nodded, understanding. Alcohol was bad for the heart, but good for the lack of courage. "Your dad is a smart man."
"Does your dad let you drink?" Bonnie asked, a little teasingly as if he already knew the answer. There was a sharp gust of wind, then, and Bonnie squinted his eyes against the sudden attack. "Or is it strictly just water?"
"Dad let's me drink—sometimes," Florence added, her eyes trained on their moving feet as she smiled softly. "He's making gin now, and he needs a taste-tester. Nobody else has any patience for him, except maybe Lizzie. But she drinks whiskey."
"Who's Lizzie?" Bonnie asked, warm eyes watching the side of her face as she carefully stepped around the cobblestone path, her movements calculated and practiced.
"My dad's...friend, I think," Florence said unsurely, looking up at Bonnie with confusion in her eyes. "I think she fancies him, but I can never be sure. I'm a little slow when it comes to things like that."
Bonnie laughed, quiet and enamoured. "Come on, dove," he said, nudging Florence into the direction they came from. "We should head back before your father has a fit."
Florence took pause, tugging Bonnie to a stop beside her. She gripped his hand in her own, holding onto his fingers as she peered up at him with wide, promising eyes, bottom lip snagged between her teeth as she contemplated her options. "Maybe we don't have to." Bonnie looked at her quizzically. "My dad knows I'm safe with you, after that performance. Maybe we don't have to go back so early?"
"What do you suggest we do, then?" Bonnie asked quietly, the tips of his ears turning pink as Florence took a step closer to him, shivering from the cold. Bonnie was torn between doing what he wanted to do, and what he should do. What he wanted to do was wrap an arm around the pretty girl's waist and hold her close, keeping her warm. What he should do is keep his hands to himself, before he wakes up one morning to see them cut off at the wrists. "It's nearly dark out."
"Perfect," Florence said, teeth chattering slightly. "I know exactly where to go."
The hill that Florence dragged Bonnie to the top of was a place she used to visit with Ada. It was ten minutes from Watery Lane, convenient for them whenever they needed a moment away from the chaos at home. They would pack a picnic and some blankets and camp out at the top for hours, watching the sun go down and then making shapes in the stars. They hadn't been back for a while, not since moving out to the country. But Florence knew it was the place to be with Bonnie.
They had stopped by Polly's house first to pick up some blankets, Florence giving her aunt a quick kiss on the cheek on her way out, pretending not to notice the wink she sent her way. Now, at the top of the hill, Florence should have been watching the sunset. But she couldn't take her eyes off of Bonnie.
