March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 56

I try to scowl, but the effect is ruined by the tie John's wrapped around my eyes. I cling to his arm, stepping tentatively beside him. Fresh air whips at the hem of my coat.

"I bet people are laughing," I tell him.

I hear his own laughter in response. "Nobody here but us, love."

"Then why all the secrecy?"

"Because it's a bloody surprise, isn't it?"

"This isn't what I had in mind when Tommy said they'd have the kids."

"You're worrying too much." He kisses my forehead, lips soft, and then he tugs himself free. "Right, wait here."

I cling to his arm more tightly. "Not a chance."

"Trust me, would you?"

"I'm either in such grave peril I cannot walk anywhere without an escort, or I'm left blindfolded in the middle of the street."

"We're not on the street anymore, love."

I blink in surprise — or at least I try to. "Then where are we?"

"I'll only be a second."

I'm acutely aware of the thumping of my heart as I stand alone in the breeze. I cannot tell whether a few seconds or five minutes has passed — the suspense is unnerving, and I reach my fingers to my face, ready to lift the blindfold and peek.

Something sharp jabs me in the ribs on either side and I shriek, clamping my elbows in and turning around. John erupts in laughter as he takes me in his arms and kisses me by way of apology.

"John Shelby, I'm going to kill you," I threaten. I frown at the sound of paper crinkling, the feeling of a lumpy package beneath his arm. "What is that?"

"You'll see soon enough." He links his fingers through mine. "Come on. And watch your step. In fact," he decides, and I scream as my feet leave the ground, "It'll be safer if I carry you."

"What on earth could warrant all this?" I ask.

"You," he says simply. "I want to make this special for you."

I'm genuinely clueless as to what he could be planning — until I feel him take a large step and we sway slightly as he steadies himself, before lifting his other foot across also.

"We're here," he says, and his voice has suddenly changed — it's slightly softer, without the bravado and humour he usually possesses. He sounds almost nervous. Vulnerable.

The air is thick between us as he puts me down on my feet. There's only silence, the soft lapping of water against stone. His fingers graze the nape of my neck and leave goosebumps as he loosens the tie around my eyes and slowly, gently, tugs it free. The fabric falls to the floor.

We're on the boat in the canal once more — but it's completely transformed. The sky has changed to inky black in the time I've been blindfolded, and the stars glitter all across the night sky, thousands of them forming a cascading ribbon. John's had someone string the whole boat with trails of fairy lights that twinkle and reflect in the water all around us. There are thick tartan blankets, a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of gin, and now I've got my bearings I recognise the smell of the package he's been carrying — fish and chips.

"How on earth did you arrange all this?" I ask, spinning round to face him in amazement.

The stars and lights glitter in the reflection of his eyes. "It's better if you don't know," he murmurs. "I had to threaten a few families."

He's playful, but still reserved, still almost nervous. I realise he's waiting for my reaction. Wondering if it's enough, if I like it. If I'm happy.

"It's perfect," I tell him, as I press my lips to his.

He still tastes as dizzying as the first time we kissed, and with every inhale I feel closer and closer to seeing stars inside my own head as well as outside.

"We'd better eat," he says. "Before it gets cold and greasy."

I smile against his lips. "It'll already be cold and greasy."

"Just how I like it." He kisses me once, twice, then lingers before pulling away, leading me to the blankets. "I wasn't sure if you take yours with curry sauce or mushy peas, so I got both."

Just as we predicted, the chips are oily and lukewarm, but I've never eaten a more delicious meal than this one I share with him. We work our way through the alcohol as we eat, swigging straight from the bottle and swapping periodically. He makes me laugh constantly, and his eyes shine as we talk, polishing off the food.

"You have the last one," I tell him, when there's just the one chip left.

"No fucking way," he says, nudging the newspaper towards me. "You take it."

"No, you."

"Fucking hell." He lunges at me, pinning me to the floor of the boat while I laugh. I clamp my lips shut in protest, and he squishes the chip against my mouth until I laugh again, forcing it in.

"Gross!" I exclaim, but I still can't stop laughing as I chew it. "I'm gonna get you back for that."

He runs a hand through my hair, lying on top of me. "I don't doubt it."

I'm suddenly aware of the heat of him pressed against me. Absent-mindedly, I pull his hat from his head and slip it onto my own.

"What do you think?" I ask. "Do I make a good Peaky Blinder?"

"Careful with that," he warns me, rolling his eyes. "There's razors in there."

"I know." I pull it free and hold it up in the air, turning it to look at it from all angles. "It's the first thing I noticed about you. I wondered if you were going to use it to kill me in the bakery."

"You fucking what?" He asks, grinning.

"Don't laugh. You're a very scary man. I knew you lot sewed razor blades into your hats." I blink a little, wondering if the alcohol has made me more truthful than sensible. But I say it anyway. "I drew your hat the first day I met you. I don't know why. Maybe I was facing my fears. I just couldn't get you out of my head, John Shelby."

His responding kiss is so tender, I think I'm going to melt.

"Why do you think I kept coming back to buy bread, eh?" He asks, running his thumb across my lips. "Had to stop myself coming in twice a day sometimes. Just to see you. Just to listen to you ramble on about one thing or another." He laughs softly. "I could have stood there all day admiring you. Waiting for your drawings on my receipts."

"Those bloody drawings," I mutter.

"I kept them," he says. His eyes are soft and serious above me in the dim light. "Every single one."

I whisper, "I'm really glad we found each other."

"And now I'm yours, and you're mine." He holds me like I'm made of gold. "Like Romeo and fucking Juliet."

I raise my eyebrows. "Shakespeare?"

"Gave it to us at fucking school." He swallows. "We had to take it home to read. I wouldn't have bothered but... my mum saw it. Made me sit down and read it to her. The whole thing. Told me she was proud of me."

I take his face in my hands. "Of course she was proud of you," I whisper. "I bet she still is. How could she not be?"

He wraps his hands over my own. "I wish you could have met her," he says softly.

"I know." I rub my thumbs across his jaw. "I wish you could have met my father, too."

I don't mistake the way his breathing slows to a halt, my own ceasing in return. I don't dare myself to hope. And yet...

"There's a chance I still might."