✓ | GOLDEN LIAR ↠ Thomas Shelby.

22.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

               SILENCE HAD TAKEN TOMMY Shelby's lips by storm, and this was a sight that baffled Felicity — but there was no way she could force the words to come.

Stubbornness was a trait the both of them exhibited, as she had begrudgingly come to realise over the past couple of months. It was one that neither of them was willing to give up ― or perhaps neither of them were actually able to ― and this infuriated the both of them. Whereas he had resolved to not involve her in any of his newfound idiocies, this had led to his renowned closed―off behaviour to show itself once more throughout the last couple of days. . . which had resulted in her being just as difficult when it came to not jumping at every controversial quip that passed his lips. The pair found themselves to be snapping at the smallest of things and although each day ― or most of them, that was ― ended with them tangled in one another's embrace once again, neither could deny the petty lovers feud that had sparked.

Tommy was too stubborn to admit to her that there was such a thing, however, and she was too stubborn to try and push him to do so.

So they quarrelled over spilt drinks, bickered over one or the other being more distant than the day before, before sealing one another's lips with a kiss as they parted ways for the remainder of the day.

Now, as the day drew to a close and Felicity awaited the final trickle of men to waltz through the doors of the Garrison, she let her thoughts wander and a hum to play on her lips. Absent-minded and worn―out from standing behind the bar for the last couple of hours, she couldn't deny the boredom that was beginning to grow larger inside her. As decent as an employer that Harry was, Felicity found that she missed the idle chatter that she and Grace would have: lazy conversations that would be perfect to pass the time as the pair mopped up spillages with sopping towels or carried wobbling glasses in their hands from one end of the room to the other.

Grace.

Felicity knew what the blonde Irishwoman had done and she knew just how she had fucked Tommy's plan over, but that didn't stop Felicity from missing her former friend. Harry had yet to even begin asking around for another help behind the bar, so Felicity was often left to herself whilst he dealt with and served more private parties in the back room.

"Oi, blondie!" One man called to her now, pulling the girl from her thoughts so that she had to glance at him and his friend, as they had taken to spilling themselves over the edge of the bar. "Can't you get us more beer or somethin'?"

She paused, flicked her eyes to the clock beside her before meeting his again. "Nah ― go home."

"But―"

"It's too late and I'm not prying some half―dead man off the floor in half 'n' hour's time all because he drank too fuckin' much and got too big for his boots," Felicity told them firmly in response to their indignant pleas, her hands meeting her hips as she glared at them and nodded her head towards the door.

The man screwed his face up in tired, leery annoyance. "Suit yourself," he grumbled, before turning to his friend and shrugging. "'Might as well go somewhere else, then."

He trailed out of the door with the confidence of a man who would hardly recollect such a thing the next morning, and was followed soon by his friend alongside the final few men that remained. Felicity watched them exit before calling to Harry that she'd be taking a moment or so to herself outside. . . and so that is what she did. The golden―haired girl slipped out of the back door and the chill of January hit her instantaneously. She stumbled back against the building's stone―cold brick wall and released a sigh that had been building up in her lungs for God knows how long. Snow―white breath trailed off, up into the air, and the blonde girl stamped her feet to warm up as best as she could.