Chapter 75: How to Tease Anne Bonny
The sign above the tavern door hadn’t changed a bit, the letters weathered enough that no one could probably read them anymore. James pushed through the door into nostalgic heat, loud voices, and the stubborn aroma of rum soaked into old floorboards, a scent no amount of scrubbing had ever managed to drive away.
He hadn’t made it three steps before the room recognized him.
This crowd wasn’t like the one that had swallowed his crew at the docks earlier. Ordinary sailors celebrated any man who survived something spectacular.
Captains were different.
They didn’t hand out respect freely. A nod from someone who had fought for his own ship had to be earned, and earning that approval from a room full of them at once was worth far more than cheers from the waterfront.
"CALLOWAY!"
A grizzled captain near the stairs shoved himself halfway out of his chair, sloshing rum over the edge of his cup.
"Heard ye blew some bastard sky-high and sailed home wi’ a second ship tucked under yer arm!"
"Aye, more or less."
James grinned as he worked between the tables. "Though most versions leave out the part where I spent time hidin’ in a swamp."
"Every good story does that!"
The reply came from somewhere deeper in the room.
"Ye think I tell folk about the three days I spent shittin’ meself through a fever?"
Laughter rolled through the tavern.
A weathered captain near the bar spotted the sword riding at James’s hip and let out a whistle sharp enough to cut through most of the noise.
"That’s a handsome bit of steel. Where’d ye get it?"
"Bought it from a sketchy shop that charged like it sold clothes to kings. Wouldn’t recommend it."
That was close enough to the truth that James didn’t feel guilty saying it.
He turned away from some mug being pushed into his hands and found himself near the bar.
Meg worked behind the counter, sleeves rolled above her forearms as she wrestled a barrel tap back into place. She wore plain linen beneath a thick brown apron stained with ale and flour, her dark skirt simple, her hair tied back so it stayed clear of casks and bottles. Nothing about her invited attention anymore.
She looked happier.
Meg noticed him only after finishing with the barrel. Her eyes drifted over the room, found him waiting, and stopped.
One brow lifted.
"So."
The single word had the warmth of a winter morning.
"I take it you failed to get yourself killed."
James rested an elbow against the bar.
"I tried not to disappoint."
"So I see."
She reached for a bottle without looking at it, pouring rum into a waiting mug with ease.
"The town’s been unbearable these last few days."
"Oh?"
"Every man who comes through that door has a different tale."
She slid the mug across to its owner before continuing. "One swears you burned an entire treasure fleet, another insists you stole a governor’s daughter. There’s more."
James scratched his chin.
"I don’t remember stealin’ any governor’s daughters."
"I rather assumed that part was fiction."
She glanced at him then, lingering just long enough to take in the weathered coat, the new pistols crossing his chest, and the sword at his side.
"So."
Her expression never changed.
"Which parts were true?"
James smiled.
"Enough of ’em."
"I expected as much."
Another customer demanded ale from the far end of the counter. Meg answered with a nod, filled two tankards, collected the shillings, then returned as though the interruption had never happened.
"I dislike learning news about people I know from drunken strangers."
For just a moment, the corner of her mouth threatened to betray the smile she kept under such strict discipline.
Then it disappeared.
"Now stop cluttering my bar."
She flicked a cloth at him. "If you intend to spend the evening here, find yourself a table before every captain decides they deserve your company first."
James let her get back to it.
He chose a table in the open instead of one tucked into a corner.
If a man wanted company, this was where he sat.
He eased into the chair, stretched out his legs, and enjoyed the welcome he’d earned.
It lasted less than a minute.
A mug settled onto the table with a firm knock against the wood, loud enough to make James look up.
Anne Bonny stood over him, one hand still resting on the handle. Her chin was lifted in that familiar, defiant way, as though she already made the decision whatever came out of his mouth next would annoy her.
Weeks apart hadn’t changed her much.
The copper of her hair still caught the lantern light, and the plain clothes of a tavern girl suited her better than he would’ve guessed. A simple blouse, the sleeves rolled for work, disappeared beneath a dark bodice but doing remarkably little to hide the generous curves beneath. If anything, it only made her seem more real.
James smiled before either of them spoke.
"Welcome home," Anne snickered.
The words themselves felt polite enough.
The look accompanying them could’ve started a duel.
"I was wonderin’ when ye’d come over."
"I wasn’t."
"No?"
"I was bringing you a drink."
"Out of kindness?"
"No."
James chuckled into his mug.
"Aye. Fair enough."
Anne looked as though she meant to leave.
Her gaze wandered toward the bar where customers waited with empty mugs, as if she’d remembered she was supposed to be working.
Then she looked back at James.
For reasons she probably couldn’t have explained even to herself, her feet refused to follow.
Instead, she drifted a step closer. Her fingers came to rest on the back of his chair, close enough that she nearly brushed his shoulder. It was an absent gesture, one made without thinking, as though standing beside him had become the most natural place in the room.
James noticed.
Of course he did.
He wrapped his hand around the mug and took an unhurried drink, letting the rum linger on his tongue far longer than it needed to. All the while, he watched Anne over the rim, saying nothing, content to let the silence do the work for him.
She shifted her weight.
Her fingers tapped once against the chair.
Then again.
She glanced toward the bar, only to find Meg already serving the waiting customers without so much as looking in her direction. There wasn’t a soul calling for Anne.
James hid the smile threatening to appear and took another leisurely sip.
He could almost see the battle playing out behind those green eyes.
Walk away.
Ask.
Walk away.
Ask.
By the time he’d lowered the mug again, the frustration had become almost tangible.
Anne surrendered first.
"So..."
The word came with hesitation.
It wasn’t that Anne lacked the nerve to ask. She couldn’t seem to decide where to begin.
James had seen that look before, on green sailors watching a seasoned captain return to port. They never cared how much powder had been spent or how many cannons had fired.
They wanted to know what it had felt like.
Anne looked down at the mug in his hand before her eyes drifted to his face.
"...What’s it like?"
James tilted his head.
Her answer came almost absentmindedly. "When you’re out there for weeks, waking up and not knowing what you’ll find over the horizon."
She let out a breath, catching herself only after the words had already escaped.
"I mean..."
Her expression hardened again, trying to gather back the pieces of her pride.
"...Everyone in this place talks about the fighting."
She gave a small shrug.
"I’ve heard enough stories about men stabbing one another."
James smiled into his mug. "I reckon that’d be the part ye liked."
She shot him a look.
"I like hearing about people getting what they deserve."
"I’ll remember that."
"What I meant was..."
She searched for the words, her fingers unconsciously tapping the back of the chair.
"...what’s the rest of it like?"
James watched her for a long moment.
He wondered if she even realized she’d given herself away.
"I don’t think ye’re asking about my adventures."
Anne frowned. "I’ve just asked about it."
"Nay."
He shook his head slowly.
"You’re askin’ what it’d be like if it was your adventure."
Her fingers stilled, and for a heartbeat, Anne simply stared at him.
Then the flush began to creep into her cheeks, just enough to betray her.
She looked away with an annoyed little huff.
James, naturally, enjoyed every second of it. "I’m surprised you know how to blush."
"I am not blushing."
"Nay?"
He leaned forward just enough to catch another glimpse of her face.
"Could’ve fooled me."
"I said I’m not."
"Hm."
He pretended to study her with exaggerated care.
"I don’t know..."
His grin widened. "I think ye look prettier like this."
Anne looked back at him, suspicious already. "Like what?"
"Like some fair maiden who’s just been caught dreamin’."
The words had barely left his mouth before her hand smacked the back of his head.
"Ow."
James rubbed the spot without sounding the least bit aggrieved.
"That’s better."
Anne folded her arms. "Better?"
He looked up at her with some very fearless smile.
"I’ve always liked my women with enough spirit to actually kill me."
A short, unwilling snort escaped her before she caught it.
"My women?"
One eyebrow climbed slowly.
"And who, exactly, are your women?"
James spread his hands innocently. "None at present."
"I wonder why."
"I’ve been away."
"No."
She leaned down just enough for him to see the mischief creeping into her own eyes.
"I imagine they all came to their senses."
James laughed aloud.
"There she is."
"There who is?"
"The Anne I remember."
She tried to hold on to the scowl.
It lasted all of three seconds before another reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
James reached out, his fingers finding her hand. His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles before giving her a gentle tug.
"Come here."
Anne rolled her eyes with theatrical annoyance, though she made no effort to pull away.
"As if anyone could tell you no."
She slipped her hand from his, walked around the table, and lowered herself into the empty chair beside him with all the feigned indifference she could muster.
James leaned back, thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Let me tell you what it’s really feels like to be free."