Blood Crush Chapter 1

The jewellery sparkles under the bright lights, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds set into rings meant to symbolise love, commitment, maybe even eternity.

It’s romantic, but the truth is, these stones will outlast the lives they’re going to be tied to. I admire them as much as anyone, but for some reason they don’t feel like me. Maybe because I may never be able to afford them. The pieces I design are rough around the edges. They’re crafted from things you might overlook: seashells smoothed by the tide, shards of sea glass that catch the light just right, copper wire twisted by hand. Nothing that would ever sit under the bright lights of this high end jewellery store, but that’s what I love about them. They’re imperfect and unpretentious, each piece telling its own story, a memory of the coast, the feel of sand underfoot, or the salty wind in your hair.

The shop is quiet, except for the low hum of background music and the occasional clink of metal as I rearrange the displays. It’s the kind of quiet that lets my thoughts wander too far. My stomach growls softly, a reminder that lunchtime is near. I glance at the clock and let myself feel a flicker of excitement. Bonnie and I are going outfit shopping during my break, an escape from this showroom.

I’ve got a big interview tomorrow. Not just big, huge. PoseCouture magazine is featuring upcoming jewellery designers, and I’m one of them. It’s a chance to be seen, to have my work validated by people in the industry. It’s the kind of opportunity I’ve been chasing for years, balancing long shifts at work and sketching and crafting pieces that are mine. Pieces that might finally get me out of this place.

“Tamsin.”

My name cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see Quentin striding toward me, his frown as precise as his perfectly knotted tie. He’s been circling all morning, inventing work like a shark smelling blood. I plaster on a neutral expression, but my stomach twists.

“Hi, Quentin.” My voice is polite, but there’s a thread of steel beneath it. “Just to remind you, I’m taking the afternoon off.”

Quentin’s eyes narrow, and his lips pull into a faint, disapproving smirk. “Ah, yes. Not just this afternoon, but tomorrow morning as well. How convenient. Let me guess, another one of your projects?”

“It’s not a project,” I reply, “It’s an interview. For PoseCouture magazine. They’re featuring my designs in an article about new talent.”

He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “PoseCouture? Hm. Sounds seasonal. Spikes in attention, then fizzles out. That’s how marketing works.”

My jaw clenches, “I don't think this is just some trend piece. It’s exposure, connections. It could lead to something real.”

He doesn’t respond, just taps something into the calculator he’s holding like this conversation is beneath him. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. Quentin sees jewellery as numbers: margins, inventory, sales targets. But for me, it’s art, a way to express myself.

Thankfully our conversation is cut short as I see Bonnie arriving at the front of the store. The security guard buzzes her in, and I take the opening to grab my bag. “So, it’s my lunch hour,” I say firmly, “so I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Without waiting for his response, I head for the door.

As I step out into the crisp air, a weight lifts off my chest. Just a little longer, I remind myself. One good interview, one great article and maybe, I won’t have to keep swallowing these doubt filling conversations for much longer.

*

I’m sitting across from Bonnie at a chic little bistro, the place that’s all sleek marble tables and waiters in crisp white shirts. The type of place that neither of us can really afford, but Bonnie insisted. She always does, even though she’s got her own financial pressures as a junior doctor. Still, we’re celebrating, and she’d never let me say no.

The new outfit sits beside me in a sleek black shopping bag, the crepe white jumpsuit folded inside, ready for tomorrow. It’s perfect, clean lines, sophisticated, and the designer had set it aside just for me. I can only afford the £250 it cost me because of my generous mother, who knows what a big deal this interview is. But I can’t shake this heavy feeling in my chest, and it must be showing on my face because Bonnie looks at me across the table, fork paused halfway to her mouth.

“Okay, what’s up?” she asks, her brow creasing in concern. “You’ve had a face like a rain cloud since we sat down.”

I sigh, pushing my food around my plate without really eating it. “It’s Quentin. He made a comment this morning about how I’ve been taking time off lately... and it just... I don’t know, it got under my skin. What if this is it, Bon? What if this is my life, selling other people’s jewellery, dealing with sarcastic managers?”

Bonnie shakes her head, leaning forward, her dark curls bouncing slightly as she sets her fork down. “Tamsin, you can’t let that get to you. Quentin is a miserable man who gets off on making people feel small. You’re going to smash that interview tomorrow and leave him and that shop behind.”

I sigh again, “But what if I don’t? What if this is just... my lot in life?”

Bonnie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, “Your life is bigger than that jewellery shop. And those pieces you make... they’re not just jewellery, Tamsin. They’re like living art. They’ve got the spirit of the sea in them. No one else can do what you do. You’ll see.”

I glance up at her, my chest loosening just a little. Bonnie’s always been my biggest cheerleader, and somehow, even when I’m doubting myself the most, she makes me believe.

“Thanks, Bon,” I say, giving her a small smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She grins back. “You’d probably still be amazing, just with less noise around you,” she says with a wink. “Anyway, back to the outfit. Which one of the jewellery pieces are you wearing tomorrow?” 

I carefully pull out a necklace from my bag, letting it dangle from my fingers for Bonnie to see. It’s the largest piece of sea glass I own, a striking aquamarine that catches the light perfectly. The gold locket attached is small but intricate, flanked by a few delicate charms and more sea glass in varying shades of blue and green. The whole thing has this organic beauty to it that reminds me of the Cornish coastline, where we are both from. Bonnie’s eyes widen as she leans closer to inspect it. “Tamsin, this is perfect. You’ll look stunning with that white jumpsuit.”

I smile, feeling a little more confident about tomorrow’s interview. “I hope so. I’ve been saving this necklace for something special.”

“Put it on,” she says, and so I do. It looks like it may be heavy but it has a light feel on my neck, as I designed it to be everyday wear. Bonnie grins, taking a sip of her drink. “It suits you. Trust me, in a few months, coming to a place like this is going to be the norm, because you are going to be a hot shit fantastic mega designer. Your PA is going to call up and say, table for Tamsin please, and her best friend Bonnie and not forgetting her other friend, Harry Styles, because he is going to be wearing your pieces.”

She has me laughing again, with all the heady giddiness of what could be. As I am coming back down from the clouds, two men enter, immediately catching my eye. They’re casually but sharply dressed, the effortless style that screams money and confidence. One of them is dark-skinned, tall and lean with a perfectly groomed beard, the other white with tousled brown hair, both of them looking like they just stepped off the pages of GQ. They don’t just walk in, they stalk in, moving like they own the place, their eyes scanning the room like they’re sizing up everyone here.

The two men take a table across from us, and though they sit, they don’t order anything. The taller of the two, is broad-shouldered, with dark skin and a lot of restless energy. He keeps glancing at the door, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. The other man, though, is entirely different. Relaxed. Too relaxed. He leans back in his chair like he owns the place, one arm draped over the backrest, as though he might get up and leave at any moment. Yet his eyes keep flicking between the door and… me. Always back to me.

I try to ignore him, focusing on my plate, but those eyes are persistent, like a shadow that won’t shift no matter where the light falls. Now and then, I glance up, only to find him smirking faintly, like he’s caught me in some private joke. It’s disconcerting. Bonnie, of course, notices immediately. She pauses mid-sentence, leaning toward me with a sly grin.

“Don’t look now,” she says in a whisper, “but the guy on the right has been staring at you for, like, forever.”

I snort, trying to brush it off. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Bonnie insists, her grin widening. “He looks like Tom Hawke. Remember him? Back home? Same smirk, same stupid jawline.”

I glance up again, and my stomach flips. She’s right. The resemblance is uncanny. Same sharp angles to his face, same maddening smile. But it can’t be him. Tom disappeared from Porthtowan years ago, leaving nothing behind but whispers and ghost stories.

Bonnie nudges me, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Oh my god, what if it is him? What if he’s been resurrected? Like some undead, hotter-than-ever version of himself?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I mutter, though I can’t help stealing another look. “Tom died, Bon. We both know that.”

I say lazily, mournfully and I’m surprised when lookalike Tom turns sharply to look at us. It’s a very searing gaze towards Bonnie and I.

“Fuck, Can he hear us? ” Bonnie says. 

“Of course he can’t hear us. It’s just a coincidence. You know, like when deer know a predator is stalking it, just look away.” I say, feeling suddenly self conscious. 

Bonnie giggles, “Yeah, I’ll stalk that fine man indeed.” She says, taking a big glug of her wine, “God, do you remember how badly you were in love with Tom?” she says.

This brings up a good bout of embarrassment in me. This is the problem with having a friend that’s known you all your life. They remember every excruciatingly embarrassing aspect of your life. “It wasn’t love, just a bad crush, plus half the girls did, too.” I counter.

“Yeah, but not like you, Tam. I even beat up his girlfriend once because she called you out when you were staring at him and she wanted to slap you, remember?”

Oh boy, do I remember! “As I recall, you got pretty beat up.” Now it’s my turn to embarrass her. 

Bonnie looks incensed. “No way. I gave her what she deserved. I totally knocked the living daylights out of Jinny.” she says, getting a pugnacious look that I haven’t seen on Bonnie in a few years.

“Who are you kidding, Bon? I was there. You can’t lie about it to me.”

“No, seriously, I may have come out with a limp, but I really yanked her hair. She begged me to let her go,” she says with a lot of might. 

“Okay, so not our best moments in life. Crushing hard on some guy that we had to beat other girls up for was not good. Let’s not dwell on it anymore.” I say.

But even as I say it, the memories stir—me, sitting on that cold, damp sand, waiting for a boy who never came back. The rumours, the speculation, and that strange sense of guilt that I was one of the last people to see him alive.

Bonnie doesn’t notice my unease. She’s too busy running with her theory. “What if he’s just been hiding all these years? Maybe he’s a spy! Or in witness protection!”

“Or maybe,” I say dryly, “he’s just some guy who happens to look like him. Either way, he’s still staring, and it’s weird.”

Bonnie smirks. “Weird? Or fate? Imagine if it really is him. Wouldn’t that be something? You could finally punch him for ditching you on that date.”

I laugh, despite myself. “God, don’t remind me. He left me sitting on the beach like an idiot while he ran off to see his ex, Jinny. Total dickhead.”

“And then died the next day,” Bonnie adds, her grin fading. “You were the last person to see him, weren’t you?”

“Sort of.” My voice is quieter now, and the weight of that memory presses down again. I’d almost forgotten the frustration of that night, how small and stupid I’d felt. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me with questions I’d never get answers to.

Bonnie nudges me again, her tone turning playful to break the tension. “Still, if he comes over, I want front-row seats to that punch.”

I hadn’t thought about Tom in ages, it just makes me feel weird. There had been so many unanswered questions. I should let it go, I really should. Somehow, things in those teenage years took a bigger toll on me than I ever thought possible. 

I roll my eyes but can’t help glancing at the man one last time. His gaze meets mine, unwavering, and there’s something in it that makes my stomach twist, not recognition, but something close. I turn away, keeping my focus on Bonnie for the rest of lunch.

If it’s not Tom, it’s someone who knows how to carry his ghost.

*

It’s time to get out of here. Despite all the staring, the two men never come over. I half-expected some bad pickup line, or at least for one of them to say something. But no. To be honest, guys like that, they know they can look at any girl without permission, it comes from the sheer arrogance of knowing they are hot. As we wait for the bill, I excuse myself to the bathroom. 

As I go towards the ladies, there is a man that I pass coming from the entranceway of the restaurant. I almost get whiplash looking back at him. He looks just as stunning as the other two men that were sitting at the next table. Seriously, has GQ lost all their models today? This guy had a bit of a Middle Eastern look, sharp features, dark eyes that somehow are very intense. He must think I’m gawping at him, which I am. 

Once inside the bathroom, I take a moment to splash some cool water on my face, letting out a deep breath. I think I hear the bathroom door open, but strangely, no one has come inside. Weird. Tomorrow’s a big day, and I need to be sharp. But as I straighten up and look in the mirror, something strange happens. For just a second, everything feels... off. The room seems to blur around me, like I’m looking through a fogged-up window. My vision swims, and a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. I grip the edge of the sink, steadying myself. What on earth?

It’s over as quickly as it began. I blink a few times, my reflection coming back into focus. The bathroom is suddenly crystal clear again, and everything feels normal. I let out a shaky breath, confused. It wasn’t quite like I was about to faint, more like the world just shifted out of place for a moment. I straighten my necklace, which has gone all over the place. I shake my head, trying to shrug it off. Maybe I’m just tired. 

I head back to the table where Bonnie’s already got her card out, waving off my protests. “Don’t even try. This lunch is on me,” she says with a smile. I can’t help but glance at the hot guy’s table. I’m not surprised at all to see the middle eastern man there too, it’s like a hot guy convention or something. They seem to be having some serious discussions now. Except they all looked so pissed off at each other. Business deal gone sour? Who knows? The lives of the rich and beautiful are fascinating. That’s the great thing about King’s road, you can do an awful lot of people-watching. 

As we leave the bistro and step into the cool afternoon air, I can’t help but wonder what that dizzy spell was. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself, pushing the thought to the back of my mind. But a small, nagging part of me can’t quite let it go. Something about that moment felt... wrong.

I only briefly look back at Tom lookalike, saying goodbye one last time. His eyes flick up to mine, but the door shuts and everything of that ghost vanishes. As it should.