Page 15 of Sorry, We're Closed

I pile cartons upon cartons of different varieties of milk along the shelves and within the door of the fridge tucked under the counter, grimacing as one of the cartons has a chalky casing along its thin, plastic handle, causing my hand to freeze up at the idea of how dry my fingertips will feel now.

I wipe my prints across my trousered thigh, squeeze the last of my shea butter hand cream into my hand and throw the tube back where I found it.I’ll try and cut that up later to salvage whatever I can.

After getting no response to my first question, I rotate on the ball of my foot to face the figure dressed in black.

Oh hello, who are you?

Sombre’s Café has its collection of regulars. A memorised list of orders which I make every day of the week, the over exhausting and repetitive conversation which are had every day, yet you still smile at and enjoy, and the rare, weekly customer who treats themselves to a single shot coffee, but I have never seen him before.

I have never seen these cobalt eyes gazing back at me, a smoky ring surrounding them and turning me self-conscious about the dull, muted shade of green that mine are as they suddenly feel very naked.

I have never seen this almost enchanting smile that feels like it belongs on the big screen, with only the top row of aligned teeth on show but they bring out a brightness to his already pale complexion.

I have never seen these full, dark curls and waves that settle so perfectly around this sculpted face and graze against his firm neck. The muscles tensing as he swallows and casts his gaze aside, causing these natural dips and muscles to form along the skin that I could see.

I wonder if any other parts of him were just as firm or if they tense in the same way his neck did where you’d believe there was no definition at all until he flexes. No, no, no. Why am I focusing on that? Why am I focusing on anything about this stranger? I can’t be focusing on anything like that, especially not on a guy. He is just someone new, a customer, someone I need to serve a drink to.

“Hey…”

Whoever this is, stumbles over his words as he speaks.

“… A three shot, cow’s milk coffee, dark roast if you can, please. Also, an iced oat latte, hazelnut syrup, however much you think is good, thank you!”

I feel myself staring at his dress sense before I realise, he is now staring at me. I nod as I eye up the floor, making sure they stay there while I make his order.

For some reason, my mind can’t accept that this guy is just like every other customer who comes in here. I can't shut myself up because I justhaveto make conversation with him. This man is the biggest question mark, and I want answers.

“So, you’re not from around here then, I assume?”

How do I know he’s not from around here? Simply because everyone knows everyone around here, everyone blends into one another and ironically, you forget who everyone is, yet I would remember someone with such an alluring presence.

He doesn’t blend in with the mundane lifestyle of Tetherton, no, he's this lighthouse beaming in a dark, billowing sea, because no matter where you go, I’m sure he would stand out, front and centre.

I can’t pinpoint what he did when he strolled through those front doors, but these feelings are beginning to stir my internal panic back to the surface. He's new, that is all. New is exciting in any scenario. These feelings haven’t been around since the first time I laid eyes on Rue from across our classroom.

“Huh, everyone is saying that to us! No, we’re not, we’re a travelling band and we’ve decided to stay in Tetherton for however long.”

Picturing him in a band sends my mind into a cartoon tornado with cows flying around, but instead of cows it’s my every thought about what he wears on stage, what he plays on stage, how he performs on stage. I already have a hunch for each of them, and I hate that this came to me so fast.

From one sentence, his life already sounds so much freer than what I'll ever experience. The choices you make in life do matter it seems.

“Quick tip for you guys, everyone knows everyone around here! Everyone will be asking you where you are from and why you are here for a while, you’ll get used to it.”

I never say more than two words to any other customer, customers who I see every single day, yet this man – who I don’t even know the name of – has got me talking about our neighbourhood and what our town is like. I’m giving advice to someone I met moments ago.

“Should I be concerned that I need advice for this town?”

I choke down on my laugh which tries to escape past my lips, but he is so willing to let his free. His laugh is soft, which is the complete opposite of how he presents, yet I force my attention away from his sweet sound and back to the drinks currently in my grasp.

Itry my best to avoid eye contact because I refuse to lose myself in those gems for eyes once again, but surprise takes over as I feel his calloused fingertips graze over mine as he grabs his drinks.

I thought right. He’s a guitarist.

There’s no urgency with this man removing his hands from the cups, however I can bet he doesn’t have this internal fear and guilt over who he can be attracted to. The warmth of his fingers begins to seer my skin as he speaks.

“I’m Avory Bright, by the way.”

My hands retreat abruptly back to the countertop, yet my mind races, begging to know what the rest of his fingers, his palm, his wrists feel like. I now know his name.

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