Page 9 of Forget Me Not
“Can’t fucking wait,” Bas muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair and resting his hand on the back of his neck. He glanced at the clock; it was nearly two and he still had not taken a lunch break—not that he was exactly hungry. Still, Bas made his way to the back office to find Hal.
“Whatcha need, son?” Hal asked when Bas knocked on his office door, not looking up from the journal he was scanning.
The old man was practically buried beneath a mountain of books, his shiny, bald head barely peeking over the top. Even though all the finances, inventory, and sales were logged in the computer and safely saved to the cloud, Hal still insisted on keeping a physical ledger—one he meticulously updated himself. Bas made a mental note to buy the man a printer and show him how to print all the reports. Surely, he wouldn’t complain too much about the time saved; Lord knew his arthritis wouldn’t.
“Hey boss, I wasn’t watching the time. Would you mind grabbing the front for fifteen minutes so I can run down the block to The Glass and snag a bite?”
Hal perked up. “The Glass, huh? Only if you bring me back one of those Elvis Sandwiches!”
Bas chuckled, shaking his head.
“You can shake your head all you want, son. Until you quit being a chicken-shit and actually try one, you aren’t allowed to say anything!” Hal scoffed playfully, as he stood and rounded his desk.
Even at his age, the man still stood a touch taller than Bastien and, thanks to his white beard and strong nose, he looked exactly like one of those paintings of The Old Sea Captain.
“You bring me one of Aimi’s creations, and I’ll let ya tromp over to The Glass as often as you want. Just don’t tell Hattie,” he whispered conspiratorially, patting his round stomach and glancing over his shoulder as if his wife would magically appear to chastise him.
With a wink, Hal slipped his thumbs into his suspenders and walked down the hall.
“You know I would never come back without one!” Bastien hollered after the old man. “You’d probably lock me out!”
The hearty guffaw that rang back all but confirmed his accusation. Bas shook his head again, then ducked out the back door into the alley.
The Glass Half Full was quite literally just down the block from the butcher shop, on the opposite corner. Though it was not the only coffee shop in town, it was the best, without question, and the constant ringing of the wind chime above the door only confirmed it.
Bas leaned against the back counter, waiting for his order: a ‘hot double zinger, one Spicy Chelsea, and one Elvis’, which translated to a hot double-shot americano, a four-cheese and chorizo grilled sandwich, and a toasted, peanut butter and banana sandwich.
The chimes sang again.
“Babe! You’re late!” the barista with the dual-colored hair cooed to whoever had just walked in.
Unable to remember a time he had ever heard the woman speak so sweetly to anyone, Bas glanced up, searching for the recipient of such honey. Not that he needed to know, but Hattie would love a little fresh gossip and she paid in duck eggs—which his mother called “the magic ingredient” for flan.
Bas could easily be considered a regular at The Glass. At least four out of five days a week, he showed up for his piping hot bean water and, more often than not, Hal’s questionable taste in lunch.
So how had he never seenherbefore?
She stood in the doorway, her auburn hair frizzy from the hat she’d just pulled off her head. Bas watched through hislashes as she kicked the snow from her boots and hung her oversized jacket on one of the hooks behind the door.
“You can complain to my boss,” the woman replied. “She’s had me working all damn day on a project I might not even get paid for.” She sighed dramatically, but the slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth hinted that she was not as exasperated as she sounded.
The barista laughed loudly at that, and Bas furrowed his brows, clearly having missed a joke. He was further surprised when the woman started walking toward him, eyes down as she dug with one arm into the canvas bag hanging from her opposite shoulder.
High cheekbones dusted with freckles, a slender nose still red from the cold and full pink lips pursed in concentration. She was not wearing a lick of makeup, but Bastien felt like that had been a conscious choice—not from a rushed morning.
A look of triumph crossed her face when she pulled a worn book from her bag, and it took everything Bas had to keep from mirroring her reaction.
Then, when she was only two feet away from where he was still propped against the counter, she looked up and met his eyes.
Syve
Ifyouwerebraveenough to venture out in the morning, just as the sun rose over the wintery woods, you might be lucky enough to witness a cool, gray fog misting through the trees.
Syve saw that fog now, staring back at her from just below a pair of thick, dark brows and some of the longest eyelashes she had ever seen.
She inhaled sharply, mere inches from tripping headlong over a pair of ungodly thick legs.
“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking…sorry…” She quickly apologized before ducking around the man, taking the last few steps to her favorite corner seat.
