Page 6 of Accidentally Mine

Brent

M onday morning, I sat on a stool at the counter of the Common Café, finishing my coffee and toast while catching up on the news of the day, the business section of the Boston Globe open in front of me.

At six-thirty in the morning, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, I didn’t quite fit in with everyone else.

Most of the clientele were a collection of people out for their morning exercise around the Common.

The rest of the business class wouldn’t be out for another hour at least.

I’d been bred to be an early riser, just like my dad.

For as long as I could remember, my father worked his ass off, rising before dawn to get to his factory job up in Woburn, where I grew up.

Whenever he’d have a day off, we’d climb into his pickup at four in the morning and head north, to hunt with our bows.

In the evening, we’d stand outside Fenway Park waiting to catch home run balls that flew over the Green Monster.

Whenever we came to Boston, we’d come to this café, sit at stools at the counter and “watch the world go by.” That was what he called it. He’d get me a hot cocoa and a donut, and he’d drink his coffee black as we sat there in our dirty jeans and flannel.

My way of dressing might’ve been different now, and I’d swapped out the cocoa for a strong cup of black coffee like my dad, but the scenery was still the same. Lots of harried Bostonians, running from here to there, absorbed in their everyday lives.

People didn’t often just take time to breathe.

I was reminded of that big-time after my accident.

After I saw my life flash in front of my eyes.

I should’ve realized it when I learned at a young age that my mother died shortly after giving birth to me because she delayed chemo for treatment of brain cancer.

Or after my father passed away due to a stroke.

But it took my own accident to make me realize… life wasn’t just about work.

I blinked into my coffee as I tried to remember when my father died, the memories just out of reach. It had happened…when I was a freshman. At MIT. I’d gone back to Woburn for the funeral, sold the house. Most of his valuables were in a box…somewhere.

“Would you like me to warm that up for you, sweetie?” the pert, red-haired waitress asked. I nodded, and she filled the cup.

“Thanks, Anita.” I smiled as I took a sip, thinking of how I used to pretend my hot cocoa was black coffee, just like Dad’s. That memory was hardwired, at least. “I’ll take the check, when you have a minute.”

She grinned and tapped on the counter, under my open newspaper. I looked and realized she’d already handed me the check. Remembered I’d even thanked her for it and taken out my wallet.

I looked around in a panic and found my wallet sitting on the counter. I sighed in relief.

“Thanks,” I said, tapping the side of my head. “It’s gonna be one of those days.”

One of those days…like all the rest of them. Wandering through the random blank spaces my mind left for me, with no idea where the fuck to go. That was my life in a nutshell, since the accident.

“I feel you, honey,” she said, sauntering to the register after I laid a twenty down on the check.

I glanced at a story in the Globe which had given me an idea for the new apparatus we were going to begin testing in the fall. I pulled out my phone and opened up my Memory Key.

The Memory Key was as important to me as one of my limbs these days. Since I started back to work, I’d modified it to give me reminders of upcoming dates and names and important ideas I couldn’t forget. Without my Key, I was lost.

As I leaned over to take a sip of my coffee, the bell over the door jingled and a woman walked in.

My fingers loosened on the open newspaper, and it dipped to the counter as I did a double-take.

A mess of blonde curls were pulled up under a navy-blue Red Sox cap.

She was wearing dark sunglasses, leggings and a giant sweater over whatever curves she might have had.

The overall effect gave off the idea that she was trying hard to hide, especially when she tucked herself into a corner booth.

Except she wasn’t quite pulling that off. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Folding the newspaper into fourths, I watched as she pulled a laptop out of her bag and set it in front of her.

She slipped the sunglasses off her nose and looked around carefully, her eyes somehow missing mine as she scraped her top teeth over her bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth.

Looking more confident now, she leaned forward and shrugged off her cardigan.

The waitress went over to her and greeted her like an old friend. “I know I can interest you in crepes,” Anita said, giving her a napkin rolled around silverware and setting down a mug on the table. “Blueberry, chocolate, or cherry cheese are the specials of the day.”

I couldn’t seem to stop staring at the woman.

I’d lived in this city a long time, since I’d moved here for MIT, and never left.

I’d hopped neighborhoods, from a dorm in Cambridge to an apartment in the Back Bay to my current home in Beacon Hill.

I knew this city pretty well, thought I’d seen every type of person there was to see.

But I’d never seen anyone like her before. Fucked up memory or not, I’d remember those pretty heart-shaped lips and that flawless pale skin. She was absolutely stunning, enough so to make my every pore gasp in surprise, and my cock stand at attention.

“You know me,” the woman said in a sweet, high-pitched voice, smiling brightly at Anita as she filled her mug with coffee. “Chocolate, please.”

At the lilt of her voice, I found myself in the grip of a strange sense of déjà vu. There was something vaguely familiar about the sound of her voice.

And her face. Her eyes. A unique color of blue. Had I seen her before?

No. If I had, I’d remember. I was sure of it. It was probably my memory, pulling a fast one on me once again. Though that didn’t seem quite right, either. My memory was prone to crapping out on me, creating black holes.

I found myself leaning forward, almost falling off of my stool. Even if I hadn’t seen her before…I wanted to know her. I wanted her to look my way. To see me.

Anita sashayed by in her short skirt and apron, and I raised a finger to her, beckoning her over.

“Yes, honey?”

“Hey,” I said, my eyes never leaving the familiar woman as she began to tap away frantically at her computer. Writing a thesis for school, possibly. There was no shortage of college students in this city. “Do you know who that woman is?”

“Oh, her?” Anita shook her head and lowered her voice. “She’s a little mystery. She started coming here about four days ago. I think she might be a private detective, trying to track down clues on a big case. A female Sherlock Holmes.”

I gave Anita a doubtful look.

She was tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Also, a writer. I think she’s writing a book.”

That seemed more likely. “A book? And you know this because…”

“Because I may have snooped and seen a page or two. She’s good. Plus, she’s always looking around. Like she’s up to no good. Either that or she’s looking for characters to put into her book. I think I might be the main character.”

I tried to look impressed. “You’re observant.”

She grinned. “I don’t just serve croissants, honey. I give all my regular customers life stories,” she said brightly. “You’re a dashing and debonair businessman who owns a chain of gyms.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How’d you come up with that?”

“Because I can never tempt you with my specials and you’re always reading the Health or the Business section of the Globe . Plus, I’ve never seen you in anything but a suit.”

I laughed. “I’ve been coming here since I was seven. And back then, I didn’t wear a suit, and I did take advantage of the donuts. Trust me.”

“Before my time, baby,” she said with a shrug. “Before my time.”

I might have taken advantage of the donuts if my neurologist hadn’t insisted on a strict diet to enhance my brain function. Basically, anything fun or good-tasting was out. I indulged occasionally, but usually I paid the price the next day with extreme sluggishness or a headache.

“Right,” I murmured, crossing my arms, watching the blonde’s every move. “You were probably just a baby back then...” The waitress’s name completely escaped my mind. Where I used to excel at balancing two trains of thought, my mind now couldn’t dwell on both the waitress and the blonde.

It was May. The spring semester of school was just letting out. Why had she just shown up now? What was she doing in town? Did she live here, or where was she from? She was a mystery.

And these days, I was nowhere near equipped to deal with that kind of thing.

As the waitress set the carafe of coffee down on the counter and leaned forward, she whispered, “Don’t even think about trying to buy her a coffee. Three guys have done that so far, and she’s shot them all down.”

I blinked. “Yeah?” It didn’t surprise me.

There may have been tons of beautiful women in Boston, but this woman definitely stood out among the rest. She was effortlessly hot, even in the ball cap.

A woman like her could likely stand to be discriminating.

Or perhaps she was already taken. My eyes drifted to her long fingers. No engagement ring. “Interesting.”

“I told you. Mysterious.” I looked up at Anita—yes, that was her name—and she smiled at me. “But I have to say, you’re the best looking of all of them, so you might have a shot. Want me to get things in motion?”

I shook my head. Not my style. Although, there was definitely something about this woman that was my style. More than my style.