Page 31 of And Then There Was You

Twenty-Five Merryn

Has Zach seen the smile?

Drawing it on the blackboard sign was a thrill, the promise of what it would enable so exciting it was all I could do to keep from squealing aloud. Has he passed by the café today to check?

I don’t know what time he’ll arrive, either, which makes the waiting even more charged. Will he come to the courtyard from the gate entrance, or will he try the front door? How long should I wait for him to show?

Ruthie has watched me like a hawk all morning. I’ve felt her scrutiny hot at my back as I’ve moved through the café delivering orders. Have her suspicions been fuelled by what she sees?

I’m smiling more today. I can’t help it. Zach’s gift is on my wrist, its presence a bright reminder of what’s happening.

What is happening, exactly?

I love the emergence of this new thing in my life, but I’m reeling myself in whenever I think about it. Because it would be too easy to read something into it that isn’t there. Zach needs the piano. I need to hear it. Beyond that, who knows?

The lunch rush has passed, Ruthie has just returned from her break and I’ve made us each a mug of tea. Peace settles across the café, the lull something I look forward to on busy days.

‘Grab something from the cake displays,’ I offer, helping myself to one of the iced digestive biscuits covered with sweets that we keep for our younger customers to enjoy with their babyccinos and hot chocolates.

‘Lush!’ Ruthie descends on the final slice of salted caramel loaf with the most enthusiasm I’ve seen her muster today. ‘This baby’s mine!’

We’re about to enjoy our sweet treats when the bell over the door heralds a new visitor. I smile at Ruthie’s groan – it’s a long-standing joke between us that customers must lurk just beyond the door, waiting for the exact moment we take a break to come barrelling in.

But this visitor hasn’t been lurking outside, picking his moment to arrive.

At least, I hope he hasn’t.

Seth’s expression is pure apology, the routine we’ve replayed countless times before back in play.

‘I’m good here,’ Ruthie says, her cake a shield for the words meant only for me.

‘You sure?’

She nods. ‘Go.’

I edge past her, walking through the café and out to the courtyard, where none of the tables are occupied.

Seth follows me, saying nothing. Instead of sitting at a table, I move a little way down the path leading to the side passage, out of view of any customers who may be watching.

When I stop and turn, Seth pauses a few paces away.

‘I’m a knob, Mer.’ When I don’t dispute the fact, he continues. ‘I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s your business, not mine.’

‘It is.’

‘And that bloke . . .’

‘. . . Isn’t a threat.’

‘Yeah. Probably.’

‘Definitely.’ He wilts a little in my stare. ‘He was a customer, same as everyone else. I wouldn’t dream of chasing someone out of your shop.’

‘Fair point.’

We observe each other, still stung, but the ice is beginning to thaw.

‘Can we stop this overprotective thing, please?’ I ask. ‘I don’t need a battling knight. I just need you.’

He hefts a sigh. ‘I need you, too. I’ve missed you.’

‘Come here, you daft git,’ I groan, bridging the gap between us to gather him up into a hug.

He relaxes in my arms. ‘Sorry.’

‘So am I. Can we move on now, please?’

‘Sounds like a plan, bird.’

The hug is good, long overdue after our latest clash. But as he holds me I wonder if I’m finding it easier to forgive him because of the promise of tonight. Everything has felt easier since the card and bracelet arrived. Simpler to navigate. Lighter.

What would Seth say if he knew?

‘Let’s get back to being us, yeah?’ he says, breaking the hug. ‘I can’t take the drama.’

‘Me either. I have cake, if that helps?’

‘Could bleddy murder some! See, I knew there was a reason I came round here.’

And we’re back, the rhythm returned like it had never left. It’s welcome and I’m relieved we aren’t at odds anymore. It helps that thoughts of Zach are never far away from our chatter. Seth doesn’t stay long, but it’s long enough for me to trust we’re back on an even keel.

By the time Ruthie and I close for the day, nerves are starting to nip at me. I say goodbye to her and turn back to face my quiet café. Do I wait here? Or go upstairs and hope I hear Zach’s arrival?

Not knowing much about this arranged meeting is disconcerting.

Most of my life revolves around known systems and schedules.

The business dictates the majority of my time – more tomorrow, when the evening openings commence – and the rest of my time has to fit around that.

And I think, after the shock and upheaval of the end of my marriage, with all that entailed for me, I’ve come to find safety in knowing exactly what lies ahead.

Tonight challenges that.

It shouldn’t feel as important as it does. Yet I’m aware already of hopes and possibilities stretching way beyond one arranged meeting. The potential is what floors me. Why is that?

At seven p.m., I stop pacing the café and make myself go upstairs.

I shower quickly and change, one ear listening out for a knock at the door or the first notes of a song being played in the courtyard.

Usually I would put on music, or have the TV chatting away to itself for company. Not this evening.

I try to eat something, but my stomach is too full of nerves to accommodate a meal. Instead, I drink white tea to calm myself and pick up a book to read. As the minutes pass, I begin to lose myself in the story, only the occasional stab of concern breaking the narrative.

What if he hasn’t seen the smile?

– Then he’ll see it tomorrow. I might add a small 12 beneath to signify a time.

What if he’s changed his mind?

– I glance at the bracelet on my wrist. I don’t think he will.

What if I’m making a fool of myself?

– I’m not. At least, I hope I’m not . . .

I look up from my book, take a long, slow breath and try to find perspective. I’m just nervous. And this means so much because of my connection with the piano. Nothing more.

One glance at my watch reveals that it’s now past ten p.m. That’s okay, I tell myself, it’s still early for Zach. Smiling at the memory of his own joke about the late hour of his first visit, I return to the story awaiting me in the open pages.

And then, I hear it.

The first notes of a song.

I throw my book aside and hurry downstairs.