Page 69 of Nineteen Letters

“Thanks.” I take a sip and it tastes amazing. “What’s in this?”

“Caramel syrup. You usually used it instead of sugar.”

“It tastes divine. I must get some of this for Christine’s.”

“You can take the bottle I have here. I can buy some more.”

He picks up his coffee and takes the seat beside me, and Bella-Rose comes and lies by his feet. I try to ignore the fact that he’s so close I can feel the heat generating off his body. I also try to ignore how good he smells.

“It’s so pretty here,” I say.

“It is. We used to sit out here every morning and have our coffee.” I don’t reply because again, I hate that I don’t remember any of this. My old life seems like it was a good one, but it’s worlds away. “Are you hungry?” He leans forward and picks up a plate that has two muffins on it. “They’re blueberry, one of your favourites.”

“Did you make these?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs. “Unless you count defrosting them in the microwave. I couldn’t cook to save my life. You were the chef in this house. I’d sometimes help with the prep, but basically, I was the washer-upper. I always left the cooking to you … it was safer.”

I wonder how he gets by now that I’m not here to look after him. This situation is totally out of my control, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad for him.

My eyes flicker to the mug in his hand. The one he gave me looks new and stylish, but his is clearly old. There’s writing on it, but I can’t make out what it says, because his hand is in the way.

I eye the liquid inside. “Your coffee is black. Did I get the last of the milk?”

“This is how I usually drink it,” he says, chuckling.

“I put milk in your coffee at Christine’s.”

“I know.”

“You should have said something.”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You wouldn’t have, silly,” I say, bumping my leg with his. “At least now I know for next time.”

We sit in silence and drink. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable—surprisingly, it feels natural …right.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but Braxton eventually looks down at his watch. “Well, as much as I’m enjoying having you here, I guess I better get you home. I have a meeting at ten, and I still need to see my dad.”

An idea pops into my head and the words are out of my mouth before I even realise. “Can I come with you?”

“To see my dad?”

“Yes, I’d love to see him again.”

His face lights up. “Of course. I’d like that.”

We’re both smiling as we leave.

“Let me take those,” I say to Christine as we unload the shopping bags from the taxi.

We had an enjoyable morning together. After we shopped, we had lunch at a cafe, where I ordered caramel syrup in my coffee. I feel like we need to do normal things like this. Christine has helped me start to live again, and I want to help her do the same.

Christine checks the mailbox as I walk towards the house and place the groceries down on the front porch. “I must get you a key cut for the front door,” she says, climbing the stairs.

“I’d like that.”

It would be nice to come and go as I please. Now that my rehab is only a couple of days a week, I have so much spare time on my hands. I no longer have a job, and with no memory of my design skills or tastes, there’s no way I could go back to doing that. Maybe I should think about finding a new career.