People are fascinating. I once read that when we watch others, certain parts of our brains fire up. The temporal lobe, and the amygdala, helping with facial recognition, social processing, and interpreting emotions based on expressions and body language.
For example, the man sitting a few tables over from me. He drinks a coffee, black, and scribbles in what looks to be a well-loved journal. He writes aggressively, ballpoint pen scratching over the paper, but every so often he pauses to stare out the window, gaze thoughtful and far-off. He wears a starched white shirt, faintly yellowing around the under arms. The sport coat slung over theback of his seat is a cheap material, the lapels curling. Even his?—
"Is this seat taken?"
I startle at the deep voice, the way a man has seemingly materialized out of nowhere. My gaze lifts, trailing over a broad chest, finding their way to a familiar face.
"Why? Trying to make certain I leave town?"
Hugo smirks, taking the seat opposite me without waiting for me to approve. He settles in the booth, an open palm propped on his right thigh, elbow stuck out. He looks casual, comfortable, but somehow princely. Like he owns this place. Like he belongs here. This is his turf.
Now that I know I won't be getting anywhere with him, I feel punchy. When he doesn't say anything right away, I say, "You are the opposite of a Welcome Wagon. You're like...like..." I search my brain. "The Ciao Chariot."
A short laugh bursts from his chest. "Not gonna lie, Mallory, I did not take you for funny."
"What did you take me for?" He's going to give it to me now, I just know it. And why wouldn't he? I've served him up with the perfect opportunity to remind me how underhanded I was.
He props a forearm on the table, leans forward. Brown eyes, deep and thoughtful. Finally, he says, "Tenacious."
I blink against the surprise I'm feeling. Tenacious? That word is very, very far from the litany of adjectives he could have used to describe me.
"I wasn't expecting you to say that."
"I know."
The server sidles up to the table, offering Hugo a friendly smile. "Hey, Hugo. Cappuccino?"
"Please," he nods. "Thanks, Annie."
When she's gone, he looks back to me. "You jumped out of your skin when I walked up. What were you staring at?" He accompanies his question with a look around the space.
"I like to people-watch." My fingers press into my teacup, the warmth seeping through. "I find there's a lot you can learn about a person by watching them. And what you can't learn, your brain fills in."
Hugo's eyebrows, thick and dark, raise. "When your brain fills in information about somebody, is it fiction?"
"Until it's verified, yes."
"And you were watching...?"
I give a slight nod of my head. "The man sitting alone with his journal."
Hugo surreptitiously clocks him. "And? What did you determine?"
"He writes with gusto. He drinks black coffee, because it gets free refills. His shirt needs to either be replaced, or have the underarms scrubbed with stain remover. His jacket has seen better days. He's stuck in a job he hates, and he has the soul of a dreamer."
Hugo blinks. Hard. "You figured all that out just by looking at him?"
I shrug. "It could all be wrong. Unverified, remember?"
Hugo thanks the server as she drops off his cappuccino, declining her offer to place a breakfast order. "The manyou've been watching is named Cliff, though he goes by Crazy Cliff, a name he's given himself. He's not all there, but he's not all gone, either. He lives in a small house on the edge of the east side of town, and he's a used car salesman. That notebook goes everywhere with him, but nobody knows what he writes in it."
"Hmm." My lips purse. "I wasn't that far off."
"No, you were not."
I glance at my watch. The free time before my first appointment at the spa is slipping away. I need Hugo to tell me why he's here. "Are you going to tell me why you've sought me out?"
Hugo sighs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "My mom wants to know your story. Why you're in Olive Township."
