‘Is it?’
‘Yes, it is. And I don’t buy into it when she says it, either.’
‘You really don’t like this place, do you?’
I couldn’t answer that. Didn’t know how.
6
JACK
Café on Main was busy when I entered the next morning, but that was nothing new. Painted a dark burgundy color inside that gave it a warm, cozy vibe, it was the most popular café in town with both the locals and the tourists, thanks largely to its online reviews for having the best drip coffee. Dark and full-roasted, it was the closest I’d found to the coffee back home and most mornings I needed the buzz it gave me to kick-start the day. I really needed it this morning especially. I’d been surprised, the night before, when I got back to the cabin and realized it was gone midnight. We’d been chatting in the tidal pool for a couple of hours, but the time had skipped by so fast I hadn’t even noticed its passage. It had ended abruptly. One minute we were chatting and the next, Taylor swam to the end of the pool and climbed out, bidding me goodnight and disappearing into the darkness, leaving nothing but wet footprints on the rocks behind her.
I joined the line to the counter and scanned the menu board while I waited, even though I knew full well what I was going to order. I ordered the same thing every day, even though I kept telling myself I was going to try something new.
‘Morning, Eve,’ I said when it was my turn at the counter.
She looked up, harried, but smiled when she saw me. ‘Morning, Jack. Let me guess, a Carpe Diem and a bagel sandwich to go?’
I smiled back. ‘You got it.’
The Carpe Diem coffee was a blend of Sumatran, French, Colombian, Kenyan and French-roasted Costa Rica beans. It tasted as delicious and strong as it sounded. And the bagel sandwich was my go-to breakfast on the run. Smoked salmon, fried egg, cucumbers, dill cream cheese and capers on a whole grain bagel.
She rolled her eyes. ‘When are you going to try something new? I got a whole selection up there.’ She pointed to the board above her head without lifting her eyes. ‘My blueberry pancakes are world famous, Jack. I’m not kidding. I had a guy last week from Australia who came here ten years ago on his honeymoon and has been dreaming of coming back just for my pancakes ever since. He finally made that dream happen, Jack. Came back here for his ten-year anniversary and first thing he did was come in and order my pancakes.’
‘He came all the way back here and that’s the first thing he did?’
‘Well, he booked himself into the inn first,’ she admitted. ‘But the second thing he did was come here and order my pancakes.’
‘Impressive.’
‘It is. He said they were every bit as good as he remembered. Almost cried a little.’
‘Wow.’ Someone cleared their throat loudly behind me. ‘As amazing as that sounds, I don’t feel like crying today, so I’ll just take the coffee and bagel please, Eve. To go.’
She sighed. ‘You’re missing out, Jack.’
‘I promise you that one day I’ll sit down and try the pancakes.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
She scribbled my order down, ripped the piece of paper off the pad and passed it over to another staff member while I scanned my card to pay. ‘I mean it doesn’t make any difference to me if you eat something else or not,’ she said. ‘I’m just trying to expand your culinary experience. A man shouldn’t eat the same thing every day. He should kiss the same woman, but he shouldn’t eat the same food.’
‘Thanks for looking out for me.’
‘You’re welcome. Now get lost, will you, you’re holding up the line.’
‘Amazing service as always, Eve. Same time tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ She waved a hand and looked over my shoulder to the next person. I was dismissed.
I perched myself on a barstool at a slim bench table against the side wall while I waited for my order. From there, I could see most of the people in the café. It was set up eclectically, with tables and couches and booths by the window. There were a few familiar faces – locals, mostly retired ones. Some I knew by name, others just by sight. The lady who walked her Labrador every single morning at dawn in the park opposite the restaurant. I used to watch her while I drank my coffee from the upstairs apartment. The dog would tug her towards the water to chase after seagulls.
I knew why I was studying faces. Trying to figure out if any of them were her.
When my order was ready, I took the coffee and bagel out to the park to eat, sitting on a bench seat and watching the ferry chug over from the mainland with a fresh batch of tourists ready to descend upon the island. I watched them disperse while I ate, some headed for the shops, others to eat, the rest of them choosing to take the scenic walk around the harbor first. The air smelled like coconut-scented sunscreen. Food finished, I threw my rubbish into the bin and drove my truck to the recently renamed hardware store, The Coastal Craftsman. It had previously been known simply as Fred’s Store, until Fred died, shortly before I moved here. His son Jasper had taken over the business and decided it needed a catchier, more modern name. Hence, The Coastal Craftsman had been born. He’d had a new sign made for the storefront and held a grand reopening party, even though he never actually closed.
