I hand him his plate and we sit at the table together.
“Nightmare?”
“I guess.” No, they’re anything but. However, I’m not telling my granddad I’ve been having wet dreams about a weird stranger.
Fergus’s knife scrapes the bottom of his plate. He forks some lasagna into his mouth and sighs contentedly. “This is delicious. Eat, boy. Did anything happen recently that bothered you?”
I shrug. “Something happened last week.”
Fergus frowns. “Drunks at the bar causing trouble?”
I take a sip of my coffee, sucking it down like its oxygen. I need the energy since I’m working all night at the bar tonight. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. My brain was like a TV that wouldn’t shut off, replaying my encounter with that strange man who was both familiar and not.
“I wish. This guy came up to me just as I got home.” Where do I even start? Do I mention his antique style of clothing? His archaic way of speaking? How he’d looked at me in a way no one ever had before? The devastation on his face when I’d told him I didn’t know who he was?
Fergus frowns. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, he didn’t hurt me. It was just weird, that’s all. He acted like he knew me.”
“You’re sure you’d never met before?”
I nod. “That’s the thing. I know I haven’t, but there was something familiar about him.”
Ceramic clanks hard against the table as Fergus sets his drink down. “What did he look like?”
“Like he’d walked off a film set. Kind of like a character from some Viking movie or something.”
Fergus is quiet for so long, I look up and freeze. His face has gotten paler, his knuckles whitening around the handle of his mug.
“Gramps? You okay?”
He jumps, sucking in a breath. “If you see him again, let me know at once. If he comes looking for you again, stay away from him.”
My stomach churns. I’ve never seen him so serious before. “I will.”
He exhales slowly. “Good. I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” His eyes water, and I chuckle.
“I’m fine, Gramps. Besides, he wasn’t dangerous.” If I’m sure of anything, it’s that. He’d looked at me with such tenderness, I’d known on an instinctual level he’d never hurt me. “He just seemed sad when I didn’t know who he was. It’s so odd. I could have sworn I’d seen him somewhere before…”
“You haven’t, Soren. You’re being kind and empathetic, that’s all. He was mentally ill. Hopefully, he will get the help he needs but knowing how little this city cares about helping people like him, it’s not likely.” Fergus gives me a tight smile, his lips whitening. What’s with him?
He rises and approaches my chair, then leans down and hugs me tightly.
I chuckle, putting an arm around him. “Hey. What’s going on?”
He laughs, low and rusty, and I smile into his shoulder. “Oh, hush and let me hug my grandson.” He grips the back of my neck and squeezes. A warm sensation runs through me, making me feel like a boy again, running into his arms for comfort and safety. “Have a good shift, my boy.”
I give him a squeeze. “Thanks.”
I give the ice-cold shaker a long rattle. It’s a good night. The dance floor is packed, and there’s only standing room at the bar. I’ve been busy, bouncing between the bar and the kitchen to bring people food. There’s an ache in my feet, and my head’s starting to pound with every throb of the music. There's only an hour left, and then I can go home.
I strain the drink into a glass, garnish it with an orange peel twist, and then hand it to my customer. “Here you go.”
Jamie takes his drink but doesn’t sip right away, taking a moment to admire my work. I do make nice-looking drinks, and I’ve been told they taste as good as they look. I’ve come a long way from my days of spilling beer and dropping glasses. Okay, I still drop a glass from time to time.
“This looks amazing! Cheers, puppy dog!” He lifts his glass to the rugged, handsome man beside him.
“Cheers!” Anders returns, and he drinks his beer.
