She wiped her forehead before subconsciously patting down her apron. She looked as nervous as I felt. She ran her fingertips through the front of her hair, trying to tame the wispy parts; she hated them, but they were my favourite.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips. They were more rounded than I remembered. Her chocolate brown eyes locked with mine, and the hint of a smile crept across her lips until she dropped her gazecompletely.
“You’re early. I don’t get off for another fifteen minutes.”
“You work here?” I asked.
“Yep. Do you want a drink whilst you wait?”
“Sure. I can do that.”
Brooke placed an order with the bartender. I tried to compose myself. I watched her move from one table to the next; each time she glanced my way for a brief second.
Was she checking Ihadn’t left?
A minute later she placed a fancy cocktail glass in front of me; it was white in colour with a lime wedge. I reached into my pocket for some money, but Brooke quickly placed her hand on my arm.
“Don’t insult me please;it’s on me.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t move my arm, and she didn’t remove her hand. The faintest of touches was all it took to catapult me back in time two years.
“What’s it called?” I nodded towards the glass.
“White Mountain. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Brooke smiled. When she removed her hand she brushed her fingertips along the length of my arm, purposefully or not, it was effective.
I waited and watched for the next fifteen minutes as she finished up her shift. A wry familiar smile crept across her face every time she cameclose to me.
It felt surreal seeing her in person. For the past two years she had been a figment of my imagination, someone I thought I would only ever see again in my dreams. Throughout my adult life I had met a lot of women, most of whom cared too much about their appearance, their nails, or their hair, but not Brooke. She shone so effortlessly without any of that. Her purple nail varnish was chipped. Her hair was mostly scraped back into a messy bun, but her face was blemish free with just a glowing moisturised complexion. She looked exactly like I remembered, and when she smiled my whole body rejoiced.
*
“When you asked me to meet you here, I didn’t realise you worked here.” I glanced at her as we strolled through the food hall.
“It was supposed to be temporary, but I enjoy it. The people are great, and working with customers has helped me pick up the Japanese language as well.” Brooke grinned.
“You can speak Japanese?”
Brooke nodded triumphantly.
That was impressive. It took Beth close to three years to become at ease with the language, and she still struggled with certain phrases and words.
We passed a bar called Campy!bar, where a drag queen with cropped pink hair and eccentric eye makeup waved in our direction.
“Kon’nichiwa,” The drag queen called out, “Shifuto wa dodeshita ka?”
“Heikin. Isogashi?” Brooke replied.
Another drag queen approached. They had a tall ginger Amy Winehouse hairstyle with a large pink flower buried into the bee’s nest and costume earrings the sizeof my hands.
“Mada,” the one with the pink hair replied. The whole conversation, bar the opening line, went straight over my head. I knew how to say “Hello”, that was the extent of my Japanese. Beth tried to teach me a little every time I came over, but when my feet touched on British ground again I instantly forgot.
“Anata no tomodachi wa kawaidesu.” The one with the ginger hair waved with the tips of their fingers and blew a kiss in my direction. Brooke giggled nervously and waved back. “Ja nee, redisu.”
“Look at you!” My eyes widened. Her accent was impressive; she almost sounded fluent. “I have no idea what you said; pleasetranslate.”
“Delta, with the pink hair, asked how work was. I said it was average. I asked if she was busy. She replied, ‘not yet’. Wanda, with the ginger hair, said, ‘you’re cute’.”
“Oh, cute, huh?” I blushed.
