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The barista called out something to her co-worker and he responded with a nod, moving back to the espresso machine as he began to fill my order. I switched my gaze from the medics and watched as the man poured a shot of espresso into an oversized cup and then, with an expert flourish, swirled foaming milk on to it from a height.
As fascinating as it was to observe, it wasn’t only his coffee-making skills that had snagged my attention. With Hannah lying in hospital less than half a mile away, it seemed inappropriate to have noticed the breadth of the man’s shoulders or the way his thin grey T-shirt had been washed so many times, it clung to every muscle on his back as he moved. But it was only when he reached over to grab something to his right that a slumbering memory began to stir. There was something about the way the overhead lights had caught glints of copper in his dark brown hair that reminded me of something – or someone.
He straightened up as the girl behind the counter said something and nodded in my direction. Inexplicably, my heart started to beat super-fast. The man still hadn’t turned around, so I’d yet to see his face, but there was something about the way he stood and the way he walked that was slowly turning a key in a lock. For one crazy moment, I wondered if I had time to dash from the coffee shop before he turned around. It was ridiculous, because of course it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be the man who’d once had a curious habit of showing up in places where I least expected to find him. That man had been a journalist, not a barista.
I eyed the distance between my seat and the door, like a shoplifter who was about to get caught. It wouldn’t be him. But then he picked up a tray and pivoted away from the coffee machine, stepping out from behind the counter and walking towards me. It was Finn Douglas.
He seemed taller than I remembered, but perhaps that was because I was currently doing my best to shrink into invisibility in the leather upholstery of the booth.
‘Your latte,’ he said with a smile that thankfully seemed to hold no recognition. He set the full-to-the-brim cup before me, without spilling a single drop, something I imagined I was unlikely to achieve when drinking it.
‘And a cupcake,’ he added, placing a plate before me.
‘Oh, I didn’t—’ I began, before he cut me off with the same dazzling smile I could remember him using so effectively three years ago.
‘The cupcake’s on the house. Tasha suggested it.’
I looked beyond him to the girl with the wavy blonde hair, who glanced up from the till she was operating and flashed a toothpaste-ad-worthy grin my way. I tried to remember the correct facial muscles required to return it.
Finn’s eyes were on my face, but there was still no flicker of recognition within them. My hair was a completely different shade and style from when we’d met, and half of my face was currently hidden behind darkly tinted sunglasses. I certainly hadn’t wanted him to recognise me, so the flash of irritation I felt when he failed to do so was totally irrational.
‘That was kind of her,’ I said, my voice not quite as steady as I would have liked. I wasn’t usually so emotional, but it had been quite a day, and a random act of kindness from a stranger could easily have become my kryptonite. I drew the plate closer, eyeing the cupcake as though it was an eating challenge onI’m a Celebrity.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your coffee in peace.’ Finn straightened and yet still made no move to walk away. I could feel his eyes searching my face. Thank God I’d put on the sunglasses, I thought, confident he’d tried but failed to place me. He was probably sifting through a list of conquests from his past, trying to remember if I’d ever been one of them.
Just go back to the counter,I silently telegraphed, dropping my eyes to my coffee and the frothy heart shape he’d created in the foam. I picked up a spoon and stirred it vigorously away.
Finn continued to linger, clearly puzzled. ‘Well, I’ll be going then,’ he said, still not moving. Perhaps he was waiting for me to tell him not to.
‘Okay,’ I said with relief.
Finally, he turned and began walking away, but he’d taken no more than four steps when he suddenly froze. Perhaps he’d heard something in the timbre of my voice that made him pause, for he tilted his head to one side in an oddly avian way. Very slowly, he turned back around with a look of triumph on his face, which was probably at odds with the one of dismay on mine.
‘It’s Jenna, isn’t it?’
Typical. Of course he’d misremember my name.
‘Gemma,’ I corrected, my voice tight for reasons I would explore another time.
‘Sorry. Yes, of course,’ he said, covering the distance between us in a couple of strides. ‘How the hell are you?’
I’m not sure which of us was more shocked when my response to that perfectly innocent question was to burst into extremely noisy tears.
*
‘That was incredibly embarrassing. I’m so sorry,’ I said as I reached for yet another serviette from the pile Finn had placed in front of me to wipe away my tears. Half the stack was already gone.
‘Not at all,’ he said, replacing my now cold latte with a fresh one. ‘Happens all the time. Although usually it’s when customers get the bill.’
I got closer to a laugh than I thought I’d be able to.
Finn had surprised me. I had no idea how most people would have reacted to such an outburst, but his response had been totally unexpected. He’d stalled Tasha’s approach with a decisive shake of his head and then dropped into the seat in front of me, his broad-shouldered silhouette effectively shielding me from the remaining customers in the coffee shop.
The tears seemed to come from a bottomless well, and the strength I’d had to summon up to support Hannah washed away like a dam built of matchsticks. By the time the sobs had become hitching, hiccupping gasps, the coffee shop had emptied.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good for your trade,’ I said when I finally looked up and noticed the deserted shop. The lights over the counter had been switched off, and Finn’s co-worker Tasha was nowhere to be seen. With a start of surprise, I saw too that the sign on the door had been flipped to ‘Closed’.
‘Won’t the owner be annoyed that you’ve shut early?’ I asked, finally gaining enough motor control to risk lifting the coffee to my lips without spilling it.
