Being back in the small fishing town after eighteen years felt surreal to Freya as she walked down through the narrow winding streets towards the harbour. In her jeans pocket, her hand was wrapped around a set of keys. The keys to her new shop. Everyone had told her she was insane to open her dream business in such a small tourist orientated location but something deep inside her told her that the location was perfect and that this was exactly where she was meant to be.
The place had captured her heart when she had spent the summer there. It had been her first experience of living and working away from home and had set her on the path to follow her dreams. That summer, she had worked in the town’s only hotel as a receptionist. Home for the summer season had been a tiny sweltering caravan at the campsite on the edge of town. It had been a long hot summer; it had been almost the perfect summer.
As she drew closer to the harbour front, the street grew busier with tourists meandering through town, browsing in the shop windows. “Busy’s good,” she thought as she reached the door to her own shop. It was located on the corner of the main thoroughfare with an oblique view of the harbour. Despite its prime spot, the shop had lain empty for several years. The estate agent had explained that it used to be a book shop and when the owner died, there had been a lengthy dispute over settling the estate. With the legalities agreed in the background, the shop had been put on the market. Immediately she saw the sale notice ping into her emails, Freya knew this was the place she had been searching for. Decision made, she had sealed the deal within days then spent another few weeks negotiating to buy a small cottage on the outskirts of town.
A glance at her phone told her she still had about an hour before she was due to meet the joiner who was going to re-fit the shop for her. “Time for a coffee,” she thought with a smile to herself. Coffee was something else she associated with that summer from the past.
When she had stayed in town before, Freya had fallen into the habit of walking to work via a small coffee shop hidden in one of the myriad of tiny side streets. The barista was a summer worker just like herself and he quickly sussed out her routine. By the time summer was drawing to a close, he knew it so well that her morning coffee was just being placed on the counter ready for her as she walked in the door. They’d flirted outrageously with each other but both were working long shifts with little free time. They did eventually manage one memorable date shortly before they both left to resume university life at opposite ends of the country.
She smiled at the memory as she set off to see if the coffee shop was still there.
It was! And it was exactly as she remembered it. The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with freshly baked pastries brought back sweet memories. Behind the counter, a tall dark-haired barista was busily wiping down the coffee machine after the last order. His long hair was pulled up into a man bun, but a couple of tendrils had escaped and were curling down at the name of his neck.
“Good morning,” he greeted her as he turned round to take her order.
“Morning,” said Freya politely. “Large cappuccino with cinnamon not chocolate and an extra shot.” She paused, “Oh, and I’ll have a cinnamon apple Danish too please.”
“Sit in or take away?”
“Sit in, please.”
Their eyes met as she paid for her order, a spark of familiarity instantly re-igniting deep inside her.
“Grab a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks,” she said, fumbling to put her change in her purse.
Stumbling into an empty table en route, Freya scurried across to the empty corner table by the window. It was him! How? Why? He hadn’t even been from here so why was he back? A voice in her head whispered, “Why not? You’re back, aren’t you?”
In an effort to calm her nerves, Freya pulled her project book out of her canvas tote and tried to focus on the list of things she needed to speak to the shopfitter about in order to ensure the place was ready for her grand opening in two weeks’ time. Turning to the next section where she’d noted down all the colour options for the interior décor, Freya caught sight of the small, frayed napkin tucked into the plastic envelope section of the section divider. She fingered the delicate edge of it as memories flooded through her.
He’d written his phone number on it and passed it to her with her coffee the last day that she had come into the shop on her way for her final shift at the hotel. She’d never called the number. Coffee had dripped onto the napkin by the time she reached work, smudging the ink and rendering the two middle numbers illegible but she’d kept it. That tiny napkin had been her only link to him for all those years….
Sensing him approaching with her order, she turned the page over so that by the time he reached the table, all that was visible was various paint colour sample cards that she had pasted into the notebook.
“I like the bottom one,” he commented as he sat the mug down, followed by a white plate with her Danish pastry on it. Next, he placed a small square napkin down with several sachets of brown sugar and a wooden stirrer on top.
“Me too,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Would look great as a feature wall,” he continued casually.
Gazing at the teal green square of colour, Freya heard herself saying, “I’m thinking of painting the whole shop that colour.”
“Shop?” he quizzed. “Hey, are you the new owner of the old book shop? I heard it was due to re-open but no one in town seems to know much. It’s been quite the local mystery this week.”
There was no backing out now. Taking a deep breath, Freya revealed, “I’m opening in two weeks hopefully. Tattoo parlour.”
“Tattoo parlour? It’ll be the only one for miles. You could be onto a winner there.”
“I hope so,” she said, looking up into his dark brown eyes for the first time in eighteen years.
“Enjoy your coffee,” he said as he turned to walk back to the counter to serve his next customer.
Had he recognised her? Had she got away with this? It had been eighteen years so why would he remember her?
She lifted two of the long skinny sugar sachets and the stirrer. Something caught her eye. There was writing on the napkin. Pushing the remaining sugar sachets aside, she revealed the whole message. “Call me, Cinnamon Girl followed by a mobile number. Been a long time.”
Cinnamon Girl….his old nickname for her from all those years ago.
Not taking any chances this time, Freya tucked the napkin into the project book. She felt something inside her shift. A calm feeling washed through her. Her heart lightened. Suddenly she knew this was all going to work out ok. They had a lot of catching up to do.
As she took her first bite of her Danish, her phone buzzed. It was a What’s App message. “Hi Mum. Will be down on Saturday. See you about 4.”
Yes… there was a lot of catching up to be done…
Coral McCallum 