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Simon
When I was a kid, I used to love summers; they reminded me of my mother, both just as warm. It was her favourite season: the bright sun of the days, and the fresh rain during the evenings. She used to tell me I was the rain of the hot summer of her life. I didn't get it —I was just a few years old, I could only assume it was because I was born in June.
And then, she was gone. The years passed by, and I couldn’t bring myself to decipher her love for a certain season. Every day felt almost the same, and I couldn't tell one season from the other.
I just couldn't feel love the same again. I had lost my mom, and since then, the fear of losing the rest of the people in my life kept me from feeling love as deeply as she taught me. It was like summer ended for me, drowning my existence into an eternal winter.
At some moment, I tried to give each season something to make them special again, to try to bring myself to feel real love again. For spring, grandma's birthday, for autumn going back to school and seeing Penny, for winter Christmas. I could have given my birthday to summers, but a part of me still felt like they belonged to my mother.
But as I grew older, I had new things to worry about and seasons felt like the least important thing on my list.
Like this. Helping my grandma run the family café & bakery. When I decided college just wasn't for me, they both thought working here would fit me so well, given my predilection for their sweet things. And it probably is, if it weren't for the times I have to take orders instead of being in the kitchens.
Long story short, today is one of these days. Ebb had to fix some personal stuff, and I’m covering her. It’s not that I don’t like playing the barista —I really enjoy it— but right now it’s that part of the years when people can’t seem to stop barging in. Autumn can be very aesthetically pleasing, but the café really does go crazy —the good part, at least, are the tips I can get. I could be out there, enjoying the chill weather of the first days of November, but I’ve been dealing with rude customers; this is exactly why I very much prefer being inside the kitchen, baking the pastries.
Shepard and I finally take a break from this long shift, after getting like thirty orders ready in the span of an hour. He’s talking about his plans to go with Penny to Omaha for the holidays, and it’s almost as if he’s conjuring her, because his phone starts ringing and her contact photo covers the screen. I decide to take the free time to clean the counter again, when someone comes directly at the counter, too busy looking at his phone to even look at me.
“Hello, I’ll take the same as always, please.”
Before I have the chance to tell him that I, in fact, don’t know what’s the thing he always has, he walks to the end of the tables and starts working on his laptop.
I could wait for Shepard to tell me if he knows who that guy and his order are, or I could just walk there and ask him.
So I do. He doesn’t even notice me approaching him until I tap on his shoulder.
“Sorry, mate. I’m not usually at the counter, do you mind being more specific with your order, please?” A thin strand of black hair partially covers his eyes as he turns to look at me. His mouth opens just a little, and I allow myself to stare. His brown skin almost makes his grey eyes shine.
“Sorry, I didn’t even notice who was taking the order. It’ll be a pumpkin mocha breve, please.”
And just like that, he focuses on his laptop again, tipping swiftly on the keyboard.
“Anything else?”
“Not really.” He murmurs, still fixed on the screen.
I hum and go back to prepare his order. I try not to get distracted by the way his hair tends to fall on his face, or the cute frown that makes his brows burrow now and then.
Just as I’m about to take his order to the table he’s occupying, Shepard comes back and takes the drink away from my hands.
“Hey! I’m supposed to get this one.”
He shakes his head and gets to the front side of the counter, smiling. “I’ll help you.”
Shepard gives the guy his drink, who doesn’t bother to look at Shep. He just extends his hand and takes a sip, nodding. That’s everything Shepard needs to come back here. And so it goes the evening, with either of us taking the rest of the orders, and eventually checking the few people at the tables. Almost everyone orders something else, except him. He’s spent a good few hours still writing on his laptop, still drinking from the same cup. I'm almost tempted to give him a new one and maybe some pastries.
Until I catch him looking at me. But as soon as I notice it, he just looks away, clumsy tipping. I feel my cheeks warm, but shake my head and instead focus on getting the orders. Probably I just imagined it, right?
Except I don’t. We keep exchanging glances for a while, until I make myself walk to his table.
“Is everything alright? D’you need something else?”
He looks up, and his eyes look red, like he’s been crying; probably because of all the hours he’s been staring at the screen of his laptop. But the rest of his face looks sad, too.
“No, really mate, are you alright? Can I help you”
He shakes his head, blinking faster than normal. “It’s just- I’m fine. I’m just stressed, but it’s alright.”
“Well, I just thought you may need something, someone? Never mind. I’m not really used to dealing with people, you know.”
His eyes look at me again, and I get mesmerized by the way the fairy lights make them look like silver.
“I think you mentioned something like that earlier. If you’re not a barista, what do you do, then?”
I take a quick look at the counter, making sure Shepard doesn’t need me, and take a seat in front of this mysterious guy.
“Actually, I spend most of the time doing the bakery, everyone says I’m good at it. But well, today I’m covering my friend’s shift, she had some stuff to do.” For the first time, he’s not looking at his screen, paying attention as I speak. “I’m Simon, by the way.”
“Well, I’d like to prove that myself.” His hands uncover his wrist, a grey jumper covering what looks like a very expensive watch; he gasps as he sees the hour. “But maybe next time, I should’ve been home like an eternity ago.”
The guy gets up from the chair, packing his laptop in the bag that hangs from his shoulder. He takes out his wallet, leaves some cash on the table, and walks past me to the door. I get up, too, following him.
“You should tell Shepard, then. He’s always on the counter.”
The door opens, letting a fresh breeze enter. “I’ll make sure.”
And just like that, he leaves. I stay by the door, and react as a woman tries to get in. I murmur an excuse, looking back into the café, and that’s when I notice the-man-with-no-name left a blue scarf hanging on the back of the chair.
The next time I see him, I’m getting a strawberry cake done. Shepard calls me from the front door of the kitchen, saying that someone’s looking for me. I try not to mess things up with the cake, wondering who could be. Penny’s at uni, grandma and uncle Jamie were here earlier, and Agatha is working at her dad’s clinic.
So who's it?
As I go out, I know who it is. The same guy from two weeks ago is standing in front of the counter, with a cup in his hand. This time, his long, black hair is tied in a messy bun, that he somehow makes look fine.
“Uhm, hi. Is something wrong?”
Shep stares at me, trying to suppress a smile. “So, Simon is finally here. He’s the expert, you know, you’d better ask him what’s the house speciality.”
“Ah, I remember. Is that a pumpkin drink?”
The guy —calling him that feels weird, but I don’t know his name— nods. “It's my usual order, yeah.”
“Well, you might like the cinnamon cookies, I’ve heard they go just well with the sweet drinks. But if you prefer something else, the cherry scones are always the best option.”
He seems like thinking. It just takes him a few seconds to decide. “I’ll take the scones.”
I nod. “There’s a fresh round coming out of the oven in a minute or two. Don’t you mind waiting?”
“It’s fine.” His eyes dart across the café, probably looking for a table. “I have time.”
“Then I’ll bring them to you, uh. What’s your name?”
As he speaks, his eyes fix with mine. It’s just a second, but I feel like there’s something keeping me from looking anywhere else. “Call me Baz.”
Baz walks to the last table, the same as last time. I hear the alarm back in the kitchen, letting me know the scones are ready. I take them out of the oven, letting them sit a few seconds before taking them back to the counter on a large plate. I keep apart a few ones, putting them on a smaller plate, alongside a small bar of butter, and walk to Baz.
Again, he’s writing something on his laptop, this time wearing a pair of glasses. He looks less serious like this, but no less handsome.
“My speciality is here. I very much recommend putting some butter on them now that they’re hot, it makes the taste change for good.”
Baz looks at me, almost smiling. “Isn’t that weird?”
“As an expert, no, they only get better. But, I mean, is fine if you eat them alone.”
He nods slowly, murmuring a thank-you. Before I get back to the kitchen, I take a look through the window. There are fewer autumn leaves on the street, and as November has gone by, the sky only gets more grey every day. That thought makes me look at Baz again, who’s writing with only one hand, the other one holding the scone he’s eating. He catches me staring, so I just excuse myself and go back.
Baz.
I’ve been stuck on the same scene for almost a week now, and I don’t think coming out of my flat to get some inspiration is helping. In fact, I’ve found myself staring discreetly at the barista with blue eyes —baker, not barista. That would make me feel bad with myself if it weren’t for the times I’ve found him staring at me too.
Focus, Baz.
I reread the last paragraphs I wrote, and try to decide if I like them or not. I fear I’ve allowed my feelings to get too much into the story, and it might look now like a hopeless romance instead of a fantasy novel.
I’m about to delete the entire page, until I catch a glimpse of a curious line.
“But the war had already taken the best of him. His intent to end up as a hero only led to losing everything: the place he used to call home, his hopes and dreams.
But the worst thing, was, he had lost the only person that could ever love him. He’d never get to wake up to a pair of blue eyes and warm skin ever again. The man that used to be his lover walked away, leaving only a gaze of deception as a goodbye.
And that was the last drop of hope he could ever keep. The curse was always true: love wasn’t made for him”
It feels pathetic. I feel pathetic. Without thinking too much, I press the delete button. My eyes feel sore, so I take my glasses off and close my laptop. I’ll just take a long, warm bath as soon as I get home. I’ll let tomorrow Baz worry about this story. Today, I’ll just finish the plate of scones and the coffee, and take a break.
My hand rises, calling the barista, so he brings me my bill. But before he can notice me, the baker makes his way to me.
“You need something, Baz?”
He —Simon— looks messier than before. There is flour across his face, and his apron is stained.
"Could you bring me the bill, please?"
He smiles, shaking his head. "This one's on the house, Baz."
The way he says my name makes my skin shiver. I try to ignore that thought, and insist on paying, but he keeps refusing.
"C'mon Baz. I mean it, I'll pay for it. Take it as, I don't know, a tasting of the pastries."
I look up at him, and try not to think of all the moles covering his face, and the contrast of the white flour with them. Or the way his lips curl up on a warm smile.
"But Simon-"
"Hey! You remember my name?"
I feel my cheeks warming up.
"Well, your friend just called you that."
I can't help but notice the way his smile flatters, just a little.
"Oh. Right."
"So, Simon. I feel bad for not paying."
The palm of his hand extends in front of him.
"Shepard told me you come here frequently. A good customer deserves a good treatment, right?"
I stare at him, a smile trying to form on my lips.
"Well, thank you. But only because the scones were amazing."
Simon's smile gets big again, and I feel something in my chest. I get up, taking my things with me.
"See you around, Baz."
I finally give him a small smile, and then walk to the door. As the cold night outside takes over me, I try to ignore the way my heart beats or the butterflies inside my stomach.
Late that night, as I try to sleep, there's a pair of blue eyes and a warm smile flooding my thoughts. I try to keep them apart, because I know there's no good in it.
How weird is it to fixate on someone I've only met twice?
I've been there before, and I know for sure love is just not right for me. All I know are broken hearts and sad endings; life has shown me that.
And well, who said this ain’t more than a crush? People have crushes on strangers all the time.
Why am I talking about love?
I decide, then, that I’ve got too much onto my novel, that I can't even tell apart reality from fiction. My mind is probably tired, and I’m just delirious.
Maybe I’ve spent too much time alone, only talking to my family if they reach out to me first. I told them that I was fine living in London and not in Oxford, that I didn’t need any company but my writing. I realize, now, that I’m tired of feeling this way; loneliness isn’t doing any good to me any more. But I just can’t live any other way.
Out in the night, a light rain makes some drops tap on my window. The cold of the room feels strangely familiar, and I allow sleep to take over me as soon as my eyes close.
But my mind won't shut off.
Simon
November has come to an end, and with the arrival of December, the Christmas decorations are all over the café.
Grandma arrived as soon as we closed, saying that it’d be for the best if we put up the decoration with nobody around. She and uncle Jamie are putting up with the tree, hanging red and golden decorations; some spheres with the names of the workers written in them. I wish I could feel the same joy as them, but this part of the year always reminds me of what I lost —of who I lost.
I’m sitting on one of the tables, trying to untangle the Christmas lights, feeling like I’m watching everyone through a wall of glass. I don’t like where this is going, but at the same time, I don’t want to ruin the mood for the rest of the people here. Even Penny has come to help.
Making sure nobody is really paying attention to me, I leave the lights untangled on the table, and walk out of the café. It’s bloody cold outside, and my coat isn’t doing too much for me; at least, the cold air hitting on my cheeks keeps me awake, distracted from my feelings.
I walk through the park near here, accompanied only by the light snow that has started to fall. My mind starts to wander around the past few weeks, where I was doing so good; being busy prevented me to think so deeply, but now I can’t help it.
My hands get inside the pockets of my coat, and I discover a scarf in there. I take it out, realizing it’s a plain, blue one, made of something silky. There’s no way it’d be mine, I only own knitted scarves, Then, the memory hits me so suddenly: it’s Baz’s scarf, the one he left forgotten in the café the first time I saw him. Grey eyes, brown skin and black hair flood through my mind as I bring the scarf close to my face, delighted by the unknown essence, that yet, feels so familiar.
Something tickles inside my gut as I picture him in my mind. I find myself surprised at the simple thought of his grey eyes, and the way my heart beats faster inside my chest.
It’s a realization I wasn’t expecting. I’ve only seen him twice, but I feel attracted by his mysterious aura; I want to know why he always seems so sad, and discover the things that bring his lips to create a smile.
Fuck.
There’s no harm in liking him, innit?
And it’s almost as I’ve spelled him out of my mind, that, or I’m finally going out of my mind, because he's walking just a few meters in front of me; his head down, and hands inside his pockets. There’s that rush in my heart again, and something guiding my feet until we’re practically face to face.
Baz startles as he sees me, and I can’t blame him: we’re in a lonely park, in the middle of the night.
“What are you doing here?” Our voices come together, both of us asking the exact same thing. I smile, moving my hand, so he can talk first.
It’s the exact hand that was holding his forgotten scarf just a few minutes ago. His eyes follow it, getting wide.
“Where did you get that?”
I shrug, giving it to him.
“You left it forgotten in the café a few weeks ago.”
“And you usually go around there carrying a stranger’s scarf?” I can’t tell his humour. He sounds like he’s surprised, mad, and relieved at the same time.
“I just happened to have it saved in my pocket.” I shrug again. “And it’s not a stranger’s, it’s yours.”
Baz takes the scarf from my hand, staring at it. His fingers bush my palm, and a shiver runs through my skin.
“I thought I had lost it.” His voice is so low, now. I can only hear him because we’ve got closer.
“You didn’t.” I look up at him, and so does he. I can feel his cold breath caressing my cheeks.
Out of instinct, I grab his hand. I expect him to take it away alongside the scarf, but he grabs me back. He’s so close, so close, that I could kiss his lips.
He must feel it, too, because they part open, just a little. My hand pulls him even closer to my body, and I feel his skin getting warm at my touch. Snowflakes are falling all upon us, getting on his lashes.
I close my eyes and let my lips brush his, so tenderly, like they are butterfly wings. Baz cuts all distance still between us, and finally kisses me. The hand that isn’t holding his scarf cups my face, his cold fingers brushing the warmth of my cheeks, and I try not to smile. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve known him forever, his lips so familiar to mine. I let my hand brush some hair strands out of his face, and it’s so magical.
I’m about to deepen our kiss, when he suddenly breaks apart from me, two of his fingers covering his mouth. Baz’s eyes get wide, and he walks back, getting away. I try to follow him, but the hand he’s extending tells me that’s not what he wants. Something beaks inside my chest as I watch his eyes get wet, his feet pulling him back to the darkness of the night, and I have no choice but to let him go.
Baz
I kissed him. I kissed Simon, and he kissed me back. He, a man I know nothing about, and I let him get so close just because he gave me back my mom’s scarf.
I’ve been replaying the memory in my head for almost a week now, bringing my fingers to my lips and getting disappointed when they feel nothing like his soft and warm lips.
The only thing that has kept me sane is my writing. I finally got out of the slump, and I think I’m very near to the ending. I’ve spent nights and days trapped in my flat, only bothering to go out to get some food, but keeping my feet from taking me all the way up to the café.
I felt my heart hurt when I realized he was kissing me back. All the hopes that had been building up inside me since the first time I saw him got torn apart in a simple moment, and just because I’m afraid. Afraid of letting someone get into my life, just to lose them as soon as they realize I have nothing to offer but doubts and fears and sadness.
My phone rings on the coffee table, scaring me. I see Daphne’s name on the screen, so I answer.
“Hi Baz, are you alright?” I hear the twins shouting at the other side of the phone, and Mordelia shutting them up. "You haven't answered my texts."
Truth is, I haven't bothered to look at my phone for the past days.
“I'm good, mother." My voice sounds hoarse, and I gasp to try to make it sound normal. “I’ve just been busy, with the book and all that.”
“I supposed it. I just called to ask if you’re coming over for Christmas? Your father would love to have you here, and so will your siblings. We’ve missed you, Basil.”
At their mention, the four of them scream my name; even Swithin —I suppose they are all beside the phone, listening to our call. I spend a few seconds considering my answer.
“Perhaps, I guess. I’d have to book a train ticket, but I’ll consider it.”
Daphne exhales, and I can hear her disappointment. Maybe I just need a few days with my family, for the loneliness to be gone, at least for a while. Maybe, perhaps, maybe.
“Actually, yes. I’ll be there.” I assure. She lets out a small laugh.
“I’ll tell your father. Let him know when are you coming over, so he can pick you up at the train station.” As soon as that, the kids scream into the phone. I wish I’d be annoyed at that, but my soft heart feels relieved at the thought of seeing them again. “See you, Basil.”
“See you, mother.” She’s the one who cuts the call. I go back to my laptop, this time to look out for a train ticket, but I’m not that lucky: the online service isn’t available at the moment, and I groan at the idea of going to buy it directly at the station.
Before I go out, I take a quick glance at the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes and messy hair look back at me. I try to fix, but there isn’t much I could do; I walk to the door, taking my coat and my scarf.
The same scarf I got back after entire weeks thinking I had lost one of the few things I still keep from my mother. The same scarf I got back the same night I kissed Simon.
I shake my head as I put it on, as if that simple move would make the memory go away. I decide to walk all the way to the station, which is actually a bad idea because of the light snow falling all around. My feet are fast, and before I even realize it, I’ve got a ticket. I take the short way back to the flat, caring too much about the snow to even notice I have to walk near the café.
Perhaps I’ll don’t have to worry about suddenly meeting Simon again. I vaguely remember him saying how he’s always in the back, making the pastries.
But, once again, lucky is not on my side. I collide directly with him as he was walking out of the place, and it’s impossible to hide or run away.
“Baz” He whispers, his face made up of surprise. “You haven’t come in a while.”
My eyes look anywhere but at his face. Suddenly, the Christmas decoration hanging on the window are the most interesting thing.
“I’ve just been busy, you know.” The same lie I told Daphne escapes from my lips, almost as an instinct. “It was nice to see you again, Simon.”
He grabs my hand as I try to walk away. I stop on my feet at his contact.
“Won’t you come inside and have something? I mean, I’d like to apologize for the other night and…”
I cut him off before he carries on. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Simon. It was me who kissed you, it should be me saying sorry.”
“Baz, no. Don’t say that. I started the kiss, not even thinking if that was what you wanted.”
Before I get to say something, a couple tries to walk out of the café. I walk a few steps behind, getting out of their way. Simon follows me, opening the door for them.
“What if you come inside so we can, you know. Talk, about it?” His voice, always so sure, sounds nervous now. I give him a small smile.
Perhaps I can consider saying yes, and see where this goes. This unrequited yearning doesn’t seem so unrequited, now.
Simon.
For a moment, I think I’ve messed everything up. Baz didn’t seem exactly happy of seeing me again.
“Yes, I’d very much like that.”
That’s everything I need to take his hand and pull him into the café. There’s snow all over his hair. I guide him through the tables, until we find the one he always sits on.
I tell him about me, and he tells me about him. Every time he laughs at something silly I say, I can’t help noticing how he throws back his head, in an almost unnoticeable move. Or the way his face looks full of light now, and this time the fairy light have nothing to do.
At some moment, our hands find each other’s on the table, our fingers intertwining as if we’ve done this since forever. There’s something in Baz that feels so familiar and warm, even if we’re just getting to know each other.
The world around us disappears as the hours pass by, and I find myself thinking of how I would like to stay here forever.
With the view of Baz’s smile and flushed cheeks, of his black hair hanging loosely around his face. I get now why my mother used to love a certain season. Maybe the end of the autumn could be mine, because it brought Baz into my life, in a way I could never have dreamed of.