What Began in July

The lunch rush has fizzled out at the café, but the place is still full, without a single table free. Greta has been there for fifteen minutes already, sipping at a ginger and lemon tea. She was early on purpose and in that time the tables filled up quickly. She’s glad she had options on where to sit because now, even though she’s so nervous her hands are shaking, at least she’s hidden behind some decorations in the storefront window and can keep an eye on the door.

She’s wearing a knit cardigan in the same green as the dress she wore when she met Aiden the first weekend of July, to help him find her when he arrives at the café. Getting his call earlier today wasn’t something she could have expected, she’d given up on hearing from him, and hadn’t held any grudge about it either. He’d been the first person to make her feel hopeful in a very long time, and not even being ghosted could ruin that for her.

Greta stiffens as the door chimes, dripping tea over the side of her mug as she lowers it into the saucer a little bit too hard. It’s not Aiden, just two women around forty in athleisure wear laughing together as they head over to the counter. Greta grabs a napkin and dabs at the spot of tea she got on the table, watching her hand, and willing it to stop shaking as she takes a few deep breaths. She shuts her eyes for a few seconds, clenching her hand into a fist and telling herself that when a man apologizes for disappearing for nearly three months it must be a good sign.

The door chimes again and she opens her eyes, looking up to meet Aiden’s gaze as he walks in. A nervous, warm and affectionate smile plays at her lips and she relaxes her hand on the table. His dark hair is just the same, if not a bit shaggier, but it suits him well. He smiles back, and she notices that he looks quite a bit slimmer, especially in the face. He makes his way over to the table and sits down.

“Hey,” he says, his smile familiar and comfortable.

“Hi,” she replies, “do you wanna get anything? I just have a tea…” Greta motions lamely at her mug, letting out a slightly flustered breath.

Aiden gives her a small grin, “Yeah, absolutely. I just wanted to see you first,” he says and surprises her by taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m really so sorry I didn’t contact you sooner.”

“You really don’t— you don’t have to apologize, you said it was a medical emergency on the phone earlier anyway. That’s perfectly understandable.” She glances at their hands on the table, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “Your face looks thinner.”

He rubs his lightly bearded cheek with his free hand a little self consciously. “Yeah, I lost a bit of weight, still recovering.” He pauses, looking her over with a soft smile on his face. “You look good.”

“I didn’t mean— you don’t look bad—”

Aiden laughs, squeezing her hand before he lets go. “I’m teasing, but I’m serious. You look really nice. As nice as you did when we met.”

Greta’s cheeks redden and she clears her throat. “I’m not nearly as dolled up as I was at that party.”

He’s smiling like he’s proud of himself for making her blush. “Just tell me, did I lose my shot with you?”

She’s shaking her head before he even finishes asking, but it’s not that simple.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s a bit intense… I don’t want to upset you.”

“I wanna know, Aiden.”

He nods. “Okay, I’m gonna go look at the menu. Do you want anything?”

Greta looks over at the display of baked goods, then back at him, shaking her head.

She watches him head over to the counter then glances out the window, bringing her mug to her lips. It’s a sunny but cold day and the streets are covered in autumn leaves. There are still a few tables outside the café, but they’re wet from the recent rain and probably won't serve anyone again until spring. And so much would change by then.

Aiden returns with a hot drink in a to-go cup and places a big piece of chocolate cake on the table between them. He slides a fork to her as he sits down again, smiling at her knowingly.

“We can share,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“You remembered,” Greta laughs.

“How could I forget?” he asks and winks.

-

That wink and a mischievous smile had convinced her to sneak away from the party to the closed veranda with their plates of chocolate cake and half a bottle of wine. He’d started giggling as soon as the door shut behind him, the sound so contagious she’d started giggling too. She’d tried to shush him as she put her plate down on the wide balustrade, but they kept laughing, sipping wine from their pilfered bottle and muttering jokes about the other guests that they both found stiff and unbearable. He was there for business, an obligation and a favour he hadn’t been particularly thrilled about, and she was there for the music and the food, and because she was lonely in a new town.

She’d just barely finished a bite of cake and a sip of wine when he’d lifted his hand and held her chin with his thumb and index finger, tipping her head up to look at him, somehow emphasizing the height difference between them. He most certainly felt her breath hitch and grinned ear to ear when she blushed without being able to blame it on the wine.

“You’ve got chocolate on your face,” he’d said, but she thinks it was a cheeky excuse because seconds later he was kissing her, and she was laughing against his lips as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders to keep him close. He was the first person she’d had genuine fun with in a long time, who made her so comfortable that when he slipped his hand into her dark green wrap dress to feel her skin, she was thinking of nothing else but him.

-

“I got stabbed.”

Greta gapes at Aiden, lowering her fork slowly.

“Stabbed?”

He nods.

She makes a face, caught between sympathy and disbelief.

“I don’t think I mentioned what I do,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I was at that party because my family knows the owner, and I own several restaurants that helped fund his venue.”

“Several?” Greta raises a curious brow, bringing her tea to her lips and sipping it slowly.

He chuckles. “I, uh, well my family has always been inclined toward having a lot of passion projects. So do I. Staying still has not been easy.”

“So you’re a restaurant owner aaand…” Greta motions for him to go on.

“A few nights after we met I stayed late at Lamplighter after we closed, some guys broke in and I got between one of them and a knife. A few times.” He shrugs. “They smashed up the bar and dropped my phone in a pitcher.”

“How badly were you hurt?” She swallows at the paranoia that sits like a rock in her throat and wonders how well he’s recovering. “How did you get help?”

“My sister was picking me up, so she found me twenty minutes later. Emergency surgery, got an infection, had a second minor surgery, then intensive care… then in-home nurse. I didn’t like the pain meds, but even after I got off them I was still out of it for a while, and had to get a new phone… It, uh, actually took me a week to call after I finally realized you’d left me those two messages.”

Greta cants her head as she looks at him, “Why?”

“I thought I’d blown it already, that you’d be angry I ghosted you… I didn’t want to hear you be angry at me.” He gives her a slow, half sheepish smile. “But I wanted to hear you laugh a little more, so I bit the bullet.”

Greta places her hand over his on the table. “I’m not angry, I wasn’t…”

“I want to pick up where we left off,” he says, holding her hand. “If you’ll have me.”

His expression is so earnest she feels a little queasy. She looks down, shame making her flush.

“I had so much fun with you, I was relieved that you called,” she says carefully, glancing out the window. “I asked to meet you here because you deserve to know—”

Her words die on her tongue and she blanches, a small gasp leaving her lips.

“Greta, hey, what’s— what’s wrong?”

A bouquet of flowers has been left on one of the tables outside the café, wrapped in brown paper. The flowers are wet, some petals torn and stems bent as if they had been tossed or placed there in haste. She doesn’t need to be up close to know they’re blue and purple salvia and pink carnations. There are too many pedestrians outside to identify who left it there.

“Greta?” Aiden squeezes her hand a little more urgently. She looks back at him fearfully, eyes welling with tears.

“The flowers,” she whispers, breathing sharply and shakily.

Aiden frowns, looking out at the crumpled bouquet, holding her one hand with both of his. “Take a deep breath, please. What’s wrong with the flowers?”

She does as he says, glancing nervously around the coffee shop as a chill runs up her back.

“I was at the party because I was new to the area,” she says. “I wanted to meet people… start my life over.”

He nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

Greta shuts her eyes and frowns. “My stalker followed me.” She starts to take her hand away but he holds it and she opens her eyes.

“You think he left the flowers?” he asks.

She nods uneasily.

“A week after we met, I saw an old man pick up a bouquet just like that one off a bench in the park I walk through on my route home from the grocery store. I thought it was a fluke, but I’ve felt like I could crawl out of my skin ever since… I feel crazy, and it doesn’t help that—“ she cuts herself off with a huff and withdraws her hand, looking at him pleadingly. He returns a searching gaze, still so earnest it hurts.

“That doesn’t change my mind. I can’t be scared off tha—”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“My twelve weeks scan is in two days.”

Aiden leans back in his seat, a breath of a laugh leaving his lips before a smile blossoms there.

“Can I come?” He grins.

Greta looks at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes.”

She wipes her cheeks. “I’d resigned myself to doing this alone,” she says.

“Not a chance. I called ‘cause the thought of getting to hear you laugh again was enough to push aside my worry that you’d be mad at me. Now I have double the laughter to earn.” He holds out his hand for her on the table.

After a few long seconds, she places her hand in his.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he says.

“He could hurt you.” Could’ve.

The fear and knowledge behind her words makes his expression falter just a little bit. He’s vulnerable from his injury, her tone making him uncomfortably aware of that.

“Remember I said I have a lot of passion projects?” he asks, recovering.

She nods.

“One of my businesses is a private security company.”

He squeezes her hand, and for the second time in a long time, Greta feels hopeful.

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— Rooney