Dear Alexandra

“Good morning, Alexandra.” Mr. Clayton had been coming to Ma Mere’s Café since her uncle opened it 23 years ago. Alex had been 3.

The dark haired café co-manager went to the counter to grab him a coffee. She was perfectly happy to ignore the solemn looking suited man in the corner for just a bit longer.

Alex grabbed herself a cup of tea before heading to the corner booth. “Can I get you anything else, William?”

“No, thank you. Alexandra, please sit down.”

“Right, yeah.” She sat, but before William could speak, she said, “it’s been five months since I’ve seen him. He took me on a date. Did he tell you that? After three years, he asked me on a date, and it- it was great. And then he was gone. He just left. He’s just…”

“He’s dead. I’m sorry, that is to say, he’s been declared dead by our employer. No body.”

“He’s…” her brain stopped working. She shouldn’t feel like this. Alex didn't really know him all that well. It’s not as though they were together.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not actually here as his friend. I am here on behalf of our employer. I can’t technically tell you much. It’s classified. But I’m here because he listed you as his next of kin. He’s left everything to you.”

“He…” Alex played with her pinky ring.

“Most of his assets have been seized, for confidentiality purposes, but in lieu of that they will transfer $20,000 into your bank account as soon as you sign a non-disclosure agreement. You can’t speak about anything you think may relate to his classified job. There will be the house, as well. After it’s gone through of course.”

“$20,000?!” She whispered.

“Yes, truthfully you should be getting much more, but…” he waved his hand vaguely as if that explained anything. “At least you’ll have the house. It’s a nice house.”

“I hardly knew him! He was a customer that I sometimes ate with. We went on one date. It was a good date but, I-I didn’t even know his phone number.”

“Do you not eat together on average, 4 days a week, at least once?”

“Well, technically yes, but…”

“What’s his favorite color.”

“Red, but…”

“Eyecolor?”

“Brown.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Fried Green Tomatoes, but… ”

“Song? Things that make him laugh or smile? Favorite foods? Childhood pet? His birthday? You know these things about him. Do you know these things about all your customers? Mr. Clayton over there, for example , what color are his eyes?”

“I…” the ring dropped from Alex’s nervous fingers, nearly rolling from the table before William caught it. “Okay, so we were friends. But we were never more. We never hung out outside of this café, hardly outside of this very booth, besides that one night five months ago.”

“So you felt nothing for him?” He handed her back the ring as he spoke.

To the casual observer Alex looked fine. William could see the clench to her jaw. The faint wetness forming in her green eyes. “Of course I felt for him. I had a crush the moment I saw him. But he never showed… anything. He didn’t talk about himself. Never told me anything real. Constantly deflected back to me. We only went on the one date,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say. “Why me? Doesn’t he have family for his house and money to go to?”

“He didn't have any family. They’re all dead. You… you’re all he had, Alex.” He reached into his jacket. “I shouldn’t be giving you this. Our employer wouldn’t like it, but… I think he would want you to have it.” He passed a little black notebook across the table. I put my card in there, and the house key. The form will be left at the house, let me know when you sign it. I can come pick it up and have the money transferred. Or if you have more questions I can make myself available, but for now I really must be going. I’m late for a meeting with our employer.”

Alex nodded briefly, but said nothing. Will put $20 on the table, which was way too much for the few cups of coffee and half of an almond poppyseed muffin he’d had. He awkwardly gave her a pat on the shoulder before turning and walking away. Alex ran a hand over the notebook. She couldn't remember ever being more confused in her life. A substantial amount of information had just been dumped on her, and the café hadn’t even been open for an hour yet. He was just a customer. A hot customer, she’d had a crush on for three years. A customer much too old for her. And a douchebag at that. That’s what she’d been telling herself for five months anyways. Ever since she’d spent the night with said hot customer and then he disappeared. So why did her chest feel so tight?

At 23, Alexandra Rose McClay was being trained to work at her uncle’s restaurant by her best friend, Ian. Alex had always felt safe here. Safe to be herself. Ian had felt safe here too. Ma Mere’s was his haven when coming out to his parents hadn’t gone as planned. He’d spent so much time there helping out that eventually Mr. McClay had simply put him on the payroll. Alex had fought it, taking a job working for family, but here she was.

Today was moving so slow. That is until a tall man in a three-piece suit walked in and sat in the corner booth. “I got this one.”

“He’s a regular, he takes Earl Grey, toast with two sunny side up eggs and whatever fruit is freshest.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. He’s not the talkative type. He just sits there and either reads the paper, or writes in his notebook. We call him the British businessman.”

“Does he always look like that? So put together?” Ian nodded. “I’d like to take him apart.”

Ian nearly choked on his con panna. “What?! Lex he’s like your uncle’s age.”

“My uncle’s not that old. You don’t think he’s hot?”

“I guess… Lex what are you doing?”

She ignored his protests, strolling over to the corner booth. The man barely glanced up from his paper. “Good morning. I’m Alexandra, Alex. Ian told me your usual, but I thought I’d ask if you wanted to try something new? We have almond scones with homemade raspberry jam. Made them myself.”

He stared for a moment. “Your Robert McClay’s niece.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded, suddenly feeling less confident. “Yes alright. A scone it is.”

Alexandra smirked as she passed Ian’s bewildered face.

*

A few days later he was back. “Do you have any more of those scones by chance?”

“No, sorry. But I’ve made a lemon drizzle cake today if you’d like.” He nodded. “Can I get a name for the order.” He stared. “It’s just we’re a bit busy today and since it’s not your usual order…”

It was a weak lie, Alex felt ridiculous. He clearly saw right through her, yet… “Oliver.”

“Is that Oliver’s notebook?”

Alex looked up. She hadn’t noticed Ian sit down across from her. “He’s dead.”

“He’s- fuck, Lex I’m so sorry.”

“For what? He was just a customer,” her repeated lie now as weak the one used to ask Oliver’s name.

Ian ignored the lie, knowing not to push. “So why’d he give you the notebook?”

“It’s not just the notebook, he left me $20,000 and his house.”

“So what’s in the notebook?”

“That’s your question?”

“Well, if he left you $20,000 there has to be something interesting in there.”

Dear Alexandra,

If you ever read this I suspect it will seem rather eccentric. My therapist suggested I choose someone to write to. It’ll supposedly allow me to be more real in my writing. I don’t have anybody to write to, so I chose the first person who smiled at me today. The scone was excellent by the way.

Dear Alexandra,

It has been an extremely boring couple of days. Paperwork is an endless abyss. The slice of lemon drizzle was sunshine in my darkness… God that sounded daft. Fyi, I don’t know the last time I’ve told anyone my name. Not that it’s a secret per se, just, I haven’t felt inclined to let anyone know me. You have a nice smile.

***

Dear Alexandra,

Three months since I told you my name. I long to tell you more. Perhaps this journal was a bad idea. It’s making me truly want to tell you things. I want to tell you about my childhood. You are kind to everyone. Even the rude customers. You're patient and understanding and I want to tell you.

***

Dear Alexandra,

You sat and ate with me today. Didn’t ask what I wanted, simply brought me food. It was the best grilled cheese I’ve had in my entire life. We didn’t talk much. You seem to understand that I can’t. I can’t tell you that I’ve been in Prague for a week foiling an assassination attempt. Unrelated, but I love your natural curls. I adore how you work with them, instead of trying to hide them as I do with my own.

***

Dear Alexandra,

I’m having tea with the royalty of a small country you’ve likely never heard of. This pastry chef is evidently one the best anywhere, but all I can think of is the almond bars you made last Friday. I miss our small talk. It’s easy and familiar and warm. I miss you

***

Dear Alexandra,

I can’t believe I let slip that today is my birthday. Thoughtless really. You’ve insisted I come back tomorrow for a Lemon Curd Mousse Tart. You remembered it’s my favorite. I don’t remember the last time someone cared that it was my birthday.

***

Dear Alexandra,

I’m laying in a hospital bed in Dubai. I wish I was home. By which I mean Ma Mere’s. It feels more like home than anywhere.

***

Dear Alexandra,

I wish I could know you outside the café, yet I don’t know how. I’ve never been close to anyone, even in childhood. However, I want to let you in. I also realized I’d very much like you in my bed. I haven’t wanted anyone specific in my bed since, well ever really. It’s not that I’m oppossed to sex in theory. I have had sex, I just- it’s never been particularly satisfying honestly. I think there’s a name for that now? Demisexual? Demiromantic? It’s a good thing you’ll never read this. I’m far too old for you. You’d probably think me a deluded creep.

***

Dear Alexandra,

Next week will be 3 years since that first smile. I’ve decided to ask you on a date. I face life or death situations on the regular, so why am I so nervous to let you in. Perhaps I don’t want to ruin this easy thing we have. I say that as if we have something. Perhaps you are just being nice. Though I don’t think you regularly take this much time out of your day to sit and eat with other customers. Or maybe you do and I’m just deluded. Perhaps you just pity me. Fuck, I hope not.

Dear Alexandra,

Our date went- it went amazing. At least in my eyes. Alex, I, fuck I think I love you. Not that I’ll say that. Not yet. We’ve only been on one real date for fucks sake. I have to go away for a bit, but I can’t wait to come back to you. I can’t wait to build something real with you.

Two weeks after the incident, Alex got a call from William. Two days after that Oliver opened his eyes and thought he must be dead. Alex slept in a chair by his bed, clutching his little black notebook.