Page 1 of Before You Say Goodbye

Chapter 1

Autumn didn’t like 8 a.m., but she loved the way it looked on New York. She enjoyed the predictability of the corporate coffee-shop-chain client base. Powerful and stressed-looking business types, sleepy teenagers, and bleary-eyed revellers dressed in snazzy outfits who looked like they hadn’t been to bed yet. Their auras collided dramatically and Autumn — a writer —loveddrama. It made the morning worth the effort. It fizzed from her fingertips and across her pages for the rest of the day. Almost everyone she saw at this hour ended up represented in her writing in some way, even if she only wrote about the creases on their faces, or the poise of their nostrils at the whiff of a freshly baked bagel. She was frequently tempted to announce to the crowd how deliciously their extraordinary normalness inspired her — to declare them the only reason she dragged herself out of bed at this time — but she doubted they’d appreciate it.

She drank them in silently instead, eagerly waiting for her turn at the till, stifling a yawn and wishing she enjoyed themorning itself half as much as she enjoyed the spectacle it brought with it.

Bored, she took time to admire a pretty blonde woman waiting beside her. Autumn winced. She wished she too could wear her hair up in a messy top knot and still look like a diamond. She wished she had the confidence to wear curves like this woman did. She wished she had feet so disproportionately small it was a wonder they could hold her upright. She wished she was the type of person who could commission a tattoo of a semicolon behind her ear without feeling like an attention-seeking idiot.

She felt a familiar wave of sadness and forced herself to stop. There were lots of things she liked about being Autumn Black, she reminded herself. She was ambitious and independent, attractive, clever and funny. She was not obsessed by social media or driven by love.

Temporarily satisfied, Autumn watched the exceptionally animated coffee server, swallowing nervously as she realised she had forgotten her purse. She wondered if she could get a free drink by pretending she hadn’t realised before now and pay for it next time. She went back to wishing again ? this time that she was a better actress. She felt guilty and worried it would be written all over her face. She shook her head slightly, banishing her negativity by reminding herself all women had to use femininity to get their own way every now and then. She wasn’t sure how that aligned with her values, whether it was empowering or hypocritical. She only knew she’d been awake most of the night with a man who’d shown her over and over again that he very much liked the way she looked — her waist, her feet and every other part of her — and she needed energy in the form of caffeine. She hadn’t intended to avoid paying — she wasn’t doing it on purpose — she just didn’t have time to go back to her apartment. She really did intend on settling her tab nexttime she was here, though she knew not everyone would believe that when the time came to declare it aloud — she just hoped the server might. He looked friendly enough. Autumn suspected he would give her a drink temporarily free of charge if she got the timing between ordering her beverage and declaring herself cashless just right.

When it was her turn and he asked for her name — a permanent marker poised readily over a large paper cup — she gave it to him in the same sickly-sweet voice she used when talking to people on the telephone.

“Like the season,” she added.

“Beautiful name,” he said, flashing her a smile.

“Thank you.”

She fished through the contents of her bag as though she had every intention of paying him. He seemed really nice and the feeling of guilt deepened, but not enough. She needed this coffee. The prospect of not having it had increased her desire.

“You know, I love seasonal names,” he said. “My favourite girl’s name has always been Summer.” He was flirting with her. It was really bad flirting, but it was flirting. Encouraged, she shoved her hand deeper into her bag, forcing an expression of mild irritation across her face.

“Really?” she asked. “Is that your favourite season, too?”

“No.” He shook his head, placing her drink on the counter. “That’s got to be autumn, I think.”

She flipped her hair dramatically and smiled, wondering if she’d spent an unnatural amount of time looking. She reasoned she’d definitely done enough to do the trick.

“Oh, damn, I’ve left my purse at home.” She wrung her hands in fake frustration. The barista looked down at her drink, then up at her. She worried she might have overdone it. An actress she was not. The blonde woman in dungarees with the envy-inducing waist stirred beside her, throwing her side-eyeand a smirk. It was a supportive gesture, Autumn could tell, and this stranger’s encouragement made her feel empowered. She fought the urge to look at her because she knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain her composure.

“Oh,” the barista said. “Well, I already made it now. You can have it.”

He held it out for her to take.

“Really?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite sure, Autumn.”

“Thank you. I swear I’ll pay for it next time I’m in.”

She meant it, too. Forgetting her purse had been a genuine mistake.

“No need. This one’s on me.”

She thanked him again. He nodded kindly, turning to the next customer. The dungaree woman. Autumn expected her to sound like a bird, but she didn’t. Her voice was deep and came straight from her chest. She spoke with an eloquent British accent, loud enough to drown out the hum of the coffee grinder.

“I’ll have a green tea, please.”

“Two Brits in five minutes.” The barista smiled, nodding between the woman and Autumn. “My lucky day. What’s your name, sugar?”

“No, it’s Bluebell,” the woman said snippily. Autumn stifled a laugh, but Bluebell was not smiling. The barista winced, but didn’t argue. Bluebell watched him make her drink without another word, mumbling a courteous ‘thank you’ when he handed it to her. Autumn hid a smirk from the line of riveted people and made her way to her favourite place to sit, right by the window. She was pleased to see her first choice of seat — one that allowed her to watch customers inside and commuters outside at the same time — was free, despite the fact there was hardly an empty chair in the entire place.

“It’s my lucky day,” she murmured to herself. She took off her coat and sat down, reasoning she’d allow herself a few moments of unproductivity before she settled down to write the morning away. She crossed her legs and sipped her drink, content. Across the room, the woman in the dungarees was searching for somewhere to sit. She spotted Autumn and smiled, marching towards her with such friendly purpose Autumn worried they’d met before and she’d forgotten who she was. No. It wasn’t possible. Bluebell’s smile — framed by lips Autumn was certain had led her in and out of all sorts of trouble — was one she would remember, she knew.

“Hi there,” she said.

“Are you free?” Bluebell asked. Autumn didn’t know if Bluebell meant unpreoccupied or single. Luckily, she was both.

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