Page 4 of Falling For Us Again

It was a few months after my mother had died. Physically, I was recovered and was beginning to accept my partial memory loss from the accident. I still didn’t know much about what happened, but I could tell my father blamed me for her death.

It didn’t take much to set him off. Lately, he always seemed to be angry with me.

That morning, I made breakfast: toast, bacon, and eggs. But the toast got burnt as my mind kept wandering. I set the food down on the table in front of him. He didn’t look at me. It feels like he hasn’t really looked mein the eye since Mom died.

His voice thundered, “Could you be any more useless? You can't even make a goddamn piece of toast?”

He had never yelled at me like that before. I knew he and my mother had issues. I could hear her crying late at night when she thought I was asleep.

He was abusive to her, it had gotten worse the last few years of her life, but she had always been there to shield me from his wrath.

Then, in a split second, he sent the plate reeling at me. I didn't see the collision, but I felt it—a sharp pain that mirrored the one in my heart.

I remember his eyes widening in shock at his action and mine rolling to the back of my head as I collapsed. That was the beginning of his abuse.

Like a prodigal son, he was apologetic the first few times. After that, he stopped caring, finding ways to hurt me that could be hidden, and not result in having to go to the hospital, where we had to answer questions about what happened.

With Mom gone, I had to deal with his bitter words, his cruel actions, and finally, blessedly, his absence.

A light flickers in the living room, pulling me out of my reverie.

I hate it here.

Chapter 2

A DECADE LONG

Dylan

By the time I arrive at the café, Maggie is already there. I overslept, plagued by dreams of people who are no longer in my life.

Ofher.

It's already past 8:00 AM, and I knew Maggie is going to give me an earful about it—like I would if she was ever late, though that hasn't actually happened yet. It’s become a silly joke between us.

The café is already buzzing with customers, their murmurs filling the air as they enjoy their breakfast in the cozy corners of my little haven. Opening The Hartlow House Café remains one of my proudest accomplishments.

Locals have affectionately nicknamed it "Little Looney," and the moniker has turned into an inside joke with our regulars.

As I step inside, the warm, rustic ambiance welcomes me. Baskets of flowers hang invitingly from the ceiling alongside the overhead beams. The stone-paved floors and flower-filled banquettes are complemented by the well-loved furniture, creating a homey atmosphere.

The familiar aroma of fresh coffee, oven-baked pastries, and flowers mingles in the air, creating a serene environment where the local townsfolk can unwind.

Old Jake, our most loyal customer, is already seated in his usual corner. He never misses a morning here, faithfully reading the Hartlow Daily while cradling a cup of coffee that’s likely gone cold by now. I glance at my watch—it’s 9:30 am. Maggie should be refreshing it any moment.

Old Jake stays at the café from open until noon every day, a routine that has become as comforting to me as it is to him.

“Mr. Anderson, so good of you to finally grace us with your presence,” Maggie says as she appears with a steaming cup of coffee for Old Jake, rolling her eyes.

“Good morning to you too, Maggie,” I say, walking past her to the counter. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“Just because you own the place doesn’t mean you can stroll in whenever you like,” she replies with a click of her tongue, handing Old Jake a croissant and placing the fresh cup of coffee on his table.

Old Jake’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles at her before returning to his newspaper.

“I’m sorry, boss. I say, feigning remorse. “I’ll be sure to do better next time.”

“You never take anything seriously, I swear.” She joins me behind the counter. “That must be why you went from being a Michelin-starred chef in LA to being back in Hartlow.”

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