Page 1 of Deja Brew

1

LEO

I shovemy hands deeper inside my coat pockets to fight the brisk wind. The early morning darkness presses on me, streetlights turn the mist eerie as they cut through the dark and attempt to illuminate the street. Winter by the beach is atmospheric but cold. My breath appears white as I sigh before the dark consumes it. My eyes roll at the dramatic thought. So it’s dark and cold. It usually is at four A.M. in the middle of winter. Could be in bed, asleep and warm, blissfully unaware of the weather.

Instead, I’m following the woman with auburn hair styled in a braided crown, whose shoes click on the footpath alerting everyone in a ten kilometre radius where she is. Fine, ten metres. Or five, but that’s besides the point. The point is, she insists on walking to work, in the dark, while wearing shoes that bring attention to her. They’re not even heels, just flats that click. Didn’t know they could do that. Should she be able to wear clicky shoes and feel safe walking around at four A.M? Yes, but I have little faith in humanity.

So, I’m following Lily at a distance, and attempting to stay hidden while also making sure she’s safe. Because if anyone hurt her, I’d kill them. Not literally.

Probably.

Why she walks to work instead of driving, I don’t know. She has to walk twenty minutes from her flat to get to her shop; she owns the best café on The Esplanade and starts work at an ungodly hour, which means I wake up at an ungodly hour to arrive at her flat and follow her to work to make sure she’s safe. Not that I have to do this, but it makes me feel better knowing she arrives at work unharmed.

So I accidentally became her stalker.

It wasn’t on purpose, and I don’t technically fit under the term, but it’s the closest there is. All I do is follow her to work to ensure she isn’t murdered. Can’t have people deprived of her scones. Or the gorgeous light she emits, warming everyone in sight. She shivers in front of me and pulls her shoulders inward against the raindrops that feel like shards of glass; her pale skin stark in the dark street.

The definition of a stalker is to harass someone with unwanted attention. Lily doesn’t know about the attention, so it can’t be unwanted, and I’m hardly harassing her. I only follow her when she goes to work. After that, I have no idea what she does…

Although, sometimes I drive by her flat to make sure she got home safe.

But besides that, I leave her alone. So, technically I don’t fit under the term, but it’s a close thing.

I met Lily a year ago when she switched delivery companies for her café. Thought it would be a normal day, drop off her stuff and move on to the next person, but then there she was. Her hair in a braided bun, smiling at me with her big brown eyes, thanking me for doing the bare minimum of my job. Forget handing in my notice to pursue my art career. Not while she exists.

I kept showing up, and it didn’t take long for me to dream about her. And they’re not even sex dreams, but domestic dreams. What guy dreams about adopting a cat with a woman and wakes up hard?

Me. Pathetic.

It was a few months after meeting her when she mentioned walking to work, which was fine at the time because it was summer and got light earlier. Not four A.M. early, but it still made me feel better. Then autumn came, and she mentioned it was cold walking in the dark and I nearly died from fright when I realised she was still fucking walking to work, alone, in the dark, and now the cold.

I started following her. Judge all you want. She hasn’t turned up dead. And it means I sleep at night, knowing she’s tucked up safe and warm in her navy duvet.

Sue me. I looked in her window.

At least she’s wearing a coat today. Yesterday she forgot it but was late and instead of running back for it, walked to work in a long-sleeve T-shirt. I nearly broke when I saw her shiver, but didn’t want to freak her out. When I dropped off her delivery, I ‘accidentally’ left my hoodie at the café for her to walk home in. Which she did. But I only know that because I happened to drive past her while she strode home.

She’s holding the black hoodie in front of her now, clutching it against her chest, and there’s no way I’m washing it when she returns it to me. I’d be happy if she kept it, but the idea of her wearing it, leaving her warm sugary-scent all over it for me to take home and have in my flat… Well, I’m not too fussed if she holds on to it for another day.

We finally turn down The Esplanade and I pause at the intersection, waiting for her to cross the road and from there it’s a short walk to Deja Brew, her cosy café that keeps everyone sane. As she unlocks the door, I move to the shop opposite hersso she doesn’t see me and wait for her to lock the door behind her. Something she only started doing after I got annoyed at her. What person doesn’t lock the door at four A.M. on a main road? Thankfully, she took my advice and locks the door now before heading to the kitchen and starting work.

No clue what she does this early. Probably makes the food, but why she doesn’t have other staff with her, I don’t know. Why don’t they rotate the early start?

Either way, my muscles unclench now she’s safe in her locked store.

I lean against the brick wall opposite her café to wait for her staff to arrive. Locking her store doesn’t mean she’s safe, so I wait until more people join her. The brick is cold, even through my coat, but I ignore it. The eaves from the shop I’m leaning against keeps the drizzle away, and I scan the road, watching to see if anyone walks near her café.

My body tenses when someone appears under a streetlight outside her store. I relax when they barely glance at the window and stride towards the beach. Why they want to go to the beach with the wind blowing sand everywhere I don’t know, but I suppose the waves would be good for surfing in this weather.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I turn it on and pretend to read something. Need people to think I’m waiting for someone rather than staring directly at Deja Brew and freaking people out. Then again, if anyone comes near her, I’ll happily freak them out.

It’s over an hour before more staff arrives. An hour of persistent drizzle that doesn’t quite turn into rain and wind that continues to find the crevasses in my coat. When a woman with brown hair I vaguely recognise from the store arrives and locks the door behind her, I turn away with my head down and trek through the mist home. My chest releases the uncomfortabletightness it carries until I’m satisfied Lily’s safe. As I walk towards my flat, anticipation replaces the unease.

She has a delivery scheduled today.

The woman with brown hair who joined Lily early this morning opens the door for me, and I duck inside, ignoring the rain soaking my hair and set the heavy box on the polished concrete. It lands with a crack and I wince. Need to be more careful. No idea what Lily needs to run a café, but whatever it is causes my muscles to twinge.

“Anything else for us?”

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