Page 4 of Toy Boy

I start to walk away again, back across the street, because I’m really not in the mood for random conversations with strangers.

Back in the café, Tim’s at the counter grabbing something for lunch, I’m guessing. A grilled chicken sandwich to-go, and it’s quite obvious he feels bad for relaying news of Scott’s return, but it wasn’t his fault. Shooting the messenger, no. I don’t do that.

“Listen, Megan, I’m sorry…”

“Tim, it’s fine. It was good of you to let me know. But I think I always knew he’d come back, one day.”Did I? Really?“This is his home, after all.”

Tim smiles. “He was a fool, to do what he did.”

Yeah. He was. But, the thing is, not many people told him that, to his face. Maybe if they had then his undeserved god complex might have taken a battering; made him realise he really wasn’t all that. And whilst I haven’t spoken to a single person who thinks I should’ve forgiven him for cheating on me, they were all with me on that one, I still get the feeling that, somewhere, in the backs of some of their minds, they may think that I read a little too much into his behaviour as far as everything else was concerned. But, like I said, the man I saw at home very rarely came out in public. He was fucking clever like that.

“It’s all in the past now, anyway. And I’m sure he’s moved on, too.”

So much so that he’s felt the need to come back to Beachcastle Bay? That’s what unsettles me the most, actually. Scott Warren never struck me as someone who did anything without a reason. A good reason. A calculated reason. So, what’s his reason for coming home? Because I’m damn sure he’s got one.

“I’m sure he has.” Tim throws me another smile, picks up his take-out bag of food, and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You have a good day, Megan.”

“Yeah. You too.”

I slide my pad from my back pocket and remove the pen from behind my ear as I head over to a newly-seated customer – one of our regulars. I take their order and pass it on to Graham in the kitchen before I go behind the counter to make some fresh coffee.

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”

I spin around to see the young man I’d seen outside not five minutes ago now sitting at the counter. “I don’t believe I made you any offer.”

He furrows his brow. “You said I should come in for some breakfast.”

“I did. But it wasn’t really an offer, more me just trying to gain a new customer.” I pick up a menu and hand it to him. “What can I get you?”

His gaze dips to the menu, and he takes a second or two to check it out. “I think I’ll try some of those pancakes you were talking about.”

“Maple or blueberry-toffee syrup?”

“Blueberry-toffee syrup?” he asks, his brow furrowing even deeper, the corner of his mouth turning up into a slight smile.

“It’s our own special creation.”

“Sounds a little too sweet for me.”

“Not so much. A pinch of sea salt kind of rounds everything out.”

He puts the menu down and clasps his hands together on the counter-top, his eyes fixed firmly on mine, that slightly crooked smile still there on his – undeniably handsome – face. “You said you own this place?”

“I do.” I start to scribble down his order. “Have you decided which syrup you’d like on those pancakes?”

“I’ll take the maple, please.”

“Not a risk taker then, huh?” I smile and tear the page from my pad, turning around to hand the order to Graham.

“I’ve been known to take one or two.”

I look back at him, and raise an eyebrow. But I don’t say anything.

“It’s just that, those pancakes, they look far too nice to ruin with a syrup I’m not too sure about.”

“Okay.”

I narrow my eyes slightly, I’m trying to remember if I’ve seen him around here before. Beachcastle Bay is a small seaside town, but not an insular one. A lot of people pass through here every day, not only in summer. I see a lot of new faces on a regular basis, but I’m absolutely positive I’ve never seen his before.

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