Page 78 of Versions Of Us

Dylan had sent me to Ben’s Harvest this morning to pick up extra supplies for the expected rush of customers that will surely come during tomorrow’s inaugural Cliff Haven carnival. The last thing I expected to find there was Kristen laughing and joking around with Chase the way she used to with me. It’s an awful thing knowing that you are replaceable.

Guilt and stupidity don’t feel too great either.

I’m not proud of my reaction. But seeing them so soon after Mackenzie had texted me to tell me that the two of them had once dated, I guess poor timing had a lot to do with it.

It hadn’t mattered that Mackenzie’s sole reason for texting me had been to inform me that they were only friends. That although they went out a few times, they hadn’t worked out as a couple. Seeing how comfortable they had been in each other’s company had caused me to see red and all logic had flown out the window.

Being around noise all day in the bar and then the studio was a stark contrast to the quiet of the loft. Once the tavern closed and the rumble of people had dispersed onto the street, I was left with nothing but eery silence and the negative thoughts that constantly fight their way through to the forefront of my mind.

I glance over at my phone on the nightstand, which tells me that its ten past one in the morning. I’ve been tossing and turning in this bed for close to an hour.

Frustrated, I haul myself over to the large window that overlooks the esplanade. A heavy cloak of darkness has fallen upon the town, the only light emitted from the streetlights that hover overhead and, to my surprise, a soft glow that comes from within the Haven.

This strikes me as odd because they don’t normally leave lights on in the Haven. There’s usually a blue haze radiating from the refrigerators, but other than that the café is generally dark. Tonight, someone has definitely left a light on.

I don’t have Carla’s number, so I consider calling Kristen, but she’d probably just hang up on me anyway, especially at this hour and after how psychotic I acted this morning. I pull a plain white t-shirt over my head and slip into my sneakers. I’ll go check it out myself.

A balmy breeze sweeps through the street as I cross the road to the café. I try the door. It’s locked, which I guess is a good sign. It looks like somebody has just left a light on in the kitchen. I cup my hands around my face and peer inside the glass.

Everything looks normal enough. The chairs are perched upon the tables, a soft fluorescent glow emanating from the fridge in the corner. I pull back from the window, readying myself to return to the loft.

But then I see her, as she wanders behind the counter, reaching for something in the draw underneath. Her eyes shoot to the window, widening in fear as she sees me standing there. Then anger overtakes her expression as she realises that the mysteriously creepy looking stranger lurking at the window is actually her irredeemable disappointment of an ex.

She rushes to the door, then there’s a series of audible clicks as she unlocks it and drags me forcibly by the arm until I’m inside with her.

“Alex! What the hell are you doing? You scared me half to death!”

“I’m sorry. I saw the light on,” I stutter.

She sighs and then turns her back to me. I follow her past the serving counter and through to the kitchen.

From the state it’s in, I can tell she’s been busy back here. There are dirty mixing bowls piled up in the sink. The island bench is covered with baking tins, all lined up in a row. Some are filled with muffin batter, others have already been baked. There are several trays of what looks like caramel slice and a giant bowl of chocolatey batter sitting beside them.

The sugary scent of baked goods fills the room, and it takes me back to a better time, when Kristen would get the urge to whip up something delicious in my old kitchen. She’s always been an amazing cook.

“Wow,” I say. “What’s all this?”

“It’s for the carnival,” she huffs out, clearly still agitated with me. I can’t say I blame her. “The helpline is running a bake sale to raise funds. I offered to make a few things.”

I smile when she says ‘a few things.’ She’s obviously going above and beyond here but it’s so like Kristen to remain modest about her efforts. “It looks amazing.”

“Yeah, well I still have a long way to go, and I’ve lost a batch of brownies already because I had the oven set wrong.” She brings a hand up to her forehead the way she does when she’s stressed.

“It’ll be okay,” I reassure her. “The raspberry muffins have always been my favourite.” I move to snatch a muffin from the plate at the end of the bench.

“Hey!” she lunges forward, gripping my hand. Her eyes meet mine, her delicate fingers still wrapped around my arm. Her voice drops in volume when she adds, “I don’t think I have enough of these as it is.”

“Sorry,” I say as she turns back to place two extra muffin trays in the oven. “And I’m sorry about today. I was a dick.”

“Yes. You were,” she chides, her attention focused only on the mixing bowl in front of her as she aggressively whips its contents.

She’s clearly not thrilled by my presence back here, but she hasn’t kicked me out yet either. I decide to take that as a win.

“How are things going with Mackenzie?” I ask.

“She’s a mess. Leaves her stuff all over my apartment.”

A soft chuckle escapes me. She has no idea how typical that sounds. “Yeah. She’ll do that.”

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