Avoiding the Memory of You

Two

  The living area is filled with a mix of family photos, none of which are of my own, but all clients. Clients that are brand new to my life and many who, like the Thompsons, have been with me from the very beginning. In fact, one of my very first black and white photos is of Casey Bennett getting ready for her senior prom.  Two years later I photographed her graduation from nursing school that included a surprise proposal from the same guy she'd gone to prom with. A year later, I was included in their wedding and nine months after that was newborn photos of precious Aya. 

  I love my job.

  Clients become like family, a family that chooses you specifically. It's an amazing feeling that I refuse to take for granted.

  Once the images are completely uploaded onto my computer, I realize I skipped dinner in favor of spending a few extra moments with The Thompsons.  My stomach however is ready to wreak havoc with a tight grumble that has me pushing the desk chair back, waking both of my dogs just enough for their heads to lift before I'm telling them I'll be back in a few. Each of them yawn and quickly duck their heads back down, snuggling into one another again. I hear faint snores before I'm even halfway down the steps from the loft.

  There's not many options for food on this end of the island, in fact there's zero outside of one's own kitchen. So, I drive the five miles up to the start of the island and head over the bridge into town. 

  Just on the outskirts is a small mom and pop restaurant that looks more like a pub than a diner. Lucky for me, Bama Sands makes an incredible pimento cheeseburger.  

  Lucy tucks me into a table towards the back, noticing I've got my computer bag with me. "Every once in a while you should try leaving work at home," she teases me while offering a menu that I refuse to take. She glances over her shoulder, cocking a hip against my table before she's gesturing about five tables behind her. "Maybe you should offer to join the new fella over there. Keeps your nose out of that computer and maybe gives us locals something new to gossip about."

  "A new guy, huh?"  I slide over to the left of my booth just a bit to see who she could be talking about.  All I'm met with is the broad back of a brunette who looks like he might be out of place. "He's wearing a sweater. In June."

  Here in the South, sweaters have a wear time of maybe four weeks if we're lucky.

  "I'll have the-"

  "Pimento cheeseburger and a Coke. You're so predictable, Gwen." I playfully stick my tongue out at the fifty year old woman before I adjust the tank top that's covered by short overalls. 

  I slide out of the booth, my bag back on my shoulder before I stroll over to the newcomer's table.  "Hey, there!" I exclaim before I'm even next to him. 

  The guy doesn't budge at my words. I take another step closer as I notice he's got a pen and notepad of sorts, maybe a journal, in front of him. It's then that I realize he's got earbuds in.  My hand gently reaches out to tap his shoulder.

  When his head turns, startling deep blue eyes find mine. They're not soft by any means, honestly looking a bit angry. 

  I ignore the warning they hold and use my hand to wave.  "Hi!" I say cheerfully, smiling while the man holds a grimace over his lips.  "You're new?"

  He doesn't speak, not a word. Doesn't even open his mouth like a fish in water. He blinks up at me as if I've just interrupted the biggest moment of his life. 

  Something tells me I should just tuck tail and walk away back to my booth, or maybe even ask for my food to be packed up and taken home to enjoy at my desk while I work into the early morning hours.  

  I should really learn to listen to those instincts.

  Instead, I point to my ear before pointing to his own.  "You can't hear me. Maybe if you," I mimic popping out the earbuds, hoping he'll give me the smallest bone to work with rather than allowing me actually feel like the idiot that I appear to be.

  The pen drops from his fingers as he sits back further in the booth. A palm rubs along the thigh of his, wait. 

  Are those dress pants? 

  Eyes up, Gwen.

  Right. The same hand plucks one bud from the ear closest to me while a brow arches. 

  "Can I help you?"

  It's certainly not the words, but the voice that wraps around me like a warm blanket.  A strange feeling of comfort that is definitely out of place for this interaction.

  I shake the thought out of my head, thrusting a hand out in front of him. "Heard you were new here. I'm Gwen."

  Those gorgeous eyes narrow, looking down at my hand as if I'm holding the head of a snake that's ready to strike.

  With a chuckle, I continue, "I don't bite."

  The man tentatively puts a rather large hand into mine, making me feel like my five six stature might actually be smaller than I've ever felt and he hasn't even stood in front of me.  He doesn't speak, just squeezes my hand. 

  "You got a name?"

  "Yeah," he answers slowly. "Just not sure if I want to give it to you."

  Lucy slides around me, setting a plate in front of the stranger. "Prime rib with a baked potato." She takes a half step back. "Gwen, am I bringing your burger here?" she asks suggestively, eyes darting back and forth between the sweater wearing in June man and myself. 

  The blatant look doesn't go unnoticed by the still nameless stranger who gives an answer without ever speaking, taking his ear bud and popping it right back in place. He gives no sense of want for me to join him, so I step away, give a wave and with a smile tell him welcome to the area.

  "Just pack it up to go, please. I'll probably get more work done from home anyways," I sigh, pulling out my debit card to pay the bill as Lucy boxes up my burger. 

  By the time I'm leaving Bama Sands, the stranger already has his pen back in his hand, scrawling back across the paper in front of him.