"The lights will guide you home." - Coldplay
I pulled my red Jeep Wrangler into the same staff parking space I park in everyday and pulled my keys from the ignition. I was running late, but Mr. Westchester was nice enough to be unbothered by it.
"Morning, Josie," a friend and coworker of mine, Jocelyn Chapman, greeted. She must be on greeting duty for the next two hours until our shifts rotate. "Running late?"
"I need a new alarm." My stupid phone alarm has been working in the jankiest ways possible this past week — going off early or late or not at all.
Jocelyn chuckled. "The schedule is posted in the lounge."
Like most of my coworkers my age, Jocelyn goes to school with me at University of Miami. We met here at our job at Westchester, a local park located right on Miami Beach, four years ago. She had just started here after moving to Miami from Panama City. When we initially met, we found it amusing that her nickname is Jocey, and it's so similar to my name. It's been four years, and I still look when someone says Jocey.
I hurried to the lounge to view today's schedule and apologize to Mr. Westchester for my tardiness.
"Josie, glad to see you made it," Mr. Westchester's daughter, Caroline, teased.
Though the Westchester's are probably the nicest people on this planet, I'm also pretty lucky to have known them well since my brother first got a job here when he was 14.
"Sorry, Caroline," I apologized. "Where am I today?" I slid my key-card to clock in for the day.
"Café. My dad's covering for you right now."
Unfortunately, my work alarm chose Saturday morning to be the time to not go off. Saturday mornings are the busiest part of the day café-wise because that's when the elderly come. They try and beat the rush of kids that are bound to come crashing through any minute.
I ran across the park to the café and grabbed my apron the second I got inside.
"Sorry, I'm so late," I apologized to Mr. Westchester who was sitting behind the cash register. Luckily, there was only three tables being occupied currently — nothing Cara couldn't handle.
"No big deal. Just get to work." Mr. Westchester picked up his cane from next to him and got up. "I'll be in the lounge with my daughter."
Cara, another friend of mine I've met since college began, passed by with two trays of eggs and bacon for a table.
The door chimed open minutes later to give me something to tend to after just sitting at the cash register pointlessly. The price of boredom is the price I must pay for being late, it appears.
"You got this one, Jos?"
"Yeah." After the couple in their mid-thirties took their seat at an open table, I went over to take their drink orders.
Working the café is probably my favorite job that Westchester offers, in comparison to playground duty, ice cream parlor, costumer service, lifeguarding, or greeting. It's laidback, and I get to socialize without being overly stressed.
"Two orange juices," the man ordered after I'd asked what kind of drink they'd like to start themselves off with this morning.
I filled two cups up with orange juice and returned it to the couple who was still deciding what they'd like to order. I didn't recognize them so I had a feeling they didn't come here often or were newer members.
It was nearing eleven, meaning the rush of families was about to occur. The quirk about working at a club with all of these cool activities to partake in on Miami Beach is the wild children that are never in control.
"You got the door, Josie?" One of the other waitresses asked as she moved toward a table of three young adults.
I picked up an empty plate from a table and simultaneously looked over my shoulder to see who I would have to serve next.
If this were a movie, the scene would occur in slow motion. The camera would catch my ponytail lightly hitting me in the face and my jaw dropping as my eyes landed on the person I least expected to walk through the doors of the Westchester Café.
It was the same person that I've not seen since we graduated 4 years ago. It was the same person who broke my heart. It was the same person who I hate to love.
Ian Miller, in the flesh.
From across the room, I watched as Ian took a seat at the high table next to the cash register. He used to always sit there back in high school when I was scheduled to work and he wasn't. He would just come here and talk to me while I worked.
When Cara started past me with a coffee pot in hand, I grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her into an empty corner before Ian could see me.
Four years is a long time. I needed a minute to prepare myself for whatever it is that's about to come my way.
"What?" She looked at me, sensing that something was wrong.
"The guy that just walked in... it's Ian." Despite Cara and Jocelyn being my new friends, they knew all about Ian and everything that went down between us, leading all the way up to the day he left.
"No way..." Her jaw dropped in disbelief. She looked around the corner stealthily to attempt to get a better look at him. "I can serve him if you're not ready for this."
A million of my memories with Ian flashed before my eyes — the smiles and the frowns, the laughter and the tears, the love and the hate. I thought I was over him, and maybe I really I am, but this is where I test myself.
"I've got this," I murmured, trying to convince myself more than anything. With a deep breath, I abandoned the corner and approached Ian as I subconsciously fixed my hair in case I looked like a mess.
Here goes nothing.
"Hi." I tried so hard to make my voice come out with power and authority, but I failed. It was weak and quiet.
Ian whipped around in his chair faster than Willow Smith whipped her hair in her music video. "Josie." His voice was not even in comparison to mine. It was soft and gentle. The same as it always had been. Some things never change.
"How are you?" I went to the other side of the counter because, for some reason, I feel less vulnerable behind it.
"I'm doing good. How are you?"
"Good," I mumbled and forced a smile.
That was a total lie, up until now I guess. Despite convincing myself I was over Ian, I never stopped worrying about him. I worried so, so much. I never knew where he was stationed, with who, or for how long. I didn't even know if he was alive, to be honest. Ian's family had moved out of state near MIT, where his older brother, Hayden, went to school, and I lost touch with them all for the most part.
"How is school?"
"Pretty much done with the semester, thankfully." As twelve year old me could've anticipated, by the age of 22, I was so far past done with school. The optimism wore off pretty quickly after Ian left. "Are you home now?"
Ian nodded. "I completed my enlistment."
Ian Miller was home from the army, and I had no idea how to react.
•••
Here's the first chapter. I hope you guys like it so far :)
Not all the chapters will be this short, I just didn't want to add pointless scenes to drag it on longer than it needed to be.
I update every Friday! If I don't plan on updating, I'll post it on my message board, usually with reasoning, if you want to follow me.
That's all for now!
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