Eight
Avory
The space between my fingers starts to create an uncomfortably warm and sticky environment from gripping Marcus’ coffee for so long. I really should’ve asked if Sawyer had a cup holder or some spare sleeves which I could pile over one another to create a barrier between my hand and the hot beverage.
Sawyer. Sawyer Sombre, I assume. He is something else. I have never had a type really, or anything in particular that decides if someone is attractive or not, not even someone’s identity can decide it for me, but from seeing him behind that counter, Sawyer has already decided something for me – I find Sawyer beautiful. I want to know more, and this is a weird sensation.
When our eyes met over the bench, I could sense his mind working, thinking, taking me in as I did the same with him. His emerald eyes shining through his glasses, which sat so delicately on a nose blessed with a sprinkling of freckles, those freckles dispersing across his cheeks and his temples as well.
He clearly knows what looks good on him, with the metallic tint of his frames complementing his natural, copper-toned skin. His brown jeans rolled at the ankles, his beige jumper, which is clearly a size too big but he likes it that way – noted – and a simple gold chain wrapping around his neck also partners perfectly with everything about him that is naturally his.
His hair, oh his hair. I am fixated. Sprouting from his head are these brunette curls and waves, grazing against his eyebrows and covering his forehead. You can tell solely from their look that they are soft, delicate, thick and all I want to do is tangle my hands throughout them and feel them against every crease on my palm.
The sides and back of his head are shaved, but the thickness of his hair is still very prevalent. Everything about him physically, his energy, it all radiates softness, gentleness and something beautiful.
For the few minutes I was in Sombre’s Café, I wasn’t let in on much about Sawyer, his face remained with the same expression, and I miss the opportunity of seeing a smile grace his face.
I can imagine the way his freckles move with his cheeks whenever he smiles or laughs. I bet he has a pretty laugh which he tries to contain to himself and whoever he is with at the time.
One day, I will make him smile and laugh, just to see if I’m right. Saying one day makes me think I’m sticking around?
I attempt to use my elbow on the front door handle, instead slipping and hitting my funny bone, struggling to keep my foul language to a minimum. Kicking my foot behind me and into the door, now stubbing my toe on its corner, the door’s slam ricochets around the flat and sharply throughout Marcus’ head, who has somehow emerged from his gloomy cave of hibernation during his much-needed hours of rest and has now migrated onto the sofa.
I hover over him from the back of the sofa, looking down on this shell of a burly man, who has a blanket covered in dogs in sweaters pulled up to his nose and his eyes shielded into the pillows from the afternoon sun.
“Have you got the goods?”
His musty, espresso eyes peer over the cushions searching for my hands, but maybe I have strategically hidden them behind the wooden build of the sofa so he will actually have to move to get his caffeinated goodness.
His eyes begin to dart, quicker and quicker, between my arms as he claws his way up the sofa, desperate for his antidote. As he finally gets himself to somewhat of an angle that isn’t lying down, I lower his coffee at an agonisingly slow pace into his hand.
“Of course, I have the goods.”
I place Marcus’ coffee into the palm of his hand and rattle my coffee in the air, the ice cubes having melted slightly yet still creating that perfect symphony of clinks.
I push Marcus’ legs off the sofa, and he finally sits up, practically chugging his beverage as I squeeze in next to him, tucking my legs under myself. I eye Marcus constantly lifting and dropping this cup, growing more and more eager with every sip.
“Damn, this coffee is unbelievable. Where did you get this?”
“Sombre’s Café.”
Yes, Sombre’s Café’s coffee, Sawyer Sombre’s coffee, is delectable. I have never understood how people can taste these layers of flavour in coffee, instant or ground, it all tastes the same to me until this iced coffee in particular.
“Well, you will be going there more, I need this caffeinated goodness in my life.”
Marcus finishes the last drop from his cup and begins to rise from the sofa, it was like watching a baby deer take its first steps. This baby deer does not let the blanket with sweater wearing dogs go, which I assume he found left in the wardrobe when we moved in, otherwise he’s explaining when and where he bought this. He wraps it around his shoulders and plods his way into the kitchen.
“That is more than fine by me. Now, do you want me to cover the shop for the day and you can sit up here wallowing?”
I fix my gaze towards my cup, and suddenly I can feel Sawyer’s delicate, freckled skin under my guitarist fingertips again. The idea of having to go to Sombre’s Café for the foreseeable future, for however long we are in Tetherton, causes an unfamiliar warmth to build deep inside me.
How has a pretty boy done this to me? This is what I do to pretty boys, but no one has ever sparked this feeling for me before.
“You seem pleased at the idea of having to go and get coffee for me every day. So, you are just going to go to this café every day, for me, and get me coffee?”
Marcus pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders as I see him jitter slightly, and I can tell he’s snickering to himself as he plans to dig further into this. He knows all too well that I wouldn’t be willing to be his little servant since we are a team, he helps me and I help him, however I am not telling him about some boy crush.
He may be completely aware of the people I’ve been with in previous towns and cities, and we may have this unspoken word about us both “staying active”
wherever we go, but one thing we have never spoken about is actual attraction.
Marcus is one of, if not the most, understanding person I have ever met, but I don’t think I want to know what the man who has never had a serious relationship and has never even discussed the idea of ever settling down thinks of his nephew genuinely, possibly, maybe, having a chance at falling for someone.
Why am I even worrying about this? I saw a pretty boy one time. I wouldn’t mind seeing him again, though.
“Yes, it’s fine, Marc. Now, I’m heading downstairs for the day.”
I throw myself over the back of the sofa with one arm holding me up on the back of it, grab the remainder of my coffee, and make my attempt to leave for the day, but even when hungover, his voice still has that deep punch to it,
“Well, we all know that’s bullshit, A, but I’ll let it slide, for now.”
He winks at me, grabs me by both shoulders and pulls me in, wrapping me in this velvety burrito he has created. “Thanks for everything kiddo, no more drinking for me!”
We both know that’s a lie. I snicker to myself before he slams his hand in between my shoulder blades and laughs. “Oh, you’ll never learn, Avory!”
“Neither will you, clearly!”
I signal to all of Marcus before leaping for the front door and heading to the shop below. Marcus’ voice booms from the other side of the door as I hear him shout after me which eventually dulls down into laughter.
I spin the shop keys around my finger, going around and unlocking every door and shutter before turning on every light and display we have. Rows upon rows of incredible guitars light up as they carefully hang on the wall, a few others – which we didn’t mind people using – standing tall on a rack, and tables pepper themselves around with smaller items such as picks and packs of strings on them, Bright Lights flyers littered all over.
I dig around the desk we found hidden downstairs and discover a duster and spray, ironically both of which need cleaning. I do a round with the cleaner and duster on the guitars; tables, displays, window ledges, and the desk, until all that fills my lungs is the overpowering taste of the beeswax spray, dust and a desperate need to cough it all up.
Setting up the shop is always a walk in the park, and it’s always my perfect excuse to rehearse once everything is done. I drag over a black and gold amp and lift it onto the desk, then I carry over one of my favourite pieces. I’ll be devastated in the best possible way when this one finds a home – a black and white electric guitar with the most common design, yet a sound no one would know about by just looking at it.
Even after every journey it has been on, this guitar has always created the cleanest and most crisp sound which vibrates throughout my body. Every note echoes within me and the desire to hear note after note grows, always leading me to creating some sort of riff or chorus for a future song.
The rest of my day is drowned away with this guitar and amp.