Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Every Sunday, the farmers market takes over the street, so I decided to keep the shop closed today. Better to watch the flow before I try opening during it.
Nettie has a coffee cart set up out the front of the cafe.
‘Coffee, I need coffee.’
She laughs, already reaching for a cup. ‘Rough night?'
‘Good rough,’ I laugh. ‘The shop survived. Shelves are half-empty. No disasters worth mentioning.’
‘Then I’d say you did all right.’
‘Yeah. It felt… right.’
I search for a pretty brunette with haunting eyes. No sign of Lilah.
My eyes drift instinctively toward the upstairs windows, remembering she said she lives above the café. For a second, I wonder if she’s there now, still asleep or reading.
The thought catches me off guard. It shouldn’t matter. Not yet. Something about her already pulls my focus.
‘She’s not here today. I give the girls the day off on Sundays.’ Nettie interrupts my train of thought. Why would she think I am looking for her?
‘Oh… ah, that’s cool. I am trying to decide whether it's worth opening Sunday’s.’ Nice way to change the subject Lucas.
She smiles as if she almost believes me. ‘Ah yes, it’s hard to tell. Sometimes the town shows out, sometimes it’s quiet.’
‘Thanks Nettie, I’ll just have to give it a crack and see how it goes.’
‘No worries, what can I get you love?’
‘Oh, just a long black thanks… Large.’ I add, ‘Please.’ Manners Lucas.
She gives me a simple nod and gets to work. Stepping to the side I nearly knock over a kid as they run past. ‘Shit, sorry bud,’ I call out to him.
Nettie chuckles to herself as she hands me my coffee. I reach for my wallet. ‘No, no, it's on the cart. Welcome to town.’
‘Thanks, next book is on me.’ I say with a nod.
I take a slow sip and glance across the street.
The morning light hits the gold lettering on the shopfront, catching every curve of the paint.
Through the glass, Carol’s chair sits by the window, waiting.
My mind goes to Lilah and the way her gaze rested on that chair last night; the way she asked about Carol not to fill silence, but to understand.
I’d told her Carol was my aunt. True, but not the whole truth. Carol taught me that stories aren’t just escapes, they’re anchors. That quiet people still have plenty to say. That sometimes healing, looks like rearranging a shelf until something in you clicks back into place.
I think of her then, not just Carol, but Lilah too. The way her smile lingered like she belonged in that space.
The next hour goes by quickly as I wander the street, stopping at all the stalls. Mostly to suss out what everyone has.
My phone buzzes and I see one new message from Jasper.
JASPER: Hey mate, feel like getting a beer?
LUCAS: I am just in town at the market. Meet you there in 15?
JASPER: Already here.
The Mossy Pint is half full by the time I get there. The footy is on with the volume down low, the Brisbane and Coast teams are playing. Jasper has claimed a corner stool at the bar, beer already in hand.
‘Hey bud.’ I slap him on the shoulder. ‘What are we having?’
‘It’s a local IPA, Ezra’s pick.’
Ezra appears with another schooner, sleeves shoved up, bar towel over one shoulder. ‘You alright? IPA for you. Clean finish.’ He slides it across.
‘Cheers.’ I take a sip. ‘Not bad at all.’
Jasper nods towards the chair, gesturing for me to sit down. ‘How was the market?’
‘Not too bad, busy out there. Just trying to make the call as to whether we should open on Sundays.’
Ezra responds immediately. ‘Give it a crack, I reckon it’ll be busy the next couple of months as it comes into spring.’ I nod in agreement. ‘Do ten till two,’ he adds. ‘Coffee, paperbacks, low fuss. Catch ‘em before naps and sport.’
‘Not a bad idea, thanks mate.’
‘Roast beef? Or the pie? Don’t make me choose for you,’ Ezra pleads.
‘Beef,’ I say.
‘Pie,’ Jasper adds.
‘Good men.’ Then Ezra’s gone.
We lean on the bar and watch families trade chips and half-time scores. ‘Ten to two works,’ Jasper confirms.
‘Yeah.’ I can see it. Market crowds drifting in, kids to the mushroom stools, someone finding a book they didn’t know they needed.
Ezra walks back with steaming hot plates and sets down extra gravy without us asking. ‘There you go. And Lucas, Sundays are about habit. Same hours every week. Let ‘em count on you.’
‘Copy that.’
He taps the bar once with a dry smile. ‘Good lad.’ He moves off.
We eat outside; the street’s bright and lazy. We have a few more beers before heading out. Jasper has managed to convince Ezra to give him his number and now we have a group chat named Plot Twists be kind” chalkboard in front of the till.
I’m halfway through explaining where local authors live in the store, when the bell gives a half-hearted jingle, followed by the softest pad of paws.
The ginger cat trots in like she owns the place.
She pauses in the doorway, looks around, then heads straight for the reading nook. Straight for Carol’s chair.
‘Hey,’ I whisper under my breath, worried I’ll spook her.
She doesn’t even hesitate. She hops up, turns a slow circle, and curls into the cushion like she’s been waiting for this moment. A tiny loaf of approval.
Someone nearby murmurs, ‘She’s sweet.’
My throat pulls tight—not grief exactly, but something neighbouring it. Something softer. ‘Guess you’re part of the team now.’
The cat yawns in response, already half-asleep.
By four-thirty I do a sweep, redo the window stack, and straighten the crooked ladder shelf without fixing it entirely. Some things can stay a little imperfect.
I lock up at five. The bell doesn’t argue this time, and outside, the wattle along the verge throws a soft yellow against the glass.
I stand there a moment longer than I need to, hand on the cool blue of the door. I pocket the keys and head down the steps, already making tomorrow’s list in my head.