Chapter 60
FLETCHER
Last Year
It was early August when I began noticing a skinny blond-haired guy hanging around outside Bixby’s.
Every day, around mid-morning until late afternoon, he showed up and sat at one of the tables, at our outdoor dining area, beneath the shade of the umbrella, and wrote in a scruffy notebook.
Every day, like clockwork, I stood at the window and I watched him, wondering who he was and what his story was about.
That was one of the things about Bixby’s—you saw a lot of faces and learned a lot of stories. It was amazing what people were willing to share with a total stranger, if said stranger was bringing you fresh coffee and hot food.
My attention turned back to the man outside. His pen scritched madly across the paper, his brow furrowed in concentration as he wrote like his life depended on it. Every so often, he’d stop and wipe sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt, then go back to writing.
I frowned.
It was getting hotter and hotter by the day. Mother Nature had cranked summer up to full blast this year, it seemed.
He was probably thirsty—but I had just the cure for that. I strolled into the kitchen and grabbed one of our plastic tumblers and filled it half-full with ice, then poured our old-fashioned lemonade to the brim.
Grabbing a plastic straw out of the canister on the countertop, I headed outside without a word. As the door swung open, the bells jingled and clinked against the glass.
The blond man sat bolt-upright in his seat, staring right at me. I paused mid-step, taken aback by the intensity in his wary, bi-colored eyes.
One was a sharp ice blue, while the other was dark brown in shocking contrast. Heterochromia? Was that what it was called?
Drawing in a breath to collect myself, I closed the short distance between me and the table the stranger sat at.
“Here, I thought you might be thirsty,” I said, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table in front of him.
To my surprise, the man jerked back as if I’d slapped him. He scooped up his notebook, drawing it tightly to his chest, and shoved his chair back away from the table. The legs scraped over cement.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.”
“No, you don’t have to go!” I exclaimed.
“I can’t pay for it,” he retorted, already on his feet and looking for an escape route.
Damn. What had this guy been through to have this kind of reaction? “It’s okay,” I assured him, lifting my hands in front of me to show that I wasn’t a threat. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”
He pinned me with an accusing look. “You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can. It’s paid for, okay? Please, sit down. It’s hot. You need something to drink if you’re not going to come inside where it’s air conditioned,” I said.
He glanced between me, the lemonade, and the door I’d come through, then slowly shook his head. He was younger than I’d first thought. Early twenties? Possibly not even old enough to legally drink yet.
Something about him, though… It reminded me of my younger self—the too-skinny, uncertain orphan that I used to be.
“Don’t wanna come inside,” he mumbled, hugging his notebook to his chest.
“Then you’re welcome to stay out here,” I replied. “Just remember, Bixby’s is a safe space for everyone. Enjoy your lemonade, sweetheart.”
With a smile, I went back inside, but I didn’t go too far. I peeked through the window to watch, to see if he’d take my peace offering, or if he’d turn tail and run.
To my pleasure, he sat back down and took a couple of gulps, then opened his notebook and got back to work.
Success!
I wasn’t surprised to see the young man come back the following day, and the day after that, then the next. I’d meant it when I said Bixby’s was a safe space; we even had a sticker on our front door. Everyone was welcome here, so long as they weren’t here to cause trouble.
I continued to bring him drinks—water, lemonade, iced tea—making up excuses to try and strike up conversation, make a little small talk.
Over the next couple of weeks, I learned that his name was Sky and that he was fairly new to Greymercy.
“Where are you from?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
He looked at me, blinked, then said, “I…don’t know anymore,” in a voice that seemed almost…detached from himself.
“Where are you living?” Please tell me you’re not living on the streets… I remembered those days far too well, though they were long ago now. Sleeping on street benches and eating out of dumpsters wasn’t a life I’d wish upon anyone.
“With a guy from this pack, I guess. He lives a few blocks from here. HIs name is Jem, but he’s at work and I didn’t want to be alone in the house.” He pulled his notebook a little closer, as if trying to protect it from some unseen force.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject before I set him off. “Can I get you some lunch?”
Sky hunched his scrawny shoulders. “I don’t have any money,” he mumbled.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Do you like hamburgers? Or are you more of a chicken tender kind of guy?”
He frowned, staring at me with a confused expression. “I… I can’t pay for it?”
“Burger or chicken?” I repeated gently.
“Chicken?”
“Dipping sauce preference? We have BBQ, ranch, honey mustard…” I trailed off.
“Ranch?” He seemed so shocked that I would go out of my way to be nice to him.
“Sounds delicious,” I said around a grin. “I’ll be back out shortly.”
I went inside, washed my hands, and began breading chicken tenders for the frier.
Adam chose that moment to come strolling up, smelling of fries and onion rings. “Feeling a little peckish?” he teased.
“Nah, it’s for Sky,” I replied, flipping the chicken tenders over in the seasoning mix.
“Sky?”
“The guy that sits outside?” I said. “Notebook Guy?”
I didn’t need to see Adam’s face to know that his smile had fallen. “Oh.” Adam didn’t like Sky, for one reason or another.
I huffed at him, tossing the tenders into a fry basket and then carefully lowering them into the hot, bubbling oil.
I turned back to my mate. “Everyone has a past, Adam. He doesn’t seem like a bad person. I’m giving him lunch. That’s it. What’s the harm in that?”
When I took the plate of tenders and curly fries out to Sky, his eyes went round and I could’ve sworn he was drooling. I had to bite back my laughter, not wanting to offend him.
“That looks…so good,” he admitted.
I beamed. “Made it myself. Enjoy.” I slid the plate across the table to him, placed down a tall glass of strawberry lemonade, then retreated back into the diner without another word.
Adam and I both watched from behind the curtains as Sky practically inhaled the food. He ate with both hands, scarfing it like it was the last meal he’d ever taste. He even licked the sauce cup clean.
“Damn,” Adam murmured.
“Aww, he’s so hungry. It’s triggering my paternal instincts,” I said, clutching my chest.
Adam snorted softly. “He’s hardly a child, kitten.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “I know that.”
But it gave me an idea, one that bit at me like a persistent little flea all day and all night.
A few days later, I saw Sky sitting outside and decided to take a break from work to go talk to him.
Over the last couple of weeks, he’d opened up to me a little bit, but he still protected his notebook like a dog with a bone. He slapped it shut the moment I drew near, a low growl rumbling up his throat.
“Easy,” I murmured, lifting my hands. He made a face and quickly looked away, as if ashamed.
I pulled out one of the adjacent chairs, then sat down. Sky stiffened up. This was out of the norm for us.
“I have a question for you,” I said. “Would you be interested in a job? We’re looking for a part-time dishwasher.”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“It would give you something to do besides sit here and wait for Jem to get home, plus it would give you some money, and you’d get free lunches every day.
It’s up to you,” I told him. “Of course, I’ll have to talk to my partner, but I’m sure he’d be fine with it.
We could use the extra help, and you’ve already proven you can show up every day. ”
I grinned at him, and Sky actually smiled back. A real smile.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he said, and my heart absolutely soared. It felt like a win in the best of ways. Yes!