Chapter 3
Elizabeth
There’s something different in the air this morning. A sense that something is shifting around me. The breeze is gentle but cold, just enough to raise goosebumps even through my cardigan.
My daily habits usually make the world feel settled, safe somehow, but as I sit by the coffee shop window, sunlight spilling in, the town outside seems quieter, like I’m sitting in the eye of a storm. One I haven’t been warned about.
I sit here with my notebook open in front of me, pen poised in my hand, ready to write, my coffee steaming and Bear sleeping loyally beneath my chair.
No one even noticing that I am here. It’s the perfect spot for inspiration to flow.
The barista doesn’t need to ask for my order anymore; she just brings it over with a nod and a quiet smile.
Oat milk latte, extra hot, vanilla syrup.
The sky is turning deep orange and pink, and there seems to be a hush before everyone’s emails and phones buzz. Before the sea breeze turns harsh. It’s the hour when the world belongs to the quiet people. To the watchers, walkers and writers.
This May morning, I am mid-sentence, ink flowing across the page, the sound of a milk steamer whistling in the background, when the door chimes.
The sound is sharp, decisive, like a punctuation mark I hadn’t intended.
I don’t look up at first, too engrossed in my notebook, however, a sudden bustle around me causes my intrigue to spike.
I can feel the usual flow of my morning veering off course.
The calmness I usually feel in here has dissipated, making room for excitement and hushed whispers from the people around me.
My curiosity gets the better of me. Too intrigued to resist, I look up.
I follow the eyes of two young girls at a different table, their laser focus on the barista’s bar, whispering to each other behind their hands.
I glance over and notice a set of eyes watching me from the waiting area, his gaze so intense that it makes me squirm in my chair.
His eyes are ice blue, sending a shiver down my spine.
I have never seen him around here, and I can’t put my finger on why I recognise him. I feel as though I know him somehow.
Shall I smile?
I’m sure I would remember him if we had ever been acquainted before now.
He has a presence about him. Glowing with a mixture of arrogance and confidence, dressed in a black hoodie and dark wash Levi jeans that grip his thigh muscles.
I can’t tear my eyes away, and apparently, neither can he.
He leans on the counter and removes a coffee cup sleeve from the holder, playing with it between his fingers, keeping eye contact the whole time.
He gives me a wink, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a mischievous smile.
I can feel the heat crawling up my neck.
I quickly look down at my notebook, biting my lip, attempting not to raise my eyes to him again.
I have no idea what I was writing about before he came in, my brain suddenly unable to recall the English language.
I pick up my pen and doodle random shapes, hoping that he stops staring at me and notices how ‘engrossed’ I am in my notebook.
My pen slowly moves across the paper as I come to the sudden realisation of how I know this man.
I release my pen from the shock. It clatters to the floor, making me jump slightly.
Theodore Masters!
I stare at the page of random shapes in disbelief.
I have never been one to follow celebrity tabloids, but even I know who he is.
How had I not recognised him before? Theodore Masters, the man on every teenage girl’s wall.
Without lifting my gaze from the table, I notice his black boots approaching.
He bends down next to me, his body overwhelming my space.
“Hey, I think you dropped this.” His gruff tone hits me like a wave.
I open my mouth to thank him, but the words fail me.
I wrap my fingers around the pen, but he holds on for a moment longer, that smile still across his lips.
I tug the pen once, but he doesn’t let go.
He watches me. His grip firm, his eyes unwavering, as if he’s trying to tell me something that words can’t.
The noise of the café fades around me. I try again, and his grip slowly loosens. I don’t take it straight away. He doesn’t move either.
I pull it slowly from his hand and place it in the centre of my notebook, watching him through my eyelashes, my cheeks warming with our proximity.
He moves his sunglasses down, covering his eyes, and heads for the door.
He tells the barista “thank you” in that same thick tone, and the door chimes as he leaves.
I suddenly release a breath that I didn’t realise I had been holding on to.
I sit by the window for another hour, unable to focus on my writing. His cool stare replays in my mind. The smile that had me blushing like a schoolgirl and the way he held my pen, almost teasing.
I pack up my bag, grab Bear’s lead, and head for the door. I have errands to run this morning, and there’s a new book in the bookshop next door that has been calling my name since its release two weeks ago.
I step out onto the pavement, the sun warming the air and noises of the weekday humming around me. I take a moment to slip my cardigan from my shoulders, feeling the heat from the sun.
Across the road, Theodore Masters leans against his sleek black Range Rover looking back at me, his left foot lifted, resting on the tyre, watching me from beneath the cap he’s pulled low.
His face is unmistakable, though. His groomed stubble hugging his sharp jawline.
And that smile. Butterflies rise in my stomach, causing a flutter that seems dangerously close to wanting.
He removes his glasses, revealing his sharp blue eyes, even brighter in the natural light.
Before I can even register what is happening, Bear darts in front of me to chase a seagull.
My footing stutters as I’m not paying attention, too busy watching the famous musician.
Too distracted to notice the lead wrapping tightly around my ankle.
Before I know it, I’m falling, my feet dancing in a desperate attempt not to step on Bear’s small paws.
My face is heading for the pavement; my arms shoot out in preparation to catch myself.
Time slows, every second stretching as I realise he is watching it happen.
I feel a sudden grip around my waist, strong arms holding me tightly.
My chest rises sharply as I catch my breath, realising that I am no longer falling.
My feet settle firmly on the ground, but my heart doesn’t slow.
“Are you good?” My head snaps towards him, Theodore’s face close to mine.
So close I can smell his cologne and see the small scar beneath his lip.
His arms remain steady around my body, unwavering.
I stand, clawing back my composure, but he doesn’t release his grip.
I move, ever so slightly, as his hands slowly glide across my hips, his fingertips lingering, heat growing beneath them.
“Thank you… I… I’m fine.” A small, involuntary giggle escapes before I can stop it.
His fingers are still resting on my waist, as if he is scared to let me go.
I gather myself together, brushing my dress down nervously, and quickly walk away from him.
From his touch. I pull the door to the bookshop open to hide in a dark corner.
Hidden from his view, but still able to watch him step into the passenger seat of the SUV before it drives off down the road.
I take a moment to slow my heart rate, laying my hand over my chest. I buy the book and head home, replaying the fall over and over in my head like a slow-motion horror scene I can’t seem to forget.
When I get home, I open my laptop to FaceTime Fiona, my best friend. We met at school and never left each other. I stood by her side as she married the love of her life, watched as she became the most amazing mother, and now she lives vicariously through my dating disasters.
“Hey, pretty lady. What story have you got for me today?” She asks, wasting no time. I can hear her three-year-old daughter, Eden, screaming in the background into her karaoke machine that I bought her for Christmas this year. Her extremely loud joy makes me chuckle.
“You will never guess who walked into the coffee shop today!” I exclaim.
She doesn’t reply, just sits back, arms crossed, waiting for me to reveal.
“Theodore Masters! And let me tell you, Fiona, he is even more dreamy in real life than he is on TV.” We both laugh, and then Fiona continues to grill me on every minor detail.
“I hope you asked for his number.” She knows me more than anyone and is well aware that I do not have the confidence for that. My shyness has let me down with men many times before. I clam up and words fail me. For someone so poetic on paper, in real life all words disappear from my brain.
I raise my eyebrows at her, and she chuckles again.
“He’s married, Fiona!” I exclaim.
We chat for a few more minutes, and then Eden draws her attention away, so we say our goodbyes, blowing kisses through the screen. I close my laptop and head out to my porch bench and sit there until dark, watching the sunset.
Weeks pass. My writing and morning routine continue, and life goes on as if my meet with Theodore Masters never happened.
Until the door chimes at the coffee shop three weeks later.
My gaze is drawn to him leaning over the barista’s counter, cocky and confident as he orders himself a coffee.
I watch the young girl taking his order, melt under his gaze.
He slowly turns to face me, looking at me with such an intense look on his face that it becomes unbearable to keep watching.