I've been watching your world from afar / I've been trying to be where you are / And I've been secretly falling apart, unseen
To me, you're strange and you're beautiful / You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see / You turn every head but you don't see me

x x x

I know that people would probably rather I work on the final installment of my Claire trilogy, but this is a story I've had in mind for a while, and just recently got to finish the first chapter.

It's supposed to be pretty serious, but I feel the tone is a bit goofy. Well, it's just the beginning.

I'm not sure how I feel about this fic, but I'm definitely interested in continuing it.

Please, let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.

x x x

Chapter one

And here Carl thought it couldn't get any worse.

The cash register had been on the fritz all morning: at first it simply refused to open no matter what buttons he punched, but in the last hour, it had taken to thrusting out its drawer at random and inopportune intervals with a happily sarcastic dinging sound, more often than not nailing him right in the gut if he happened to be in its path.

On top of that, he'd run out of blueberry muffins early because he'd misplaced an entire batch prepared the night before. Misplacing an entire muffin batch? Who does things like that? his frustrated brain screamed at him, but the only feasible answer he could come up with was, "Why, let me introduce you to Carl, the completely incompetent idiot who handles his batches of muffins about as well as he handles his cash registers."

The icing on the cake, however, came when Ellen showed up to the café, right before the lunch rush, for the sole purpose of breaking up with him.

"I'm breaking up with you," she informed him, and Carl felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him—though that was only because the cash register from hell chose that exact moment to pummel him in the gut for the hundredth time that day. Ding.

"Does this mean you're not going to work the lunch shift?" he asked after he'd caught his breath, his voice only slightly wheezing.

He could tell right away from her expression that this was the wrong question to ask.

"That is exactly why I'm breaking up with you." She shook her head back and forth as she spoke, like she was watching a ping-pong match. "You care more about the café than about me. You always have."

Carl knew he was probably supposed to deny that, but instead he started adjusting his bow tie, which had the dual benefit of giving him a reason to not meet her eyes while making him look busy in the process.

"You have nothing to say for yourself," she said, and he couldn't argue with that. But he felt like he should at least say something for her sake, if not for his own.

"I'm sorry." An apology seemed appropriate, and even the right thing to offer, but Ellen didn't appear to think so.

"Don't, Carl. Just don't. It's done." The cheerful jangling as the door swung shut dampened the drama of her exit, but he still felt guilty. A guilt that lasted until he checked his wristwatch and saw it was five minutes til the lunch rush, and now his one and only waitress had quit.

He groaned. The cash register drawer launched itself open and smacked him in the stomach once more, completing his misfortune. He exhaled and gently pushed it shut, staring blankly for a few seconds at all the numbered keys on the register. Then he sighed again and went off to retrieve supplies to make a Help Wanted sign.

x x x

Carl didn't expect anyone to take the sign seriously, mostly because there wasn't anyone around to take it seriously. Nobody had any interest in helping him with his café, and for good reason—they all had businesses and lives of their own. Ellen had been his waitress only because they were dating. She volunteered because she wanted to "be part of something he loved." He had been grateful for the extra pair of hands.

It wasn't like he didn't care about Ellen. She was a sweet girl, but her sweetness was so undisruptive, nondescript, made of cardboard with dull, rounded edges.

By four, the café had settled down. For the moment, the cash register was behaving itself, the restaurant was empty, and Carl had just finished organizing the baking pans. Life was good.

He heard the door jangle from where he was in the kitchen, and immediately strolled out to the front of the restaurant, hastened by his curiosity. It was a small town, so he knew the schedules of all of his customers. Rarely did someone come in at an unusual time, and—a quick glance at his wristwatch—4:03 definitely qualified as unusual.

It was a girl. Her pale pink boots made a quaint shuffling sound as she sauntered up to the counter. Carl stared, taking in her bright flower print dress that hung to her knees, her perfectly coiffed, coppered ringlets that lay neatly on her shoulders, her azure eyes that at this moment felt as though they lasered right through him.

"I'm here about the sign," she said, and he couldn't take his eyes off her mouth while she spoke, fascinated the way her lips pursued when she pronounced "about." "Are you still looking for someone?"

Carl didn't answer right away, first because he was still a bit flabbergasted by her appearance, and second because her words didn't make sense to him.

"What sign?" he asked, moving his eyes up from her lips, past her small, slightly crooked nose, coming to rest on those sharp blue eyes.

"The one in the window."

He glanced at the window and instantly remembered. Oh yes, of course, the Help Wanted sign. He paused in the train of thought. Wait, someone actually was taking it seriously?

"Um, so you're saying you'd like a job?" he asked, and she nodded. "What's your name? I don't think I've seen you around here before…"

"I just moved here," she answered carefully, as if this wasn't quite true—but clearly, it must have been. "My name is Katie. And yes, I'd like a job."

"Carl," he replied, holding his hand out to her. She took it, her grip somewhat limp, and let go after a gentle shake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm the owner."

She nodded again, this time breaking out into a smile.

"So, um, a job," he said, feeling suddenly flustered by her warm expression. "Yes, my last waitress quit today—she was going through, ah, personal difficulties—and it's quite hard to function without somebody else. What you'd be doing is taking orders, washing tables, et cetera—oh, out of curiosity, do you have any experience with that sort of thing?"

"Yes." Her smile faltered with her answer, though Carl couldn't see why. "I used to work at my grandfather's bar, in the place I lived in before."

"Oh, okay, great," he said, nodding enthusiastically. That meant he wouldn't have to train her. She could probably start tomorrow, and things would carry on just as they should, like Ellen had never left…however, he knew there was just one catch. "By the way, how old are you?" He braced himself for her answer—she was barely five feet tall, and her face looked young, like she couldn't be older than sixteen.

"Eighteen," she responded without missing a beat. Her smile became dazzling once more. "And yes, I can provide proof."

"Good," he said, the feeling of befuddlement rushing back, though he attempted to keep his composure. What was wrong with him? "Where did you say were from?" He knew she hadn't said yet, that all she'd mentioned was her grandfather's bar. He hated when people did that, guys especially, when they pretended like they'd forgotten a girl's name or where she was from when she'd never said it in the first place. He found it to be a sleazy and annoying practice, and yet here he was doing it.

"Well…" That cautious aura was back, and her smile slowly slunk away. "I'm from a town called Sugar Valley. It's far from here."

"I see," Carl said, the name of her hometown unfamiliar to him. "What brings you to Flowerbud Village?"

Katie's hand went to her hair, taking a tip of one of those shiny ringlets and pinching it, like she was nervous. "I feel like I can trust you, Carl. Can I?"

Oh, hell. What had he gotten himself into? Maybe she really was a minor and she'd run away from home. Or maybe she was a fugitive, an escaped convict, and this was the part where she'd pull out her axe and hack him to pieces. "You can trust me," he told her, his voice shamefully trembling just a little bit.

"Most people don't believe me," she said, her words stumbling and tripping like they were pushing their way out of her mouth, like they couldn't get out there fast enough. "But I came from the past."

"The past?" he echoed, not understanding. Past? Was that the name of a type of train, maybe?

"I'm not supposed to be here," she continued, and now she became hesitant once more. "I'm…a time traveler."

x x x

Carl's mother always told him he was a good listener, and he felt like that was the secret to his success. Good service meant everything in the food business, and so if he'd done something to make the customer unhappy (or even if he hadn't), he let them complain, listening attentively and nodding sincerely all the while, until their dissatisfaction was exhausted. Then he mustered up a soothing tone and did his best to smooth over the situation. It was what he was good at. It was how he could handle demonic cash registers and shortages of blueberry muffins and all the other catastrophes he was met with on a daily basis without going insane.

And it was what allowed him to listen to Katie's story.

She spoke in vague terms, and though he listened as closely as he could, he still felt utterly confused. It was a mistake, she kept saying. She wasn't supposed to be here. A time machine had sent her here by accident, and now she had to find it again so she could go back.

Obviously, she was completely off her rocker; Carl could tell she wasn't joking by the way she acted so earnestly. But he was at a loss as to how to respond.

"But why are you applying for a job?" he asked, the only safe question he could think of.

She lowered her eyes, playing with the ends of her hair again. "Your café…it reminded me so much of my grandfather's, that I just…" She fell into a lapse of quietude.

"Okay. Okay." Carl began rubbing his temples and thinking about how this certainly didn't seem very okay, contrary to what was coming out of his mouth.

Just then the door opened, momentarily rescuing Carl from having to say anything further to Katie. However, it was yet another face he didn't recognize: this time, a big burly man, with tan skin and dark brown hair going bald in large patches.

"Katie!" he boomed, his tone jolly and easygoing. "I wondered where you got off to. Causing trouble, are you?"

Carl shrunk back as the man approached the counter—one, because he was at least six feet tall with large, thick arms, and two, because apparently he was friends with a girl who believed herself to be a time traveler, and those two traits combined made him incredibly suspicious (and a little terrifying).

"I'm not a child, Ronald," Katie sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Ronald shook his head with a grin and winked at Carl.

"She wasn't bothering you, was she?" he asked Carl as he ruffled Katie's hair. She ducked away from his hand with a scowl.

Carl cleared his throat. "Uh—no—that is—um—your…your…daughter was—"

Ronald interrupted him with a belly laugh. "This brat isn't my daughter! She's the granddaughter of a friend of mine."

"Oh, my mistake," Carl mumbled, bowing his head in acknowledgment of his misunderstanding. However, his confusion was increasing with every second. "Well, anyway, she, um, Katie was—"

"I applied for a job, and Carl hired me," Katie said, cutting off Carl before he could even finish. She pressed on, not allowing him to point out that she hadn't exactly been hired yet. "I'm a waitress now. It'll be just like old times, like when I worked with Grandpa."

Ronald's face fell, all of his joviality vanishing in an instant. "Katie," he said softly. "You can't."

Katie lifted her chin up, staring at him with blazing defiance, and Carl wondered how Ronald could hold up under that icy stare. A lot of practice, probably. Several seconds passed by, and Carl could tell something was passing between them, invisible and incomprehensible, but still felt by him, an outsider. Then Katie turned on her heel and stomped towards the exit.

"I know what's happening to me," she said over her shoulder, and then the door slammed shut, leaving the two men in silence.

"I didn't actually hire her," Carl finally said, because he felt like that should be cleared up, and now that Katie was gone, it was like a massive high pressure system had left the room and given him back the space to speak.

Ronald smiled, but it seemed sad, and it made Carl feel bad even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "Did Katie tell you about…?" It looked like he didn't want to finish, but he didn't have to. Carl knew exactly what he meant.

"Yeah. Um…I don't mean to be rude, but…" He trailed off. He had no idea what to say, how to phrase it—other than, why is that girl so stark raving mad?

"Katie has a…disease. A disease that gives her a delusional disorder."

Carl tried saying it himself. "A delusional disorder?" The words made his tongue curl in an odd way.

Ronald nodded. "Yes. She believes that she doesn't belong here. Generally, it doesn't interfere with her day-to-day life. She tends to keep it a secret from people. Why she told you…" He stopped, like he was going to say something but then decided against it. "Well, in every other aspect, she is a normal young woman. I know it might be hard to believe, but she truly is a sweet girl. She's just confused."

Carl stayed quiet, because what do you say to that?

"I'm Ronald, by the way." He extended a hand, and Carl stepped forward to take it. "I look after Katie, even though she's an adult. Her grandfather passed away a few months ago, so she's got no one else. I've got money saved up, so we do okay. I took her here because…" He blew out a breath and smiled wryly. "I was hoping things would be different."

"I don't know what to say," Carl replied honestly. "But I'm sorry."

Ronald waved him off. "It's fine, it's fine. But listen, I do have a favor to ask. Katie…she came in here looking for a job, right?"

Carl nodded, knowing what came next.

"Could you do her and me a favor and…humor her? Like I said, she's a sweet girl. A hard worker. She always did a good job at Wally's—that's her grandfather. She knows how to cook and clean, and the time travel stuff, well…it shouldn't come up too much. And if she causes any trouble, I'll take full responsibility."

He could sense the man's ardor, his near desperation, and how much this meant to him. How much he wanted Carl to understand him, to understand Katie, to sympathize with their situation.

It reminded Carl of the first time Ellen asked him on a date. He'd known how much she wanted him to say yes. He could picture how happy she'd look, and that was enough for him at the time.

"If there's any way you could give her the job…it would mean so much to her, and I'd really appreciate it…"

Carl cursed his sentimental nature, because he knew just how wrong this could turn out.

He knew, and still he said, "She's got the job."

x x x