Chapter One – Coffee and Tea Leaves

I looked appraisingly at the girl in the mirror. I was 5'5 and had more flesh than I would have liked around my hips and thighs, but I was quite pleased with how my top half had turned out. My hair was naturally sunshine blonde and so long that it reached the middle of my back. My eyes were vivid blue and too big for my head, making me look like a daydreaming doe.

At that moment, I was wearing all black, as my boss had told me to, with my hair tied up in a messy bun. I had lined my eyes in black and coloured my lips in red, trying to make my features pop rather than blend into my pale skin.

I was not a morning person, and that was evident just by looking at me. I had rings under my eyes and my complexion looked somewhat chalky and there were even a couple of spots that just would not disappear, no matter how much I tried to hide them.

Giving up on that, I grabbed my bag, which held my purse, phone, and keys, and headed out of the flat to my car, for work.

"Morning, Grace," the cafe owner, Mark, greeted me as I entered the small building. It was already buzzing with its early breakfast customers. I didn't know what was wrong with these people.

I yawned as I replied, "Morning, Mark."

That was as far as conversation went for me in the mornings. Everyone knew not to bother me in the early hours; otherwise they might end up having to bury their eardrums.

I slipped the apron over my head and tied it around my waist, before washing my hands.

My job was not the best job in the world. In fact, I hated it. Nobody treated me with respect. I was just the person who took their orders. The men eyed me up and the women completely ignored me. What was the point of carrying on with a job that I despised? Money. I needed the money to stay in America. If I lost my job and couldn't pay the bills, I'd have to go back to England and move back in with my parents. At twenty-five years old, that was not particularly attractive.

It was half eight when the little bell above the door tinkled and a tall man walked in. He was well-muscled and was wearing a hoodie, jeans and a beanie hat with sunglasses. He might as well have been a celebrity in disguise. He looked around once, seemed to accept the place as ok, and then strolled over to the counter where I was stood waiting for more customers.

"What can I get you?" I asked, routinely.

He studied the board behind me that read all of the available foods and drinks.

"I'll have a bagel and a Cappucino, please."

Upon hearing his voice, I lifted my head up. I recognised his voice. It was only when he cleared his throat that I realised I had been staring at him a few seconds too long.

"Oh, right, sorry, erm..." I was blushing fiercely as I bustled around, getting his order.

I found myself glancing over at him every now and then, but he was gazing around the room as he waited, so thankfully he never caught me. One thing was for sure: the man was definitely good looking. And familiar.

"Thanks," he said as he passed over the money and sat at a table with his order. I leant against the counter and waited for my next customer. Business was slow.

That was when things got interesting. The door burst open, letting in a chill that seemed to be hovering around after the winter months. Another man was stood there. This one was quite large with too much facial hair and was wearing a white t-shirt with a black rim and a picture of a clenched fist holding a lightning bolt, with stars around it. At the corner there was a little logo that I couldn't quite work out. He was also wearing a cap with the same picture, a necklace with the same picture, and his wrists were taped in some kind of white bandage with words written on his knuckles.

His eyes roamed the cafe before he finally found the man I had just served. His eyes lit up with some sort of joy as he walked heavily over to him.

"Hi, I'm Martin, I'm your biggest fan," he declared, loud enough for the whole cafe to go quiet, "Can I have your autograph?"

The man slowly put down his coffee and looked up at his 'biggest fan'.

"Not right now," he said, shaking his head.

The fan blinked. "But I've got a pen and everything. You can write it on my top. Look, it's your top. I'm wearing your top!"

"Yeah, I can see."

"You won't even sign my top even though it's yours!" the man shouted, looking furious. His mood had swung so suddenly that I was pretty sure the temperature had dropped about ten degrees.

"No, I'm busy."

"You're not busy! You're drinking a fucking coffee! What kind of wrestler are you?"

I looked around, hoping that another member of staff would do something about it. The peace was being disturbed. This would frighten away customers. Just as I thought it, a man and a woman stood up from their table in the corner and left, leaving their coffees half empty.

As it turned out, the only other girl who was working with me was nowhere to be seen and Mark was just staring open-mouthed at the confrontation. What kind of boss was he?

As the fan began yelling, oblivious to everything, I decided that enough was enough and I needed to step in.

Walking around the counter, I spoke up, "Excuse me."

He ignored me.

I spoke louder, "Excuse me."

He still ignored me.

"I said," stepping into the very limited space between the fan and the man, "Excuse me."

The fan pushed me to the side, but I was caught off guard and stumbled backwards, ending up on my backside on the floor. The man suddenly got to his feet.

"Don't you dare put your hands on that woman!" he shouted in the fan's face. He shut up. "I told you that I was busy. I appreciate all of my fans, but I need time to myself and I've already been bothered by too many this morning, so I do not appreciate being stalked during what little free time I have."

The fan had surpassed white and turned an interesting shade of green. The man turned to me and held out a hand.

"Are you ok?" he asked, his voice sounding soft after his rant. I nodded, not being able to find my voice, and accepted his hand. He pulled me to my feet as if I weighed nothing. I dusted myself down, feeling my cheeks heat up.

I narrowed my eyes at the fan and spoke coldly, "I suggest you leave."

He was gone faster than I thought possible.

"Thanks," I turned to his voice, surprised. I didn't even think that I had done anything worth thanking.

"For what?"

"You got him away. People don't usually try to do that."

"It was nothing. But – I mean – I should be thanking you."

"Don't worry about it," he waved off my thanks and held out his hand to me again; this time, in a way of greeting, "Phil Brooks, professional wrestler."

I glanced at his hand apprehensively before shaking it, "Victoria-Grace Jenson, but everyone calls me Grace."

"Well, Grace, I believe I owe you a proper thank you. What are you doing tonight?"

I blinked. Why was he asking me that?

"I – erm – I'm not sure – er – nothing... I think."

He reached into a pocket and rummaged around in it before pulling out what looked like a bit of paper. He handed it over to me saying, "I've got a show tonight, on pay-per-view. That's a ringside ticket. You don't have to come if you don't want to – I mean, I know wrestling isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I think -"

"I'd love to," I interrupted his rambling with a smile, "What time is it?"

"How about I pick you up at half six? I need to be backstage by seven and it officially starts at eight."

"Oh, erm, ok. I guess you'll need my address then."

I took out the little pencil and notepad that I had in my pocket for taking orders and scribbled down not only the address of my flat, but also my phone number, just in case.

"Thanks," he grinned, pocketing the paper, "I'll see you then."

"Bye." I watched him go, silently. The cafe began buzzing again. I had a feeling it had been doing so for a few minutes, but I had somehow managed to tune it all out whilst I was speaking to Phil.

I looked around and my eyes landed on my new target. I marched over to Mark whilst untying the apron from my waist.

"Mark!" I called sharply, to get to his attention. He spun around and grinned at me.

"Grace, well done for getting rid of that customer."

"Yeah, about that," I began. I took a deep breath. Was I really about to say this? It turned out I was, "I quit."

It took a moment for my words to process in his head, and when they finally did, his eyes flashed angrily. It looked like the customers were about to have another bit of entertainment whilst they ate.

"What did you say?" he hissed.

"I said that I quit. I'm sick of being constantly disrespected and that was just the last straw – when a customer pushes me over, it's time to leave. So -" I lifted the apron over my head and thrust it into his chest, "I'm leaving."

And with that, I turned on my heel and marched right out of the building. I had no desire ever to return. I got into my trusty old car and drove back to my flat.

As I climbed the stairs to my floor, the old lady who lived below me came out to greet me.

"Oh, I thought it was you, Victoria, dear," she croaked, "Are you ok? You look a little pink."

I didn't have the heart to correct frail old Mrs Harper on my name.

"Yes, thank you," I smiled, politely, "I just quit my job."

She nodded as if she knew this already.

"That's why I just made you some cookies. Come in, come in," she ushered me inside before I could object.

The thing you should know about Mrs Harper is that she can see the future. At least, she thinks she can – and so do the few people who visit her to have their tea leaves and tarot cards read.

The smell of stale perfume, talcum powder and cats was masked by the powerful scent of incense candles. I tried not to choke as she pushed me (with very surprising strength for an old lady) into her living room.

"I'll bring them in to you, dear. Just sit down."

Sighing, I took a seat in the over-cushioned floral armchair. The stench mixed with the horrible William Morris wallpaper was dizzying and I found myself trying to keep my focus on the coffee table in the middle of the small room, so that I didn't pass out.

As I had suspected, Mrs Harper not only brought in a plate piled high with biscuits, she also brought in two cups of tea and a pack of tarot cards – all on a delicate china tray, which she set on the coffee table I was staring at.

"Now drink up, dear, and let me see the leaves when you've finished."

"Really, Mrs Harper, you don't need to go to the trouble -"

I stopped because she had flashed me a dangerous look. Instead of arguing any more, I picked up the china cup of tea and began sipping it. The old woman watched me eagerly the entire time.

"Good, good," she said the second I had taken the last gulp, and took the cup out of my hand.

I nibbled on a biscuit as she studied the leaves for several minutes.

"Ah," she said so loudly that it made me jump, "The future looks good for you, Victoria. There is a new man in your life whose name begins with P. There will also be someone else who becomes new to your life, but I cannot make out whether they are a man or woman, or what their name begins with. Beware, Victoria, for I see green within the eyes of both of these people.

"There will come a time in the near future, Victoria, where you will have to make a choice. This choice gives you three paths. One will lead to friendship, one will lead to love and the other will lead to family. You must choose before you run out of time, otherwise -"

She broke off suddenly, turning disturbingly pale.

"Well, I – ah," she looked around nervously, wringing her wrinkled hands together, "I think it's time for you to leave, now, Victoria, dear. Yes, yes, you should go now."

"Aren't you going to do the cards?" I asked, disturbed by how jittery she had suddenly become.

"No, no, off you go now, dear," she hurried over to the door and held it open for me, "Have fun tonight."

"Ok, thank you, Mrs Harper, for the tea and biscuits and reading my -"

She slammed the door in my face.

Taken aback, I climbed the rest of the stairs up to my rooms.

What was all that about? What had she seen to spook her so much? Had she even seen anything or was she just making everything up to freak me out? Why would she do that? But she had said 'have fun tonight'. Does that mean she knew about my date (was it even a date?) with Phil, or did she just mean in general? Like 'have fun with your newfound freedom' or something.

I collapsed onto the sofa, utterly bamboozled.

(A/N):- So, I edited a few bits of this to make it a little more recent. I'm still working on the next chapter, so just hang in there, readers. I will upload as soon as possible.

Don't forget to review and add this story to your favourites or alert (or both!)

I am literally working on the next chapter right now so it should be up soon. Hopefully.

Love from Beth xx