Chapter 1
Gail notices her straight away, the anomaly in the sparse crowd of familiar faces. Everything else is exactly as she left it eight months ago: the exposed brick wall, the old polished wood counter, the smell of roasted coffee. Even the other regulars are the same.
No, the only thing new in her favourite café is that woman.
For the next few minutes as she waits in line, Gail continues to stare, her eyes glued. It's like seeing a single red dot on an otherwise pristine white wall. She just can't help it. The Boxcar café is like the speakeasy of coffee shops; new faces are few and far between.
She knows that she is being rude. But still, she can't bring herself to look elsewhere. If she wasn't so tired, she might have been able to tear her eyes away, force herself to stare just about anywhere else before the aforementioned woman noticed that there is a creepy blonde fixated on the back of her head.
But Gail is exhausted and cranky, having just gotten off a seven-hour flight from Seattle and rather than rushing home to shower off the grime of the airplane, she came here instead. And today, there is a curious stranger standing there in her favourite place in the city.
She mindlessly shuffles forward, her footsteps mirroring the person in front of her in line, her luggage bumping into the back of her worn leather boots. When she gets to the register, her order rolls off her tongue with recited practice. It's only when she is asked to pay that she snaps back into reality.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"That'll be $3.89, miss," the barista repeats politely.
Gail's arm digs into her knapsack, groping around until she finds her wallet, an old nylon thing with a Velcro fastener. Her heart sinks when she looks inside, forgetting that coming straight from the States meant that she has no Canadian currency on her. She looks down uncomfortably to her luggage, debating whether or not it's worth the trouble to open it up right here at the counter to search for her Canadian credit card.
She is contemplating paying in as many American quarters as she can salvage from the bottom of her bag when a honeyed voice speaks up next to her.
"Hey, Don? Can you add her drink to my order too? Thanks."
Gail's gaze snaps up to the voice and is met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes and a lopsided smile.
It's the new woman.
"I… Uh thanks," she stutters, stunned by this stranger's sudden act of kindness.
The woman just shrugs, her loose bun bouncing off her jacket collar at the movement. "Don't mention it."
Before Gail can find any more words, the other woman moves down to the opposite end of the counter to wait for her drink. Gail's eyes follow her down the room, even more intrigued now at this person who is so willing to help out a stranger without expecting anything in return.
Gail notices that this woman is pretty in a scholastic sort of way with her intelligent eyes and thick framed glasses. Her apparel is a little eclectic: a heather grey pea coat, dark slacks and forest green knee-high rubber rain boots. She must be one of those happy people, Gail thinks, in the way she has a smile to spare for everyone, her glasses lifting off her nose each time her cheeks rise with her lips.
Gail looks away quickly when the woman starts to turn, coffee mug in hand, to walk out. With her head turned down, Gail doesn't notice if she looks back at her or not, but Gail mutters a quiet 'thank you' under her breath as the woman walks by. The stranger must have not heard her though, because she doesn't say anything back.
"Gail?" the barista calls out.
Her gaze snaps back up at the call of her name. "Uh yeah, that's me."
The barista hands over her coffee. When Gail looks down, she almost expects something extra to be written on the cup: a phone number or a cheesy pick up line. The only other time people ever buy her a drink is at a bar when they expect something extra in return for their generosity.
But when she looks, the only thing written down is her name.
And for some reason, this makes her smile.
Her arm shoots out from under the comforter to slap around the bedside table, hoping to silence her alarm. When she gets it a few tries later, she rolls over until she is flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It's still early, sunlight filtering softly through her blinds casting a warm glow into her bedroom.
Her home.
It's been so long since she has been here that it feels almost foreign. This house that she is sharing with her brother for the time being, his things littered around her home making it feel more like his house than hers even though he's her guest. At least he settled into the spare room rather than taking over her master bedroom.
Gail looks over towards the windows to stare beyond the blinds. It's autumn in Toronto, marked by colourful leaves, cold rain and sweater season. This is her favourite time of the year. And more than anything, she is relieved to be back in her city, grateful for the chance to return to a routine that doesn't involve brutalized prostitutes or broken friends.
Her phone buzzes again next to her and this time, she's faster, shutting off the alarm almost as soon as it rings. She groans into the silence of the room. In her slightly jetlagged mind, it's much earlier than the 6:30AM displayed on her phone. After another minute, she forces her body to roll over, stripping the blankets off herself to feel the cold chill of the room. She realizes quickly that she forgot to turn on the heat last night. She shivers in oversized her t-shirt, underwear and socks, the cold air slapping the skin of her thighs, and it takes all the willpower she has to resist jumping back under the covers.
Gail doesn't bother to make her bed as she pads her way to the ensuite bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she takes a moment to soak in her appearance in the mirror. She's lost weight. Her face has narrowed having finally lost that baby fat she's been carrying in her cheeks well into her adult life. It makes her look older, this new shape bringing out the blue of her eyes, the soft lines of her lips, the sharpness of her cheekbones and jaw. She can't decide if she likes it or not.
She fingers the length of her hair. It has been months since she has gone to a salon. The platinum blond dye clings to the bottom half of her hair while her natural golden colour peeks out at the top, warmer now from the summer sun. It has gotten longer than she ever lets it but he had a preference for long hair so she grew it out.
A cold chill runs down her spine at the thought of him. Another reason to cut it off.
Before she can think on him any further, she hears the sound of cupboards opening and closing from downstairs. Gail freezes at the noise. She knows that Steve is at Traci's house and cannot think of a reason why he would come by. Who else would be here this early in the morning?
She darts back into her bedroom and pulls out the drawer of her bedside table, sliding it out slowly to not make any noise. She has her gun safe lifted halfway out when a voice calls up the stairs.
"Hey Peck! Are you up yet?"
Gail doesn't recognize the voice but her shoulders relax by a fraction. The voice sounds female and friendly, and clearly knows who lives here. Gail rolls her eyes. Maybe it's one of Steve's crazy ex-girlfriends. There was that redhead who stabbed his forehead with a fork when they broke up. Or that tiny Asian lady who had this annoying habit of checking in on him every hour like clockwork.
In retrospect, Traci is a mammoth upgrade for her judgement-impaired brother in terms of prospective life partners.
More sounds rattle from downstairs and Gail contemplates taking out her gun anyways to terrify her intruder from trying something this stupid again. Seriously. Who is dumb enough to come into a cop's house uninvited? What an idiot. She lowers the safe back down into the drawer and decides to leave her gun locked up. Instead, she stomps down the stairs, anger echoing in every step she takes. It's okay. She knows she can be intimidating even without her firearm.
She follows the sounds to her kitchen and as she rounds the corner, she barks out, "What the hell are you doing in my house?"
The woman in her kitchen spins around, surprised, and the coffee she's holding spills over onto her hand.
"Ow, crap! Damn, that's hot!" The woman hisses, setting the mug down onto the counter roughly before she rushes to the sink to run her hand under cool water. Gail lets her, not bothering to help. If this stranger burns herself breaking into her house, that's too bad.
Gail continues to glare at her intruder until she turns around, the kitchen towel wrapped around her hand.
"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting you. It's just that Steve and I usually grab coffee before he drops me off at work and I come over because he hasn't figured out how to work the machine yet even though I got it for him months ago and I—"
Gail cuts her off. "Why are you saying all these words?"
Normally, most people respond to Gail's grump with an offended sputter or a cowardly attempt at retreat. But this woman just smiles back, one side of her lips lifting just a little higher than the other.
Then suddenly, Gail's eyes widen and her jaw drops because she recognizes her. This tall stranger with long dark hair, warm brown eyes and glasses. It's the same woman who bought her that coffee the day before.
Gail's interruption seemed to have pulled the stranger out of her nervous ramble because when she speaks up again, her words come out with that same velvety smoothness that Gail recalls from the café.
"I'm sorry. Let me start over. I'm Holly." The woman stretches her uninjured hand across the kitchen island towards Gail in greeting. "I'm renting the guest house."
Gail ignores the hand. "Renting?" She feels like she's missing something.
"Um yeah. That's why Steve moved in here. I ended up moving to the city a little earlier than I thought and he let me move into the guest house a couple months in advance. He said you wouldn't mind." Holly's eyes scan over Gail quickly. "You must be his sister, right?"
Gail blinks. What?
Holly's expression starts to drop when she beings to pick up that Gail doesn't recognize anything she's saying. "Didn't your brother tell you?"
Gail resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Does this look like the face of someone in the know?"
This time, the other woman's expression turns to worry. Her words pick up again as they tumble out of her mouth in an anxious rush. "Oh, I'm sorry. Steve helped set up my relocation but I didn't even think … Look, if you're uncomfortable with me being here, I can start looking for another place. I mean, as much as I love it here, I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable in your own home—"
Gail raises up her hand. "Stop."
Wow, this woman can really ramble.
Holly stops speaking instantly at the command. Her eyes drop to the counter and her face takes on an admonished expression that reminds Gail of a kicked puppy. Holly blushes prettily from across the kitchen, clearly embarrassed and more than a little flustered, and Gail remembers how easily Holly extended a helping hand yesterday when she so desperately wanted a coffee.
Not that a cup of coffee is the same as letting this stranger live in her guest house.
Right?
She thinks about saying no because honestly, Gail doesn't want a stranger in her space. Her home is her private sanctuary away from other people's expectations and their incessant demands. But the words get caught on the tip of her tongue as she watches Holly try to compose herself and hide her own distress. Gail just cannot force them out. It seems cruel to repay Holly's kindness by asking her to vacate the guest house. A house that would be empty otherwise anyways.
Holly begins to walk out from behind the island. Gail assumes that it is her attempt to leave her in peace. But Holly's expression is what gets to her, her sweet reassuring smile that says it's okay to ask me to leave that does nothing to make Gail feel like any less of a villain.
She groans inwardly. Decision made.
"Stop," Gail calls again. Holly freezes. "Just because I don't remember agreeing to rent out my guest house doesn't mean you have to leave." She sighs. "I'll talk to my idiot bother later. But for now," Gail takes a deep breath before committing to her next words, "you can stay. Okay?"
Holly's face breaks out into a brilliant toothy grin and nods.
"For now," Gail repeats in emphasis.
Holly's smile stays in place as she quirks her head to the side and looks at Gail with an appraising expression, as though she's pleasantly surprised and wondered in equal measure.
Gail can feel the heat creep up her neck and colour her face. No one ever looks at her that way.
Eventually, Holly remembers the mug on the counter and picks it up with her uninjured hand. Holding it up, she asks, "So… can I make you a cup of coffee?"
Holly is looking at her with a warm eager smile and wiggles the mug in question. Gail stares back for a second longer before she acquiesces. "Uh yes, please."
It's not like she knows how to the use the machine either.
A/N: Thoughts?