Note: Please read the author's note at the end. Happy Reading!
Chapter Five:
LOUISA:
When I arrived home with the good news both my parents looked relieved and quite pleased. The worry that had been etched on my mother's face for the last few days now softened, and my dad gave me a soft smile as he kissed my forehead that night before I went to bed.
I thought that now the weight of finding a job was lifted off my shoulders, I would have been able to quickly fall asleep. Yet instead I was kept awake, my mind buzzing with the thoughts of my interaction with Will that occurred earlier that day. I rolled over to my right side, staring at the calendar that I had hung on my closet door. It stared back at me.
To think that of all the people that would give me a job, it turned out to be Will. Mr. Wedding Man. Mr. Bourbon Whiskey. It was a strange thought. I was grateful, of course, for the job. It meant a steady income, and of course meant that my parents could worry a little bit less about the finances. But the thought that perhaps the only reason he gave me the job was because he pitied me – such a thought ate away at me and gave me a sense of unease.
I eventually settled into a restless sleep, the kind that when your alarm clock finally goes off in the early hours in the morning, it feels as if you had gotten absolutely no sleep at all. I awoke unenthused, and almost tempted to roll over and go back to bed. But the news that I had actually secured a job resurfaced in my mind, and I quickly scrambled out from the covers – ready to start my day.
I found myself wanting to make a good first impression, and apparently my mother wanted me too. She had insisted that I wear her suit which looked like it belonged in the late 1980s. I knew better than to argue with her, and found myself awkwardly shuffling out the door and down the steps – the waistband of the skirt cutting into my skin, and the jacket tight around my shoulders and chest.
I continued my awkward gait all the way up to Stortford Castle, slightly out of the breath since my outfit slightly restricted my ability to breathe freely. As I walked towards the entrance, I spotted Will who was leaning against one of the castle's walls, head bent down and fingers flying as he typed away on his phone. I tried not to ogle at how the cut of his suit looked expensive and how he looked impeccable in it.
Just as I was about three yards away from him, he looked up and straightened his posture. A wave of irritation swept across his facial features, yet it so quickly passed that I wondered if I had imagined it.
He glanced at his watch, grimacing, "You're 89 seconds late, Clark."
Clearly I had not imagined his annoyance. I glanced at my own watch, a gift that Patrick had gotten me in honor of our third anniversary together as a couple, and frowned as I saw the time. 8:31. I glanced back up to see him already walking away from me, his back turned.
I hurried after him, attempting to keep up with him.
"You may not think so, Clark, but time is money. Every second counts so do plan to come at least on time, if not earlier," he said as he adopted a brisk sort of pace. It took me two steps to match only one of his. I attempted to say something, but my mouth had ran dry and I decided to prioritize breathing rather than speaking. He probably wouldn't want to hear any of my excuses or apologies.
As we entered the main hall of the castle, there was already a group of tourists eagerly awaiting to embark on their tour of the castle. It seemed to odd to think that yesterday, that was me – except this time I at least had a job.
Will made a sharp right turn through a passageway. I stumbled after him, my shoes pinching my toes already. I winced as a noise of fabric tearing reached my ears. I glanced down to see that the left seam of my skirt was torn, presenting a slit that was rather high and on the verge of dangerously inappropriate. I caught the fabric between my thumb and forefinger in an attempt to keep it together as I tried to keep the pace Will had set.
The room could only be described as an indoor terrace – a glass roof offered natural lighting, the floor length windows offered a pleasant view of the gardens and grounds, and the columns which either offer support or were just decorative (I suspected the latter) provided a Mediterranean vibe. Chairs, tables, and the occasional couch decked out the space. Where we were standing, a small corner was dedicated to the refreshments. A display case was filled with what looked like freshly made bakery treats, and a shiny espresso machine (along with a modest coffee machine and hot water urn). The whole space was a clean sort of glamorous – modern, yet still within the theme of the castle.
"Nathan, meet Louisa."
Will's pragmatic tone drew me back to reality, and I shifted my eyes to find a man who looked to be about a couple years older than myself. His hair was brown, with streaks of what looked to be silver. His eyes (were they gray?) were crinkled due to the broad smile that was plastered on his face, "Nice to meet you, Louisa."
A New Zealander. I instantly got the sense he and I would become fast friends. He offered his hand to shake, and I edged towards him – my left hand still trying to keep the skirt together even if it was a hopeless task. I shook his hand with my own, before glancing at Will – making sure I wasn't doing anything wrong. I couldn't afford to be unemployed again.
"She'll be working here starting today. Make sure she knows the drill," Will said, looking rather impatient. I decided to secretly call him Mr. Bossman from now on.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" Nathan said with a dramatic salute. I smiled, amused. Will on the other hand did not, or if he did he was suppressing it. He glanced at me, when a chuckle escaped my throat, and I instantly found myself feeling squeamish.
Suddenly, a large piece of fabric hit me in the chest and I scrambled to grab it with my hands. It took me a moment to realize it was a rather large, oversized forest green apron – the kind a barista might wear in a fancy, hipster coffee shop. I never wore one during all my time at the Buttered Bun.
"Wear that, Clark. We don't need you scaring off any customers with your…skirt situation." Will said, his eyes drifting for a mere second to where my hand was still attempting to keep the tear together. As I became utterly mortified, he glanced at his watch, "And, with that said I must be off. I expect good work from the both of you."
Mr. Bossman left without so much of another glance. I couldn't decide whether I was relieved that he moved on from my fashion fiasco, or disappointed he hadn't said any truly comforting words to me. I shrugged the apron on, grateful that it was both wide and long enough to cover my mother's unrepairable skirt.
"Don't worry about him, Louisa. He can be cold, but he's really harmless," Nathan, my new coworker, said cheerfully as he stepped behind the counter and began to fill the urn in the small sink that was in the very corner of the space.
I stepped behind the space, curious to learn more, "Have you worked here long?" I tried to imagine him working here for years – somehow it just didn't fit.
He shook his head, some of the gray hairs on his head catching the dim light that shone through the glass windows, "No. I'm actually attending nursing school right now – part time. Thought it would be smart to work some in order to pay it off. Will actually saved me – lots of employers wanted me to have a standard work schedule which can be a bit tricky since I never know what will happen with school. He lets me figure out my own schedule, lets me work as much as I please. You haven't met Pamela – but usually she'll cover for me when I'm not here." He glanced at me, smiling, "I'm glad that the café will have another worker."
I nodded, not knowing what exactly to say and becoming even more confused about the enigma that was called by the name of Will.
One of the blessings that I quickly found out was that Nathan was a very patient coworker. Never having to work with an espresso machine before, I found myself butchering some of the orders. Nathan however, was quick to correct my blunders, and always sent me encouraging phrases like "Don't worry, you'll get a hang of it." or "You're getting better."
I didn't tell him that I sincerely doubted his words.
Another blessing that since I started work on Wednesday, it was Friday before I knew it. Nathan had left the café early, desiring to go home to study for exam that he had later tonight. I was somewhat nervous that challenging orders would come my way, but I repressed the fear and instead wished him well on his exam.
"You sure you'll be fine?" Nathan asked for the hundredth time. I nodded, waving my hand in a dismissive manner. That action sent him on his way.
Business was slowing down, so I took some time to grab the local paper from one of the stands nearby (which also held tourism information, biking tour brochures, and pamphlets of the local YMCA). Leaning against the counter, I started to peruse with no specific interest in mind except to pass the time.
"Slacking, Clark?"
I turned my head so quickly at the familiar wry voice, convinced that I had gained whiplash from such a quick, abrupt movement. He stood there in all his (supposed) glory, looking quite impeccable as he did on the first day I started working here. I tried to plaster a look of displeasure, although I'm sure my face looked awkwardly distorted from the effort, "Of course not."
He walked closer to me, leaning a bit over to look at the newspaper that was currently sprawled out on half the counter. Forehead creased, he then looked at me with mile surprise, "Never thought you were the kind of person who was into horse-racing."
I ignored the fact that his minty, sharp breath hit my cheeks due to his close proximity, and instead straightened my spine and placed my hands on my hips as if that would give me legitimacy, "You shouldn't judge a book by its cover."
In all honesty, I had been so bored that I had zoned out – not even realizing what I was looking at. I let my eyes drift down to the sheet that stared back at me. A short list of racehorses, records, and total monetary winnings was staring back at me. Had I really been staring at the sports section without realizing it?
I glanced back up at Will-Mr. Bossman-to see him staring back at me, blinking once or twice before actually opening his mouth to speak, "Well, since you seem to be an expert at it – which horse looks to be a winner?"
I hadn't expected this question, and my heart suddenly hammered in my chest. My eyes flitted to the list of names, and back to his eyes so quickly that I felt as if I was almost in a spy movie. Taking a shaky breath I then said, "Damsel's Distress."
His lips widened and parted, showing his perfect pearly white teeth – and a laugh escaped his throat as he smiled at me, "Damsel's Distress? Sounds like a metal band – or an emo rock group." He then appraised me, as if I was suddenly a racehorse, with skepticism, "Are you sure you're an expert?"
I crossed my arms over my chest, sending him a look of annoyance, "Of course, I am."
He shook his head in a manner of disbelief, as if he was sharing some kind of private joke with himself. I fumed, not liking the idea that he was laughing at me. I pursed my lips, trying to channel the most evil eyed stare I could under these circumstances. I was confident I wasn't successful.
"Alright, Clark. I believe you – honest to goodness. Don't send that look of disdain in my direction," he said, holding his hands up in a kind of mock surrender. Will then gave me a small smile, a quirk of the lips, "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"
My brow furrowed, slightly out of annoyance and slightly out of confusion, "Why?"
"Because we're going to go to the racetrack tomorrow, Clark."
Author's Note: Whew! It's been a long while, hasn't it? (A fact that I am totally ashamed of.) Uni has really being picking up. Thank you to the person who sent me a PM asking me to update this story. That really motivated me. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you as always for the support and love that you give to this story and to me! Be so kind as to leave a review with your thoughts?