Cedar Sanderson is doing N'inktober, so I'm going to follow along and do what I've been trained to do by the Raconteur Press Postcard books: come up with a story to match her visual prompts. I can't guarantee that I'll have a complete story for every image, but I'm going to at least try to come up with a scene, a start, or an idea!
Toast Partners
There was comfort in their ritual. She arrived at the coffee shop first, with her stack of books, and her cup of hot water. He arrived a bit later, with his own stack, and ordered a cup of coffee and a side of rye toast.
That’s how they’d met. It had been a dismal, rainy Monday, which meant that the outside patio of the shop was closed. Indoors the shop was warm, dry, and crowded. She’d been sitting at the only open table, tome open in front of her, finger tracing the passage before her as she sipped her hot water.
Under other circumstances, he might have left. Walked down the street to the library, perhaps. Or wandered back to his tiny little apartment. The rain and the cold made him hesitate. More inspired by a desire to avoid the damp than any sort of boldness, he ordered a cup of coffee, then walked over and gestured at the seat across from her.
“Do you mind?”
She didn’t speak, or even cease tracing the lines before her. Her head did incline in the faintest hint of a nod, copper-red hair shifting almost imperceptably. He sat carefully, making sure to not disturb her, or the table, and withdrew his own book from his backpack.
That was it. They sat there, sharing the table, sipping their drinks slowly through the morning. One hour ticked by as he studied number theory, then another. She was focused solely on her volume, though sometimes she would frown and pull out a smaller book to examine for a time.
Slightly before noon, he gathered his things and stood up to leave. She was still completely absorbed in her study, so he determined to leave her as he had arrived, in silence. Before he could step away from the table, she put her finger on the page and turned her head up to him. Hazel eyes set over a freckled nose peered up at him.
“Tomorrow then, aye?”
Three words from each of them, greeting and leave-taking. The symmetry of it appealed to him. He nodded in acknowledgment before continuing on his way.
He was back the next day. It was sunny out, and the patio was full of people laughing and chatting. When he entered, the shop was not nearly as crowded. She was at the same table, with the same book in front of her. If she hadn’t been wearing different clothes, he would have wondered if she had even left.
This time, as he approached the table, she nodded in greeting. Slightly less imperceptible, this time. He sat as carefully as he had the day before, and they studied together again until he once again had to leave at noon.
They followed that wordless pattern for the remainder of the week, until he was about to leave on Friday. As he gathered his books, she paused and peered up at him.
“Lydia.”
“Tom.”
“Will you be here next week then, Tom?”
“Would you like me to be?”
She frowned, considering. He waited. After a moment, she said, “It would be nice.”
“Then I will.”
And he was. The weekend passed in a blur of work and study and lab time. Come Monday, he was back at the shop, coffee in hand, for his meeting with Lydia.
They never really talked all that much. A few words, here and there, to bookend their days. She was studying something of Shakespeare’s, a unique printing of one of his plays that fascinated her but baffled him. She was equally mystified by his study of non-Euclidean geometries. It took a month of weeks, two months of exchanging a word or two at a time before they even got that far.
Then came the day he brought some toast to the table.
His parents had always made sure he and his brothers were taken care of; but they weren’t exactly from the rich section of town. He’d had plenty of friends in grade school that had taken advantage of the free meals provided by the public schools. Water. She drinks hot water. Not even tea. So when her head came up, then dipped back down quickly, he’d pushed the plate to the center of the table.
“Not sure I can eat all of this. Help me out?”
She’d shrugged, nonchalantly. He’d taken his piece of toast. Sometime during the morning, he wasn’t quite sure when, the other piece disappeared.
From then on, he ordered something with his coffee. He tried bagels, pastries, fruit cups; even a sandwich. She was unwilling to partake in any of that with him. When he got toast, through, she was always happy to share. Sometimes it would disappear without him noticing. Other days, she would nibble daintily at it, making it last as she continued her studies.
Summer passed, and the early days of autumn. The first crisp, cold days presaging winter strolled into town, leaving frosty sketches on the university lawn. With school back in session, the coffee shop was not nearly as busy. Many morning, he and Lydia practically had the place to themselves.
Then came the day she closed her book and sighed. He looked up from his own volume, wondering what might have prompted that relative outburst from her.
“I’m done.” She said it matter-of-factly. “I can find my way home now, I think.”
“Leaving early?”
“Earlier than I thought I might.” She pushed her book to the side. “We have a bit before you have to get on to your classes, aye? I would like to know more about you. Who are you, Tom?”
For the next hour, they’d talked. Well, she’d asked a question here and there, but he’d done most of the talking. He talked about mom and dad, and growing up with his brothers, and what life in a small Texas town was like. High school. His first girlfriend. His first breakup. College. Finding his passion for mathematics. The lure of pure math, of topology, and the chance to discover the logic underlying the universe. The time flew by. Before he realized it, it was time for him to go. He’d hurriedly packed his books and waved to Lydia as he left for class.
The next morning when he arrived, Lydia’s books were at the table; but the chair she always sat in was empty. There was a slip of paper on top of her books, facing him, inscribed with flowing cursive lines.
I enjoyed our time together. I will see you when you find your way home.
“Hey.” Tom looked up. The barista was standing there next to him. Long brown hair tied back in a pony tail. Coffee-stained white apron on top of jeans and a cable-knit sweater to ward off the cold.
“I don’t usually do this, but I’m taking a break. I see you sitting here all alone every day.”
Alone? Something must have shown on his face, because she held up a hand quickly.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I mean.” She shrugged. “But… I was wondering if you’d maybe like someone to sit with you. Which is my way of saying that I would kind of like to sit with you. If you don’t mind?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. Not at all. It… it would be nice.”
Ah. My first thought was something like the song "Bus Stop" by the Hollies until the very end.
Lightly fae-touched... not so much that he couldn't accept she was gone. A little eerie, but not creepy.