She Lost Him, but She Found Herself. (Sally Jackson x Poseidon)

CHAPTER 1

It's been three months since my uncle died. Three months I've been living on my own in Montauk, New York at nineteen years old. Three months of grieving and hard work.

I always thought the universe had something against me. My parents died in a plane crash when I was young, I grew up with my neglectful uncle, and now he's gone too. And I'm alone.

Moving away from the city has been healing though. My parents' rustic cabin on the beach still stands and it's become my new home. It's small but cozy, I love it. I've adjusted to my new life here, getting a job at a local coffee shop right next to a small bookstore. I entertain conversations with tourists and it helps me feel not so alone anymore. I've made a few friends and know the small seaside town like the back of my hand now after months of exploring and odd jobs.

Although my hopes have been higher lately, I still long for something more. Maybe it's the recent bad events that have led me here, but I feel like I'm destined for more. I know it sounds crazy, maybe it's just something I say to myself for comfort. Something to tell myself to feel like I matter in this big, cruel world. But I do want something more. To be something more? Do something more? I'm not sure exactly what but I can't help but feel I'm trapped here, being held back from a more exciting life.

"Hello!?"

I snap out of my internal trance to see Old-Man Jack looking at me with an angry expression.

"Sorry?" I reply.

"My check? God your customer service is awful," he complains.

"Sorry sir, I'll get it right away," I hurry to the register and begin ringing up Jack's order. He's an older man, maybe in his mid 50's. He's a regular at Belladonna unfortunately, and always rude. And he does not appreciate my sometimes spacing off at work. I can't seem to help it though, my mind feels like it's running twenty steps ahead of everyone else. It's been like that my whole life.

I print out Jack's receipt and hand it to him, "Sorry again about that."

"Can't believe I keep coming back here how many times and you still can't do your job right," he snaps.

Well you don't have to keep coming back, I think. Actually all our lives would be better if you didn't. I'm not the only barista who doesn't like Jack.

"Why so quiet now?"

"I'm not inclined to dignify your comments with a response," I say. He looks dumbfounded and I almost laugh at him.

"You better keep your mouth shut missy, such a bitch shouldn't be working here in the first place," he snarls.

Oh that's it.

"Maybe a pervert such as yourself shouldn't be eating here. I'm sure your cook can make you something more delectable in that mansion of yours. The mansion you did nothing to work for and only have because you piggyback off of your daddy's money," I glare at him.

That really gets his temper going. As I'm taking the café's copy of his receipt back and the pen he used to sign it, he grabs my wrist, hard.

His face gets close to mine and I can smell his bad breath, "Be careful what you say girl, women shouldn't have the attitude you do, that's why they're only good for one thing," he pointedly looks at my chest and the tiny bit of cleavage visible from my white scoop-neck t-shirt, "not for conversation."

"Hey what's going on here?"

I look to see a handsome stranger interrupting our conversation. He looks about my age, maybe a few years older, with blonde curly hair and bright blue eyes.

His appearance makes Jack immediately drop my wrist and storm out of the café.

Unconsciously I hold my wrist in my other hand trying to soothe it, he left red marks from gripping it so hard.

I looked at the stranger, "I didn't need saving," I said.

"Oh I believe that," he replies, "I heard part of your conversation. But I thought I could help speed things along," he gives me a small lopsided smile, his hands in his pockets, completely casual and at ease, the opposite of how I feel.

"Well...thanks," I say.

"You don't have to thank me."

We keep staring at each other and can't seem to look away. I'm trying to place him, a name, maybe his friends or family I've seen in town before? But I can't come up with anything. He doesn't look familiar at all. Montauk is small, everyone knows everyone, and most of the time they all pass through the Belladonna café. Yet this man is a complete stranger. He doesn't have the playful wonder or excitement the tourists exert either. Yet he has a British accent so he can't be from America, let alone New York.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Caspian," he smiles, this time with dimples, "Caspian Abano."

His name doesn't ring a bell. "Are you new to town?"

"Yeah, you could say I'm just passing through," he replies, his face all warm and friendly.

"So you're a tourist?" I say.

"Not exactly."

Okay Mr Vague.

I'm not sure what else to say so I put my barista bravado back into place, "would you like your check as well?" I look over to his empty coffee cup from where he was sitting a few seats over at the counter before he came to interrupt Old-Man Jack.

"Yes, that would be lovely," he politely smiles.

I ring up his order and hand him the receipt. "And what's your name?" he asks.

"Sally Jackson."

"Are you a local then?"

"No," I reply, "I just moved here three months ago but I'm getting the hang of it."

"That's good to hear. I know it must be hard feeling like an outsider in a small town like this where everyone knows everyone's business."

"What makes you say that?" I ask. His exact guess at my situation surprises me.

"Just seems like your story," he says, his warm smile gone and he just stares into my eyes. We're silent.

"Sorry," he laughs, breaking the tension, "I guess you could say I'm just good at reading people."

"Yeah you're very spot-on," I say, having an awkward-polite smile.

"Are you staying in Montauk long?" I ask, attempting to move the conversation along.

"I wasn't sure at first, but now I think I'll stay a while," he smirks putting his receipt and cash back in his wallet.

He turns to leave, "see you around, Sally Jackson."