Captive

Chapter Thirty Nine

Steam rose from the cup, forming a tiny cloud that swirled its way upwards bringing the faint scent of hot chocolate with it. The fire was lit, a cosy nook with comfortable armchairs and a table facing it. Around the room there were several such nooks, each furnished with either armchairs or more upright tables and chairs. In all there were six seating arrangements in the ever expanding bakery with a cafe attached. Each table had a laminated menu bearing the symbol of the red maple which the cafe was named for. In the five years since a tiny bakery with a flat above it for the proprietor opened the business had expanded with new premises opening two years ago into the place she now called home. Juliet sighed contentedly as she delivered the hot chocolate to two of her favourite customers, Mel and Rhea who were both regulars and had followed her from her tiny original premises, encouraging her every step of the way. In fact when Juliet thought about it she had made many new friends since she let go of her past and everything that had shaped it. Trust still came hard to her but she had learnt to let people in, particularly the two older women who she now perched on the arm of a sofa with, chatting about the weather, their latest hike and how ready they were for Christmas.

The atmosphere in the packed cafe was easy and relaxed as it grew dark. Mornings were frantic as all of the baking took place for the day but by late afternoon she had time to mingle out the front, showing her face to her favourite customers and welcoming in new ones. It was a perfect balance for her, doing something she loved while earning enough to live on. Her income was modest but boosted by her writing. Despite her determination to stop she had found herself releasing another book, a passion project about the food of Jane Austen's life time, with historical background, impact on her writing and recipes as well. It had been well received and she'd sold the rights for it to be filmed though she let Cara deal with all of that side of things. It continued to make her money though, along with her other two books.

Leaving her friends to talk as she made her way out back, Juliet stretched and opened the back door, looking up into the star filled sky, feeling the chill of her favourite time of year. Closing her eyes she inhaled the scent of autumn leaves and smiled. So much had changed after her heart attack she realised; it had put so much into perspective. The relief of not having to look over her shoulder for the Turners in itself was an enormous weight lifted and gave her the courage to look at other aspects of her life. She had kept her distance from her family as she had said she would, though they emailed and occasionally spoke on the phone. Her mother was married to an older man called Arthur who she was quite fond of and her father was clean, living in an apartment out in Texas now where her brothers kept a close eye on him and he worked as a college lecturer. She was proud of him for turning himself around the way he had but had no desire to move out to be closer to him or her brothers, much as she loved them all.

All of them had accepted her decision, had understood better than she could have hoped and for the first year they all offered support to make her dream come alive. It was as if all the pieces of her puzzle had found their place; her family supported her in ways she would never have dreamed possible. Every now and again she heard from Jim and she knew he was happy for her, maybe even proud of her she reflected with a small smile as she closed the door. It was time to lock up for the night. Thanking her server Kate, Juliet waved the last of the customers off and locked the front door so that she could clean everything down. She did employ a cleaner to come in twice a week to deep clean but otherwise she kept on top of it herself, not quite able to let go of this bit of control. 

And as she cleaned her mind wandered as it so often did back to Canada, back to the boy who stole her heart so many years ago. She had never tried to contact Bret since that last day at her mum's apartment when she told him she wanted him out of her life. As far as she knew he had done what she said and hopped on the first plane back to Canada. His number was still in her phone and every now and again her finger would hover over it but then she'd sternly tell herself not to be so foolish. Memories of Bret gave her a feeling akin to pressing a finger down on a bruise, a dull ache that didn't altogether disappear when she moved away from it. She tried her best not to think of him, not to remember everything that they had gone through together as adults,tried to only think of their childhood and the red maple leaf that had united them. Naming her cafe as she had had been no accident and the symbol which everyone assumed was for her Canadian heritage was in fact for a memory of a boy with chocolate eyes who had somehow made her feel special and wanted.