The Lunchtime Special

Chapter 18 - Crumbling

I can't stop smiling. Rob and Chloe are giving me what they think are sly glances as I go about replenishing the salad containers and regular customers have been commenting on how cheerful and upbeat I am. I can't help it, and it's as much to do with the phone calls and text messages I've been receiving as memories of the weekend. Jake and I have talked every night and each day we've texted frequently – on my part with small inanities of my day or random thoughts that pop into my head. Returning to the back room now, I check my phone, tingling with anticipation when I find a new message.

Jake: God, I miss you

Instantly my happy mood dissolves and I'm startled to feel tears pricking the back of my eyelids. I miss him too; I can't deny it and don't even bother trying. As nice as our lengthy phone calls are, they don't make up for having him here in person, to see his lopsided smile and the way his amber eyes crinkle and sparkle, to inhale the clean manly scent of him, to touch his hand in passing or wrap myself in him completely. I draw in a deep breath, telling myself this is not the time or place to be getting all emotional, though I'm not entirely sure what's behind this sudden about-face in mood; it's only been a few days since I saw him, after all.

"Will's here, Mia." Rob's head pokes through the doorway. Although his arm is in a cast he insisted he can still help with some of the work around the shop and it has been a relief to have someone else who knows the routines as thoroughly as I do.

"Thanks, Rob – be right there." Looking down at my phone again, my thumbs hover over the keyboard while my mind and heart debate my response to Jake's message. With a sigh, I go with my heart.

Mia: I miss you too

Will looks rushed. "Hey," he breathes as I notice Chloe is serving up his favourite salad into a container.

"This isn't your usual lunchbreak time," I observe, glancing at my watch.

"No, I'm going to need to work through lunch, but I wanted to check we're still good for tonight." I search my mind for the relevance of tonight but draw a blank, which obviously shows on my face. "We're getting our wedding outfits fitted."

Oh hell, of course, it's Thursday – late night shopping - and the hire place will be open till nine. "Yes, sure. What time do we need to be there again?"

"Seven thirty. Want me to pick you up?"

"Okay." He tries to pay for this salad, as he always does, but I wave his money away, as I always do, and we say our goodbyes. The remainder of the working day passes in its usual pattern other than a phone call from my mother mid-afternoon.

"Mia, we haven't seen you in ages." It's been just over a week. "Come have dinner with us." I explain about my appointment with Will and that he's picking me up from my place at seven. "Well, tell him to pick you up here instead." I sigh, having trouble summoning up the energy to argue with her logic, and say yes while rolling my eyes. As soon as she ends the call I send a text to Will and wait for his response to make sure he's aware of the new arrangement.

So at five fifteen I pull my Beetle up outside the home I grew up in, noting the newly mown grass and pile of mulched bark spread out over the garden bed bordering the path as evidence my dad has been busy. A few things have changed since my childhood – timber window frames have been replaced with aluminium, the roof is tiled rather than tin and the cubby house my dolls and I held tea parties in now houses six Chinese silky chickens – but apart from these cosmetic changes, the house is pretty much the same and it gives me a familiar sense of comfort. As I approach the house I hear noise from the garden shed and go over there, finding my dad putting away some tools.