It’s a quiet morning in my bakery. The sun is illuminating the space beautifully and the smell of pastries is divine. The bakery itself is tucked away near Central Park making it a spot where a lot of people stop in for something before they go on their walks, runs and more.
While I do care for my customers, I’m a small business so I know my regulars well, there’s one man that confuses me to no end. It’s been months upon months of him coming in and I still wouldn’t say I’m the wiser. He carries himself differently than most people I’ve seen in the city, some days when he comes in it’s like he’s a different person entirely. I can tell that he’s someone who’s been hurt and I truthfully want to be closer to him. I’ve been trying to bridge that gap but he’s very closed off, it’s not something I take personally and so everyday I meet him with the same energy.
I’m filling one of the display cases currently, the morning rush has concluded which means I need to restock. Right at 9:30 on the dot I pick up on the soft sound of the door opening and closing. No one else bothers coming in discreetly so I know who it is. He sticks to a rigid schedule a lot of the time, comes in at the same time, orders the same few things and then goes to his specific spot. Some days he reads, others he writes in this thick bound journal and rarely he just sits people watching. I offer him a sweet smile as he walks up to the counter. I’m wearing a big poofy pink babydoll dress and my hair is up like it always is when I’m working.
Good morning, I take it the usual? Black coffee and a blueberry muffin?
It's been a few months of trying to put the pieces back together. New York is both strange, and comforting - the city never slept, not even in the hazy memories he had.
Routine was what kept him going; routine, regiment, and focus. Steve was his handl, commander, and if necessary he stepped in to provide James with focus.
Still, those searching blue eyes haunted James almost as much as the ones in the mirror. He had to get out, now and then.
While New York had changed, modernized... some things had stayed the same. The bakery he had found himself being drawn to stood on the foundations of one from his childhood. His fingers had traced the bricks on the outside of the building more than once - memories of the weekly bread runs he made as a young man almost overlaying themselves over his eyes. But then he saw his gloves, the shrill horn of a modern car, was assaulted by the harsh fumes of the city's circulatory system and had to realize it all was a faded memory now.
Sometimes James thought about it - other times he didn't want to think at all.
So, the routine.
Early morning run. Shower. Make forced small talk with Steve or Sam and trying to appease his best friends with some sort of memory. Anything. Escape by midmorning to explore the city. Hit up the bakery after the morning rush, when there was less people.
He liked it here. It was quiet. The woman behind the counter always seemed nice, didn't ask any questions or pressure him to leave. After awhile, it felt safe enough to spend longer amounts of time there, mull over old memories with a quiet drone of people around him. He could pretend to be part of it without ever interacting.
It was the same today. Quiet, assured footsteps, carefully closing the door to make sure the bell rang without being obnoxious. His hands were stuffed deep in his jacket pockets. The woman - the owner? - straightens, smiled so sweetly at him. He knew it wasn't an act - she had been sweet to every customer he had seen her interact with. His eyes took in her dress, not lingering but cataloguing it.
Sweet. That was an ironic, but fitting term for her.
He nodded firmly in response to her question, gently placing the exact change on the counter for her and stuffing an extra few bills into the cutely-decorated tip jar. He didn't think he had ever said more than a handful of words to her - was that rude of him?
There was a faint furrow in his brow, and he did his best to speak. His voice was low, gruff.
"The.. blueberries are good."
He winced internally, glancing out the window for a moment. All of his effortless charm had dissolved since the 40s.
