BELLINA.
Jolting awake, Bellina glances around her bedroom and grips her sleep shirt to her chest. Her bedroom is lit by the lamp on her nightstand. Once she confirms that she's back in her bed at home—instead of in her parents' condo making whoopie with her rude customer from yesterday—she notices that the damn window is open again.
Bellina grabs her gun from under the pillow and carries it with her to the window. The rising sun casts a stripe of scarlet light across the horizon, slicing through the valley below. Sighing tiredly, Bellina locks the window and draws the curtains back. She considers surveying her house again but she feels really exhausted, like she didn't sleep a wink. Truth be told, that wet dream made the night blow by in what felt like seconds. She swallows down a groan and finds that her mouth tastes like metal. Desperate to rinse the taste out, she stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom. She doesn't bother with the light and just busies herself with brushing her teeth. Her eyes droop in the thirty seconds it takes to clean her mouth.
Before she falls asleep standing, Bellina crawls back into bed. She musters the energy to grab her phone from the table. Her alarm will go off in ten minutes. Groaning, she smooshes her face into the pillow. Maybe she's sick? How can she possibly be so tired? She even went to bed relatively early. Bellina turns onto her back and stares up at the beams crossing under the ceiling. Her mind replays what bits of her dream she can recall. She must have some perverse quirk down deep in her psychology because she absolutely should not be dreaming about such a strange, rude person.
'I mean, he was hot . . .' she thinks with a reluctant sigh. She wonders what his hair really looked like under that fedora. Her imagination sure made it look sophisticated and sexy. And in a black suit? Her hand presses to her chest to steady her racing heart.
Bellina suddenly realizes that maybe she isn't a masochist. Maybe she just hasn't had sex in so long that she's become desperate for the first attractive thing with a dick to cross her path. There's no way she could ever get with a man like that. He was way out of her league but he also was an ass. Why would she want to be with someone who can't be nice to strangers? She doesn't understand people like him. It doesn't take that much extra effort to smile at someone or refrain from rudeness.
Her morning alarm disrupts her thoughts. She snoozes her phone but doesn't move to get out of bed yet. Biting her lip, she slips her hand down her front, under the waistband of her flannel pants, and touches a finger to her jewel. She feels the wet stickiness of her pleasure. She applies the slightest of pressure to her nub and is met with a rush of erotic bliss. Moaning, she cums right then.
Bellina pants as the lewd relief gradually dissipates. She can't believe it. She has never come so easily or quickly before. Definitely sex deprived. Maybe she should try to take things farther with Mac than she originally intended—she certainly needs something.
Her phone alarm goes off again. This time, she thrusts the covers away from her body and forces herself out of the bed for good. After changing into a fresh pair of jeans, a Cafe t-shirt, denim jacket, and scarf, she ties her hair into two separate braids. Then she throws on a little mascara and some foundation to cover the dark dimples along her cheeks of old acne scars. Bellina makes a quick brew of coffee and pours it into a thermos to bring along. If she woke up at the time she's supposed to, she could've enjoyed the sunrise on her porch. Now she's scuttling just to make it to the cafe in time.
It's only when Bellina parks behind the building that she remembers her appointment with Campbell. Another wave of fatigue washes over her. As much as she never enjoys these meetings, she's genuinely unsure how she'll make it through this one while feeling so badly. Nevertheless, she hustles into the cafe and turns on the lights. Despite her agitated nerves, she finds that opening in the morning is a peaceful routine that comforts her before the day begins. Bellina turns on the machines, prepares the ingredients for the bakery items of the day, and logs into the register before finally unlocking the front door.
Within ten minutes, Freddy is limping into the cafe on his cane. She meets him at the register with a bright smile.
"Good morning, Freddy," she says. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Like an old man, doll." He offers her a wrinkled smile. "I'll have the usual."
Bellina adds his latte order to the monitor and asks, "Are we doing a scone or muffin today?"
He purses his lips thoughtfully. "What kind of muffins you got?"
"Just blueberry today."
"Alright," he complies with a nod. "Add it on there too."
After he pays in cash and insists she keep the change, Freddy hobbles over to his usual table.
Bellina starts the brew for his latte and, while she waits, she slips the muffin into her toaster oven to warm it. Her body performs the familiar functions on auto-pilot. Meanwhile, her mind begins rehearsing the meeting with Campbell in a few short hours. Their biannual meetings are always the same—a general life check-up and discuss how much of her father's inheritance she'd used and how well her investments were going. Just thinking about money makes her nauseous. Anything about her parents or the life she led before moving to Mountaintop tends to have a similar effect.
Bellina is relieved of her thoughts as the timer on the toaster dings. She finishes frothing the milk for his latte and then takes his order to the table.
"Why don't you sit, honey?" says Freddy. He offers a reassuring smile when she blinks in surprise. "You look beat as a hound dog in deer season."
Drawing in a deep breath, she nods and sinks into the seat across from him. "I didn't sleep well last night, that's all. How are you, Freddy?"
His mouth twists up in a warm, wrinkly smile. "I'm tired too, my dear. Just in a different way."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. Everything aches and pains. My body is tired."
Bellina frowns. "Are your medications not working anymore?"
"Them pills wear off after awhile, you know. Your body gets used to 'em. I don't like it. I don't like it at all."
She hesitates to respond, unwilling to offend the old man. In the end, her concern for his health overrides her propriety.
"Have you stopped taking them?" she asks softly.
His papery hands tremble and the puffy arthritic knuckles turn white. Her own fingers instinctively reach across the table to hold his. He feels cold against her youthful warmth. She swallows down the sadness overcoming her.
"Do you have any family left around here, Freddy?"
He slowly swings his head back and forth, a 'no.' "Kids moved away. They want bigger lives, you know. Nothing here for 'em anyway."
"Maybe you can visit them sometime?" Bellina suggests softly.
Rather than respond, Freddy thumbs the lip of the mug with a shaky hand. She remains quiet, willing him to voice his thoughts, but the sound of the door swinging open breaks the tension. Campbell pokes his head in, nods at Bellina as she hops up from the table, and then works his broad shoulders through her door. He has to step in sideways to prevent his massive figure from catching in the doorway.
"Hi, Mr. Campbell," she greets him with a polite smile. Her eyes flicker to the clock over the register. He's an hour early. Wetting her lips, she tells her visitor, "If you'll grab a table, I'm going to lock up." She turns back to Freddy and places a hand on his shoulder. "Take your time. I have a meeting with Mr. Campbell but you're welcome to let yourself out when you're finished. Be well, Freddy."
He forces a smile. "Go on, sweetheart. I can manage."
Bellina locks the front door and turns the open sign to the 'closed' side with the note she made last night. 'I'll right back! Come back at 11:30,' it reads.
With that, she finds Campbell trying to make himself comfortable in one of her smaller cafe chairs. She furnished her cafe from local yard sales and closings, so everything is fashionably mismatched.
"We can sit over here, if it would be more comfortable, Mr. Campbell," she tells him with a soft chuckle.
She hopes he can't hear the nervousness in her voice. Her heart is already moving in double time and they haven't even begun.
"This will do just fine, but thank you, Belle."
She stills at the old nickname, momentarily lost in the past, in another life.
"Bellina?" he says, concern in his voice.
"Excuse me." She chuckles awkwardly and touches her forehead. "I just spaced out. Can I get you a coffee or anything?"
"No, no, I don't want to delay you any longer than necessary. I know you're a busy woman. Please, sit." Campbell motions to the seat across from him.
Bellina glances at Freddy as she pulls out the chair and settles into it. He raises a brow at her but she subtly shakes her head, heat flooding into her cheeks.
"Before we get into logistics," Campbell says, "tell me how you are. What's new? How's your work at the shelter going?"
She relaxes a bit and meets his gaze. His mahogany eyes are gentle, warm, but professional. This man is the only person left who understands where she comes from but, ultimately, this is just his job.
"The shelter's good," she tells him. "Same as always."
"Very nice. Still no cats for you?"
Bellina's chuckle is high, her lips painfully tight. "No, I'm afraid not."
"Well, give yourself time," he says as if he could possibly understand. "I don't know how you live all alone out there without an animal or companion."
She swallows harshly, her hands curling into the tops of her jeans.
"Anyway," he continues, "are you still seeing the therapist?"
Her eyelids rub against her corneas like sandpaper as the blinks. "Yes."
"Are you doing alright?"
"Yep."
Campbell drums his fingers on the laminate tabletop and analyzes her face. "Remember how this works, honey. We need to maintain honest communication."
'I don't even want it!' she wants to cry. 'I don't even want their stupid money!'
Feeling the familiar burn in her eyes, Bellina twists her face away and tries to blink the moisture away before he can notice. She looks back at Campbell and notices Freddy is still there, intently watching. He looks concerned. She swallows again to force the mortification and hovering grief away.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Campbell asks. "You seem more . . . restless than usual."
Bellina sucks in a long breath. "I'm just a little sleep deprived. I didn't sleep well last night."
How can she explain to him that this meeting is the reason she's a wreck without offending him?
Campbell looks at her like he doesn't believe her but withholds from saying anything more. "Okay. Well, you know you can call if you need anything."
She nods mutely, suddenly exhausted.
He pulls his briefcase into his lap and pulls out a Manila folder. She doesn't even have to read the laminated tab to know BELLINA CASTER is printed there in bold, upper case letter. Splaying the folder on the surface between them, Campbell begins retrieving the ledger documents from inside.
"As usual," he says, pointing at the yellow highlighted column on the right side of the page, "you have zero withdrawals or deposits." Then he points to the other side at a blue highlight column of numbers that is much longer. "This is how much you profited from stocks and investments."
Even though each line strikes a nail into her bleeding heart, Bellina forces herself to read the details carefully. Since their last meeting six months ago, her accounts in quarter four of last year and quarter one of this year have grown a grand total of $2,598,951. The fourth quarter produced significantly less than usual by nearly half a million.
"Quarter four was low," she notes, her voice robotic and chilled.
She could care less what is in that damned account, but she can't stop herself from making the obvious observation. Her parents will roll in their graves if she doesn't pay attention. This was the sum of their lives, after all—the only thing of them she still has to cling to. She has not even the fluffy Siamese they gifted her on her tenth birthday. Everything is gone. Everything but this.
"Yes," Campbell says, "there was a drop in stocks. I assure you, Belle, that it will go back to normal soon. It always does."
The nickname fazes her again. She blinks repeatedly before attempting to swallow and finding her throat filled with sorrow.
'Call me Bellina!' she wants to yell at him. 'Never use that name again.'
But she doesn't have the strength or courage to. She can't even think of that nickname without seeing her father's kind eyes and stubbly chin.
"Bellina?" he says.
Her eyes snap back into focus on his clean shaven cheeks. "Yes, I understand," she says. "The market ebbs and flows. It's alright."
Her voice is still flat and she knows he's going to be worried, that he's going to make a note in her file and call the therapist. Still, she can't bring herself to care. She just wants this conversation to be over so she can go back to living her new life and forget all about the family she no longer has for another six months.
"Do you have any questions?" he asks.
"No, that's all. Thank you, Campbell."
He nods, his critical eyes measuring the unusual stiffness in her face. "How is the cafe doing? Do you have gross receipts for me?"
Bellina momentarily jolts out of her stupor. "Yes. They're in my office. Just give me one moment."
She seizes her opportunity to get away by hastily rising from the chair, accidentally knocking it over, and then jogging to her office in the back of the building. Her hand automatically moves to the light switch and illuminates the small, squared room. Her desk is tidy, the desktop almost permanently turned off from lack of use. Once Bellina finds the folder in her filing cabinet, she takes a deep breath and forces herself back out into the dining area.
Campbell sets his phone aside. She slips back into her chair and places the cafe's financial records before him. He glances over them, skimming through each page, before sliding them into his brief case.
"Looks like you're doing well enough," he says. "And you still are surviving solely off the profits?"
Considering she only tapped into her trust fund once in order to open the cafe, Bellina chooses to rely on the cafe as her only stream of income. It isn't much—hardly what the teachers at the county school make—but she doesn't need much. She doesn't travel or have kids or entertain expensive hobbies. Her days of a luxury life are long, long over.
"That's correct," she tells him.
He sighs and nods, resigned. "Remember that you don't need to suffer, Bellina. Don't be ashamed to use the gift your parents left behind for you."
She can't even speak through the tightness of her throat and those damn tears are fighting to flood her eyes. All she can manage is a rigid nod. Campbell clips the clasp on his worn leather briefcase and stands. He extends his hand to her.
"Thank you for taking time for me today," he says as she rises to her feet and places her small palm in his. They shake firmly and pull away. "I'll be in touch."
With that, he turns and saunters over to the door. While he squeezes his monstrous figure through the threshold, Bellina glances at Freddy's table. It's vacant, though, which means that he left at some point and she didn't realize it.
The realization that she's finally alone sends the wave of emotion crashing over her. She crumples back into the chair with a sob, burying her wet face into her hands. A knock sounds from somewhere around her but she ignores it. The gaping hole in her heart is gasping for air, for life. Whoever is knocking can read the sign and go away.
To her annoyance, the knocker doesn't get the hint. Bellina lifts her face from her slippery hands and the breath leaves her body. It's that man. The one she dreamt about. He pauses the incessant knocking, his hand raised over the glass, as their eyes connect. She feels the color drain from her face.
His cobalt eyes pierce right through her. The lean length of his body is dressed in black trousers and a dark blue wool sweater. He isn't wearing a hat today, so his bronze locks hang loose and wavy. Her heart flips inside her at the recollection of her dream from last night.
'What is he doing here again?' she wonders, her grief temporarily distracted.
When she doesn't make a move to approach the door, the man starts banging his fist against the glass again. Her features draw together in a scowl. She pushes herself off the chair and walks over to the door. He observes her carefully but in a different way than Campbell. The way this man's eyes float over her makes her thighs clench. She peers up into his intense gaze and feels the tears drain from her eyes. Breathing through her nose, she tries not to think about how much more breathtaking this man is in person.
"We're closed," she says loud enough to be heard
through the door.
Without taking his eyes off her, he points at the closed sign. "Not according to your sign. It's 11:31."
'Already!" she thinks, stifling a gasp.
Bellina wets her lips before nodding. She shouldn't be turning away customers anyway. They are her livelihood, after all. Sighing, she unlocks the door and opens it, stepping aside to let the man in. He glides into her cafe, glances over her again, and then strides over to the order counter. She rolls her eyes.
'Did he not just see my bawling my eyes out?' she scoffs internally.
Nevertheless, she joins him across the counter and takes his order.
"Small black coffee," he tells her.
She taps the order into her monitor, her professional guise taking back over. "Can I get you anything else? I have fresh scones baking in the back."
"No. Just the coffee."
She reads his total and takes his cash. Today he hands her a twenty-dollar bill and walks off before she can offer him the change. After she pours his drink, she begins to carry it over to him but fails to notice the small puddle that has accumulated under the milk frother from Freddy's latte. Her flats catch in the puddle and slide treacherously out from under her.
"Oh!" she cries lightly before crashing down onto her ass and spilling the scalding coffee all over her.
She sits on the floor for a moment to gather her wits and wait for the agonizing initial sting of the coffee to go away. By some miracle, she didn't break the ceramic mug on her way down. Just as she remembers her customer and hopes he didn't notice, she looks up to find him leering over the counter.
"Jesus," he mutters. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she huffs, pushing herself off the ground and avoids his eyes. Her cheeks feel like she's been standing in a wildfire. "I'll make a fresh cup and bring it to you."
The man lingers by the counter while she disposes of the empty cup in the sink and returns to the front. She ignores him and pours a new mug. When she's ready to take it to him, he's still standing by the register. Finally, she looks up into his face.
"So you won't slip and spill my coffee again," he says, holding out a hand towards her.
She hands the mug over to him with a look of utter defeat. "I apologize for the inconvenience, sir."
His long, cool fingers brush against hers as they wrap around the mug. The man says nothing before turning away with his coffee. Bellina glances down at her soaked, hot shirt and sighs.