The Memory Of How We Met

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The trees around us were covered in a heavy dusting of snow; the sky was a mix of crimson pink and purple.

My mind wandered back to the memory of how we met.

I had met Bradley for the first time at the corner coffee shop, by the bookstore I owned back then. I didn’t even notice his perfect dark curly hair or his piercing blue eyes as he held the door open for me; I was too busy struggling to close my broken umbrella. Swearing under my breath, I took my place in line with my dripping-wet hair. They were out of the lavender latte - as if my day could have gotten worse - my simple daily pleasure wasn’t even available. I guess I let out a sigh of complete annoyance because the next thing I knew, the man behind me popped his head over my shoulder, “Claire, make her a rosewater latte in a mug and toss in the vanilla bean cruffin - add it to my tab. Get me my usual too.”

Then he flashed his boyish smirk at me and motioned for me to sit with him at a small table near the window.

“It looks like you’re having a bad day - want to talk about it?” He asked before I even sat down.

“You didn’t need to do that. I can order my own drink. I don’t need someone to save me. I don’t know who you think you are, just ordering people things you THINK they’ll like...” I said defensively.

He cut me off, “Woah. Let’s start over - I’m Bradley. I work here.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.

He continued, “well actually as of 3 weeks ago, I own this place. You come in here a lot and I know you’re the lavender latte, extra hot, half-sweet girl. You usually take it in a mug and sit here, at this window."

He carried on, "the rosewater latte isn’t on the menu yet, but it’s a pretty good contender. I didn’t mean to jump in like that - it’s just sometimes you feel like you know your regulars.”

“Oh my god, I’m such an asshole. You’re the other barista always making the drinks." I said, feeling mortified as I slumped into the seat across from him.

“I prefer Baristo.” He said with a smile.

I laughed at his corny joke. His hand was still hanging in the air, waiting for the shake. I took it and said, “I’m Olive.”

I started to apologize, “I swear I’m not usually this rude, I'm having a shit day. They’re tearing down the building where my bookshop is. I just got the eviction notice today. I have to be out by the end of the month.”

I felt a tear trickle down my face, wiping it away as quickly as it came. We were interrupted by the barista as she dropped off our order.

“That really sucks. I’m sorry.” He whispered.

I took a sip of the latte, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we won’t.”

So we didn’t talk about it anymore. He understood exactly what I needed.

Before I knew it, it was dark out and we were the only ones left inside. We had spent the last few hours so enthralled in conversation - it felt like no time had passed at all.

I looked at my phone, “oh my god, it’s almost 9 PM!" I got up and shifted to leave. "I need to get back to the shop and figure out what to do with...well, everything."

As I reached for the door, I turned to him, "Thanks for this; I needed it. I’m so sorry for keeping you.”

The door shut behind me and I started back towards the shop.

"Hey!! Olive! You forgot your umbrella!"

He was already walking towards me with the umbrella in hand. "You know, I could come help you at the shop if you need anything. I could eat, and you could probably use some food too..." he said sheepishly as he handed the umbrella over to me.

I thought about it for a moment, “okay, but dinner is on me then. Any special requests?”

“Surprise me.”

"Challenge accepted."

"I'm just going to close up, I'll be right there. It's around the corner right?"

"Yup - The Last Bookshop On The Left."

I turned, opened my phone, and placed an order for Shrimp Chips, a Beef Pad Gra Prow and a Chicken Pad Thai - extra spicy.

I found myself smiling; I didn’t want the night to end either.

Standing in front of the shop, I took a moment to take it in. It had a bright red door with a window on it. It was a narrow space - a converted two-story loft. A little lop-sided if you ask me, but I loved the character it had. I unlocked the door and stepped in. Inside, it had a black metal spiral staircase in the middle of the room, connecting to the second-floor balcony. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves from top to bottom on both floors. The upper floor had a dark pink velvet couch for reading and forest green wallpaper. The main floor had different-sized vintage tables I had thrifted to showcase different book categories. I had a tea station in the back corner with mismatched cups and saucers.

“Wow. This place looks awesome.” Bradley had entered the shop while I was lost in thought. I watched him as his eyes scanned the space, taking in every corner, nook, and cranny. The moonlight from outside was hitting him just right.

The moment was interrupted by a knock on the window, it was the food. We spent the evening on the floor, in a fort we built from boxes and books, eating Thai food with forks. We took turns reading lines from our favourite authors. We laughed a lot. I cried about my bookshop dreams. He told me about his brothers on his family farm. I told him about my life back in Canada - before my parents died. We talked about everything. Somewhere between the light sound of the pitter-patter on the window and the empty take-out containers on the floor, I felt like I had known him my whole life.

He kissed me that night for the first time. And I think I knew, at that moment, I loved him. Call me crazy, but I knew it.

We rounded a corner and my mind snapped back to the car. It was dark now.

“We’re almost there.” He said, barely in my direction.

As it came into view, the cozy A-frame cabin, I felt the gravity of what this weekend meant for us. It was a last-ditch effort to save our marriage.