Forever Tastes Like You

If you've ever worked in the service industry, then you would understand that the last hour of a late-night closing shift is a special kind of hell. Alone in the store, I found myself watching time go by agonizingly slow until, finally, it reached ten thirty. This meant there was only half an hour left until I was free to lock up and go home for the night, just to come back the next day and do it all again.

I worked at the Cask and Cork, the only liquor store in the incredibly small town of Hamlin. Everyone knew everyone else, and half of them thought that entitled them to comment on what I was still doing, living in my hometown at twenty-five instead of running off to the big city. The Cask and Cork sat directly across from the Pourhouse, which was the only bar in town. Everyone over the age of eighteen flocked to it just about every night.

My boss, Harold, was ancient but kind, the sort of man who treated employees like family whether they wanted it or not. His wife had passed years ago, and his kids were long gone. He doted on me and Miranda, who was my best friend and the cashier on the morning shift. I admired him, especially for buying the empty building across from the Pourhouse. Risky on paper, brilliant in hindsight.

“You’ll see, Elise,” he had said on opening day two years ago. “We’ll be rich before you can say absinthe.”

“I can barely say it sober,” I had replied, and he laughed.

I decided that it was time to get something done before I closed up, so I grabbed an invoice from the afternoon beer delivery, which was still waiting for me in the back room. Counting cases was certainly not my idea of fun, but there hadn't been another soul in the store for a few hours, and I had finished all of my other work besides cleaning.

The front doorbell rang just as I had crouched beside the last pallet.

I sighed, stood, and smoothed my rumpled t-shirt and messy black waves before pushing through the back room door. No one was there.

Whoever it was that had walked in had to have been in the walk-in cooler, but at this point, I didn't care. Customer, drunk asshole, bored ghost, I was open to surprises. I rested my elbows on the counter and closed my eyes, appreciating the peace and quiet.

For two minutes. Maybe less.

“Excuse me, gorgeous. Do you have time to serve me, or should I leave you to your beauty rest?”

The voice was rich and warm, like melting dark chocolate. The accent was wrong for Hamlin; everyone else around here sounded the same.

I opened my eyes and lifted my head.

The man at the counter was tall enough to touch the ceiling if he felt like it. Well over six feet, broad-shouldered, and sun-kissed like he belonged somewhere warmer than rural Alberta. A deep purple shirt clung to muscle and was tucked neatly into a pair of black dress pants. One button at his collar was undone, and ivy tattoos wrapped around both arms and disappeared beneath the fabric across his chest.

I always had a weakness for men with tattoos.

His dark brown curls brushed his shoulders, framing a firm, lightly stubbled jaw and a smile that suggested he enjoyed being admired. When his blue eyes met mine, he tilted his head and ran a large hand through his hair. There was a flash of metal, and I briefly wondered if he had an earring.

I realized I was staring, and cleared my throat. “That depends. Are you here to buy something, or are you just trying to distract the staff?”

His charming smile slowly widened. “Multitasking has always been one of my strengths.”

I grabbed the scanner. “Of course.”

He set a basket on the counter. “For now, I’ll take these. I’ll be back tomorrow for more, assuming I survive the night.”

“Bold assumption,” I said, scanning the first item. “Hamlin can be dangerous after ten, especially in this weather.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

I still could not place his accent, but I already knew I would never get tired of hearing it.

As I scanned, my eyebrow lifted. Loose shots, a box of coolers, a tall can of cheap beer, and tucked beneath it all was a bottle of rum worth over four hundred dollars. I glanced up at him. “Are you hosting a party? Not to seem impolite, but this is a weird assortment you've got going on.”

He leaned an elbow on the counter, lowering his voice to a smooth purr. “I prefer to keep my options open.”

His cologne drifted closer to me, and he smelled like jasmine and orange blossom, two of my favourite scents.

“Is that a crime?” he added, eyes flicking to my name tag. “Elise?”

I smirked. “Not unless you start flirting with the cashier for a discount.”

“Flirting?” He pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. “Ομορφιά μου, I am merely appreciating your excellent service.”

“And my sparkling personality?”

“Especially that.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile as I manually typed in a stubborn barcode. “Believe it or not, people try it all the time.”

“Oh, I can believe it."

“That’ll be $542.39,” I replied, placing everything into two plastic bags.

The man straightened, pulled out a black leather wallet, and dropped a thick stack of bills onto the counter without counting. “Keep the change.”

I counted the money for him. And then I counted again.

“This is more than a thousand dollars?” I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice, and it came out more like a question rather than a statement as I stared up at him.

He blinked once, then smiled. “Ah. Too much?”

“Um, yes!”

He looked around, amused. “I never know how much to tip in new places.”

“You’re about six hundred dollars off,” I said, dropping the extra bills back onto the counter and toward him. “And we do not accept tips.”

“How tragic.”

I reached for the register. “I’ll get your change.”

He waved me off and lifted his bags. He was at the door before he glanced back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Άγγελός μου.”

I scooped the bills off the counter. "No, wait! Sir!" I called out, but the door closed before he could hear me, and I watched as he sauntered off down the darkened street.

Clutching his money in my fist, I reminded myself that we were not allowed to keep tips. The thought that I might get in trouble for this made my stomach knot. He said he would see me tomorrow. I decided to hold onto it until he came back.

I folded his money carefully and slipped it into the register drawer marked for misplaced cash.

"At least he took my mind off the time," I said to myself as I watched the clock change to 11. A quick walk to the front door, and I flipped the sign to CLOSED and locked it. I ran the end-of-day report, turned off the lights, set the alarm, and took one last look around before grabbing my jacket.

By the time I stepped outside, the air had gone sharp with cold. The Pourhouse was still pulsing with life across the road, laughter spilling faintly through its doors. I started the walk home, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, my thoughts anything but settled.

I told myself I was only interested in seeing the charming stranger again so I could return his money. It definitely wasn't because I was attracted to him. Definitely not.

I wasn't fooling anyone.

The walk felt longer than usual, my mind replaying his voice, the way he had said my name, the way he looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the store. I caught myself smiling, then immediately frowned at the pavement, grateful that it was dark enough outside that no one could see my face.

My house sat a few blocks from the library, tucked between two larger places that made it look even smaller than it already was. I had scored a fantastic deal renting it thanks to Harold. He had worked some magic with a friend who had moved out but didn’t want to sell, since they had a son who would need a place of his own once he graduated. I took care of maintaining the place throughout the year, and in return, I enjoyed ridiculously low rent. The only catch was I had to vacate by summer, but that felt eons away.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, kicking my shoes off by the mat. I flicked on the lamp in the living room, warm light spilling across the couch and mismatched furniture I had collected from trips to the city.

I shrugged out of my jacket and dropped it over the back of a chair. Usually, I could tolerate the quiet and being on my own, but tonight it made me feel more restless than usual.

My bedroom was small but neat, the bed tucked against the wall next to A single window that looked out onto the quiet street, the curtains half drawn.

I changed into my pyjamas, shook my hair out of its tie, and crawled into bed with my phone. For a long moment, I just stared at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around me.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me.

I opened Google, and did my best impression of the words he had said to me before he left.

"Άγγελός μου."

My heart gave an annoying little skip as the translation appeared.

My angel.

I let out a slow breath and dropped the phone onto the mattress beside me, covering my eyes with one arm.

“Of course, that's what it means,” I muttered to the empty room.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.