Free LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) by T. S. Ellis

I doing? I didn’t want to do this and yet I did. Oh, crap. I’d really fallen for his line about meeting new people being interesting. Yes, it’s true, it can be stimulating to meet new people. But it can also be stressful and boring.
    The wind had enlisted the river as an accomplice. Being next to water always made the temperature seem a couple of degrees cooler than it was. Most of the time I stared down at the ground as I walked, to keep the wind out of my face.
    The closer I got to Kingston, the more nervous I became. I had to keep my hands in my pockets to stop them shaking. Was it worth putting myself through this? I wasn’t ready. I should turn around. But then I would have to explain to Carl why I’d done that. And I would have to explain. I couldn’t be rude and not call him.
    I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I passed Russell, the imaginary Russell, on the way, sitting on one of the benches lining the path. He didn’t say anything and nor did I. We exchanged uncomfortable glances. I returned to looking down at the path.
    One minute the café seemed miles away, the next its sign was in right front of me, bringing my walk to a sudden halt. I peered in through the windows. I couldn’t see Carl inside. Not a sign of him. I was both relieved and disappointed. Looking at my watch, it was two o’clock. My wobbly legs had done well to get me here on time.
    I decided to go in anyway and sat at one of the tables. When a waitress dressed in a traditional apron asked me what I wanted, I didn’t say I was waiting for someone. I just said I hadn’t made my mind up. She said she’d come back in a couple of minutes.
    I sat there trying to make up my mind.  

10. A date of sorts

    I HADN’T PUT his name in my phone’s address book, so his name didn’t come up on the caller ID. But I recognised his number when my phone began ringing.
    “Fay, I’m sorry, I’m going to be ten minutes late. I got held up.”
    “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll see you in ten.”
    I put the phone away.  
    It’s funny. When you have a limited amount of information about someone you don’t know what kind of importance to attach to it. He was late. Did this mean he was always late? I’m not a fan of people who are late. It’s discourteous. But it seems to be a disease with some people. They have no sense of time. Was this what he was like?
    The waitress returned to my table. This time I told her I was waiting for someone. She asked me if I wanted a drink in the meantime. I didn’t know what to say. If I ordered a drink I’d have to stay at least for a while. I couldn’t bolt.
    “Yes, please. I’ll have a coffee.”
    I like being alone in cafés. I like watching people as they talk to each other, trying to work out their histories, imagining what is going on in their lives.
    Café Amélie is a large café set up more for eating than drinking, but they serve you even if you just want a coffee. It’s decorated in a typical French style, with traditional, almost rustic, furniture.
    My eye wandered around the patrons. There was a couple who couldn’t take their eyes off each other. The woman lifted her cup of coffee with both hands. But she didn’t take a sip. She stared at her companion. Her eyes were smiling. She looked so happy.
    I looked in another corner. A couple of guys were taking their seats. One of them looked just like Russell.
    It was Russell.
    It definitely was Russell. Not the one I kept talking to in my head, not my imaginary one, but the real one. It was him.  
    For a while I was transfixed. I watched him take a seat. He sat with his back to me, so I had little chance of being spotted. And his friend wasn't somebody I recognised. I didn't want to attract his friend's attention by staring, in case he thought I fancied him and brought my behaviour to Russell’s attention.
    So I kept looking away.
    Only to return to that back, Russell’s back with the straight posture. He was wearing a short jacket I