We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye: a time travel romance, page 1
WE JUST COULDN’T SAY GOODBYE
LAYNE DEEMER
Copyright © 2023 by Layne Deemer (laynedeemer.com)
All rights reserved.
Proofread by Marla Selkow Esposito (proofingstyle.com)
Cover design by Murphy Rae (murphyrae.com)
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Adam because the simple life is always the happiest and the happiest life is with you
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story was inspired by a playlist I discovered on Spotify. The moment I started listening to it, these characters came to life in my head and I put everything else on hold while I told their story. If you want to listen to Cole and Sylvie’s music, you can find it here.
Please note, due to adult content, my books are recommended for readers age 18 or older.
For a detailed list of content/trigger warnings, please visit my website.
Thank you!
CHAPTER ONE
“Careful!” I call out to the elderly man beside me. He was about to plunge his foot into a puddle, but thankfully, I caught him in time. He smiles and turns the corner, giving me a wave over his shoulder. I grin, feeling like I’ve done my good deed for the day.
But no good deed goes unpunished.
As I approach the road, a blue minivan comes careening around the corner. Its back tire dips toward the curb and into the tiny river of water flowing toward the storm drain. I’m standing too close, but I have no time to react as a spray of dark, polluted rainwater flies out of the street and onto my leg, where it runs down into my shoe.
“Well, that’s just perfect,” I mutter.
The van continues driving, unaware of the destruction left in its wake. Or maybe they saw it all. Maybe they’re filming me right now, and I’ll be the next viral video.
I can see it now. WOMAN STANDS LIKE A DROWNED RAT AFTER GETTING PELTED WITH RAINWATER
Fantastic.
How am I supposed to go to work like this? If Jackie sees me, I’ll never hear the end of it. But I’m too far away from home to turn back. If I do, I’ll never make it in time.
I stand motionless on the sidewalk, ticking my head back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. I could go home and call in and say I’m running late.
Jackie would have a field day with that.
No, I’m not giving her the ammunition. She’s had her eye on my corner office ever since I moved in last month. She’s been hard at work, trying to find an angle to weasel in and swipe it from me.
But I can’t show up looking like this. I need to at least dry off.
I hear the faint sounds of old music. The kind with muted trumpets and a slow, even tempo. It takes me a moment to figure out where it’s coming from, but I follow the sound across the street and stop in front of a small brick cafe with a wide, curtained window and a quaint little sign that reads Cole’s Cafe.
Funny. I’ve never noticed it before, but I don’t usually walk to work this way. My normal route is under construction, and I was catcalled enough yesterday to last me a lifetime.
I’m sure this cafe must have a bathroom. I could pop in and attempt to dry off my leg and try to salvage my leather Mary Jane.
When I push the door open, I’m not at all surprised to hear a little bell. This is exactly the sort of place that would have that detail. I give the interior a once-over, finding it cozy and warm. It’s also rather empty at the moment, which is a little mortifying for me. I had hoped to not call much attention to myself, planning to slip into the bathroom and back out without being noticed, or at least only marginally noticed.
There’s a row of small round tables along the wall, each with two chairs pushed into them. A long white counter lines the right of the cafe. Actually, it takes up the entire wall. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a lengthy counter. Round silver stools with bright orange cushions are dotted around the counter. They’re the kind that have been cemented into the ground, and I bet if I sat on one, it would spin.
“Hi there, miss. What can I get for ya?” a rich, deep voice calls from somewhere behind the counter. I’m a bit stunned because I didn’t notice anyone when I first walked in. And now that I’m looking, I still don’t.
“Um, hello?”
A man pops up with a rag in his hand. He’s wearing a white apron and a dazzling grin. “Sorry. I was just filling up the ice tray,” he tells me while running the white rag along the counter in wide circles.
My smile is shy when I respond. “I didn’t see you there when I came in.”
He smiles back, but there’s nothing timid about him. “What can I get started for you?”
“Oh, uh,” I stammer, resting a shaky hand over my rapidly beating heart. “I was actually just hoping to use your restroom.” I wince as the words leave my mouth. This place is empty, and I’ve never seen it before. Maybe it’s new. Maybe I’m his first customer, and here I am, just asking where the toilets are.
“Sure thing. It’s just straight back and on your right,” he says, not missing a beat.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. But that’s kind of what I do—always creating made-up scenarios in my head designed to make me feel like shit.
I slink to the back of the cafe and find the bathrooms right where he said they’d be. Classic silhouettes of a man and a woman decorate each door. I try the knob on the women’s restroom and it turns with ease. I let out a tiny sigh of relief. I hate when the door is locked and I feel like I’m interrupting someone at a time when no one wants to be interrupted. It’s even worse when they call out, “Someone’s in here!” The awkward mortification I feel in those situations usually forces me to forgo using the bathroom. I can’t risk waiting and coming face-to-face with the person who was inside. I’ve been known to hold my pee for hours in those situations. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had so many bladder infections.
Once inside, I immediately notice how stark white and clean the bathroom is. It’s a tiny one-stall room with a little white pedestal sink. There’s a dark wooden table next to the sink with paper towels stacked in a neat tower. I grab one off the top and run it under the water. Giving my leg a few swipes, I clean off the grimy smear of dried street water. Lovely. With a new paper towel, I focus on my shoe. It’s not as bad as I thought, thankfully, but there does seem to be a small water stain on the toe. I do the best I can with water and a little soap, and once I’m satisfied, I stroll back into the cafe. My fingers are crossed at my side as I exit the bathroom, hoping some customers have materialized since I’ve been gone.
They haven’t.
The man behind the counter lifts his head when he hears my footsteps, even though I tried to move quietly. I’ve read about smiling eyes before, but I’ve never seen them. Until now.
“Found it okay?” he asks, though he doesn’t need to.
“I did. Thank you.”
He nods, still smiling. “You look like you could use a nice hot cup of coffee. Have a seat, and I’ll fix you up.” He tips his head toward the row of empty stools, and before I can decline his offer, his back is turned, and he’s pulling a coffee cup down from a shelf.
I don’t have time for coffee, but I don’t feel like I can refuse it. Not after he let me use his bathroom. I walk to the counter and ease onto a stool. They’re the kind that goes pshhh when you sit down. The orange pleather covers a spongy foam. Once I’m situated, I shift my body a bit to the left. Yep, it spins. I smile. I knew it would.
He places a little white saucer in front of me and glides a cup on top. It’s filled three-quarters of the way with dark, amber liquid. The steam wafts up from the cup, and I inhale, collecting the magical aroma like it’s manna from heaven. I love coffee.
“Let me get you some cream and sugar.” He spins around and moves deftly behind the counter, collecting a porcelain bowl and a tiny pitcher. “There you are,” he says, setting the bowl of sugar cubes and a small pitcher of cream in front of me. I’ve never had coffee served this way. So quaint and old-fashioned. I like it.
I deposit two cubes into my cup and enough cream to turn the color a light tan. Using the spoon he rested on the saucer he gave me, I stir the coffee a few times, tapping the spoon along the rim of the cup before setting it back on the saucer.
The man is busying himself on the other side of the counter but keeps glancing my way. I get the feeling he’d like to talk, but maybe he’s afraid he’ll bother me. Honestly, I’d welcome the conversation. Nothing bothers me quite like silence.
“So,” I say, my voice slicing through the quiet like a knife. “I’ve never noticed this place before. How long has it been open?”
He eyes me curiously. “You must not come this way often.”
I nod. “Not very, no.”
“This place has been in my family for twenty years. My grandfather first opened it as a five-and-dime, but over the years it’s morphed as it’s changed hands. It’s been a cafe since I took over five years ago.”
“Wow. I had no idea. So, Cole is—”
“My grandfather,” he says, grinning. “And my dad. And also, me.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “Truly a family affair, then.”
He laughs. “Yes, you could say that.”
I take a sip of my coffee. Simple and perfect. I close my eyes, savoring the taste. It’s then that I notice the music. It’s coming from somewhere off in the distance. There doesn’t seem to be a speaker system in place, so wherever it is, it must be flowing out of a lone speaker somewhere. It’s instrumental ambient type music with muted trumpets and a crooning man. It’s haunting and old-fashioned and the perfect fit for this little cafe that time seems to have forgotten.
“This music,” I say. “It’s—”
“Distracting?” he offers.
“I was gonna say soothing, actually.”
“Are you sure? Because I can turn it off. It’s no problem.” He moves toward the back left corner behind the counter. A small deco-style radio in a worn cherry wood finish is perched next to a rack of dishes.
“What is this place?” I mumble.
Cole rests a hand on top of the ancient radio. “Shall I change the station?”
“No, it’s nice.” He watches me. “Really,” I add when it looks like he doesn’t believe me.
He waltzes back toward me. “May I ask your name?”
Everything he says sounds so polite. So formal. It’s oddly refreshing.
“You may.” I smile. “It’s Sylvia, but everyone calls me Sylvie.”
“Well, Miss Sylvie, it’s sure nice to meet you.” He extends his hand, and I stare at it for a moment. “Go on. I won’t bite, much.” He winks.
We shake hands, and it’s, well, strange. This whole interaction is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Our moment is cut short when the door flies open, and a large, imposing man bursts in. “Give me a coffee, Cole. And while you’re at it, how’s about a piece of apple pie, too? And don’t be stingy this time, you hear?” He waddles over, plopping onto a stool two seats down from me.
“Sure thing, Ollie,” Cole says, letting go of my hand.
As he preps Ollie’s coffee, it gives me a moment to collect myself, and I quickly remember—“Oh, shit, I’m gonna be late for work,” I whisper under my breath.
“How much do I owe you?” I call out to Cole.
He glances up from the pie he’s about to cut into. “It’s on the house.” He smiles widely.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Hey,” Ollie interrupts. “How come my coffee isn’t free?”
Cole chuckles. “Because you’re here every day, Ollie. You’d put me out of business.”
“Fair,” Ollie agrees.
“Well, thank you for the coffee and, um, letting me use your bathroom.”
I’m just about to open the door when he says, “Anytime, Sylvie. Anytime.”
With a tight-lipped smile, I nod, and then I leave.
CHAPTER TWO
“Syl?”
“Hmm,” I hum. The vibration in my throat reminding me of the low bass wafting out of that old radio in the coffee shop.
“Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said?” Melanie’s voice is louder now, with an irritated pitch.
I blink a few times to clear the fog, but it’s pointless. My body is here in the office, but my mind is back at Cole’s Cafe, sipping warm coffee out of a porcelain cup.
“Sorry,” I tell my friend. My only friend, who also happens to be my assistant. “I had a second cup of coffee this morning, and I’m beginning to feel the crash that comes after the energy burst.” I stop short of telling her where I had that second cup. Cole’s is a hidden gem, and I’m not sure I’m ready to share it just yet.
Melanie nods. She’s a Starbucks junkie, so she’s well-versed in the highs and lows of caffeine. “Anyway, as I was saying, you have a two o’clock with Allison to go over this month’s numbers. I printed out a spreadsheet for you.” She hands me a stapled packet of papers. “Oh, and there’s an extra copy in there for her, too.”
“Thanks, Mel. What would I do without you?”
“Fall flat on your face, of course,” she says, not missing a beat and making us both laugh.
She sashays out of my office, closing the door with a gentle click. I’m left alone with my thoughts. Is it weird that they keep taking me back to Cole and his little cafe? It is weird, isn’t it? I mean, I was only in there for half an hour. It’s not like it was anything life-changing.
Still, there was something special about the place. It’s a little out of my way, but I’m already planning on waking up a little earlier to stop in again.
A sharp knock on my door pulls me out of my reverie. I open my mouth to tell whomever it is to come in, but the door swings open before I have the chance.
Jackie waltzes in like we share the office. Breezing past my desk to stand in front of the window. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Of course, she doesn’t. This is the game she plays. The power move where she tries to make herself my superior. She’s not. If anything, I rank above her if a ranking system existed here, which it doesn’t. Not formally anyway. What we have is more of a status situation. Take our offices, for instance. Hers is down the hall and on the opposite side of mine. It’s an interior walled-in room with no windows and is about half the size of my office. There’s also a matter of how long we’ve been employed here at Dylan and Forsyth Design. This October will mark my fifth year working here, whereas Jackie is just shy of her second.
We don’t have titles here. Allison Dylan doesn’t believe in them. She says she finds them tasteless and limiting. But if I had one, it would be Chief Financial Officer, and if Jackie had one, it would be Senior Accountant. Both are important, but one is vital, and the other is, well, not as much.
“What can I do for you, Jackie?” I ask with a sigh.
“You meet with Allison today.”
“I do.”
“I thought I should take a look over the report to make sure the numbers are accurate.” She stays facing the window like she can’t be bothered to look at me. It’s dismissive and really fucking irritating, as is her assumption that the numbers I’ve compiled are somehow wrong.
It takes everything in me to keep the annoyance out of my voice when I respond. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
That gets her attention enough for her eyes to swing my way. They settle on my nose. I know this trick. I’ve used it myself. If you look at someone’s nose, it gives the illusion that you’re looking them in the eye. It’s fairly effective, unless used on someone familiar with the tactic.
