Scott was scrawling away when the bell on the cafe door jangled. He was surprised to see the girl from the stationery shop step in. She scanned the room as her eyes adjusted from the summer brightness outside. The moment she saw him her face lit up and she strode to his table.
"Eager to get started, huh?" She hovered, clasping her forearms. "I love a man who gets straight to things."
"Uh, yes, miss. Just ducked in here to get out of the heat and get the hang of this pen."
Scott rose and offered her a seat. A polite wave at the cafe owner behind the counter was all it took for the girl to get an iced tea.
"I never introduced myself before, did I?" she said. "My name's Larissa. Lara."
He shook her soft hand. "Scott. And actually, miss, you wrote your name on the back of the receipt."
"Did I? Oh, dear. That's against store policy." She shrugged, flashing a coy smile. "Guess I just wanted you to have help if you needed it. Like I said, fountain pens can be tricky."
Earlier that afternoon, she had popped up again and again while he browsed the stationery store, asking if he needed help finding anything. When Scott asked about fountain pens, she spent 10 minutes trying to convince him he didn't need one, then another 20 getting him to try every other type of pen in the shop.
But Scott was stubborn: if a fountain pen was good enough for his Pa, it was good enough for him. He left with a starter pen, ink cartridges, and a journal that had an elastic strap to keep it closed.
She was pretty. Loose curly hair cut into some sophisticated bob, fine features and piercing dark eyes.
Back at the shop, he wasn't sure she had been flirting—he could never tell with city girls—but he was damn sure now with the way she was gazing at him.
She leaned over to peer at his journal, the gap in her silken blouse exposing a good view of medium-sized braless breasts. Scott forced his eyes North. It was rude to look if it wasn't offered.
"You're doing well," she said. "First time I tried, I leaked ink through the first five pages."
"I've been careful," said Scott. "But I get what you said about the hand." He held up his left hand, the outside edge stained blue from mid-pinky to wrist.
"Told you," she said, holding up her own left hand to reveal the same stains. She leaned to his ear then whispered, "We lefties are the creative ones, you know." The closeness of her body and her voice made him shiver. Faint perfume teased his senses.
Lara took his hand, turning it over, studying. "You might be pressing too hard. When you come to the shop next time, I'll get you some of the fast-dry waterproof ink." She massaged his palm with her thumb. "Wow. Strong hands." Then she squeezed his forearm. "Strong everything, from the looks of you."
"Farm work," he said.
"Oh, so you're just visiting the city?"
"No, I mean I grew up on a farm. I work in town now."
Lara smiled. Sitting back in her seat, she said, "I know a farm joke. Want to hear it? Why do cows have hooves instead of feet? Because they lactose!" She grinned. "Get it? Lack toes?"
"It wasn't that hard," Scott said, giving her his best polite smile. He wondered if she was trying to be cute, or if she was always that way?
"I'd better write that down." From her bag, Lara produced her own worn journal.
"I've been journaling forever," she said. "It's therapy for me. You look too sturdy to need therapy, though."
"Uh, well guess I kinda do. They said to write stuff down to sort things out. But damned if I know what."
"Anything!" said Lara. "The weather, what you did today. Doesn't matter. Just write. The words will come. Here, look."
She moved her chair beside his and flopped open her journal. Every page held dense cursive. Stickers, stamp marks, doodles, and strips of decorative tape filled every gap. She flipped the pages too fast for Scott to make out many words, but some places looked water-smudged or stained.
"That's real—uh, very pretty," he said. "Don't think I need all the doodads, though. Just writing is hard enough. How do you know what to say?"
"It's not a test," said Lara. "Look, let me see what you've written so far." She grinned. "I've shown you mine, now show me yours."
With a sideways look, Scott said, "You're not that shy, are you?"
Lara looked startled then looked away, redding. "Oh, uh, I am shy, actually. But sometimes I forget. Sorry."
Scott smiled. "You forget you're shy? That's some trick."
"Yes, well, only sometimes. With some people. So, anyway, write about growing up on your farm, or what you do now. What do you do, exactly?"
"I install solar."
"Wow... how do you go from farming to solar power?"
Scott explained. As crop and livestock profits dropped, his family installed solar panels on the worst of their land. As it became profitable selling power back to the grid, they installed more until most of the property became a solar farm.
Lara was leaning forward, chin on her hand as he spoke. Scott fought to ignore the view down her blouse.
"We were one of the first to do it," he said. "Learned lots, and now we make more money for a lot less work and help others do it. I've got a farmer joke too: know how to make a small fortune in farming?"
"Start with a large one?"
"Yeah. Heard that one, eh? Anyway, now I'm doing solar consulting and installations here in town."
"Amazing," Lara said. "So then you've got lots to write about. Saving the world. How many photons you've converted to electrons, barrels of oil not burned or whatever. Do it every day the minute you get home from work."
"Guess I could try that, but—"
"Roommates? Or do you live alone? Do you have a house? Apartment? Some quiet place to write?"
"Well, uh—"
"Am I being nosy? I am, aren't I? Well, just tell me to butt out. I won't get offended. People tell me to butt out all the time. Go on... try it."
Scott studied her then said, "Okay. Butt out, Lara."
She crinkled her nose as she grinned. Scott's heart skipped a beat.
"See? Not offended at all," she said. Lara flipped through more pages of her journal. "So anyway, write whatever you want. Or doodle. Things will come. It helps me relax and think about things."
"Just from scribbling random junk? When I need to relax, I get outside. Go for a walk in the woods."
"Like hiking? In a forest? You find that relaxing? What if you get lost or run into a bear or..."
A crashing bang from outside shook the cafe. Outside, Scott saw a cement truck shudder and halt as it hit a pothole.
"...or a wolf or..."
A second cement truck hit the same pothole, one wheel after the other, the banging even louder.
Color drained from Lara's face. Her breath quickened as she gripped the edge of the table.
"Miss? Lara? You okay."
Lara's eyes were darting, her shoulders high and rigid. A sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. She looked like she would either bolt or curl into a ball.
The wiry cafe owner was at their table in a flash. She scooped an ice cube from a glass and closed Lara's hand around it.
"Breathe, Lara," she said. "Breathe. Close your eyes. Focus on the cold. That's it. You're okay. Everything's okay. Just a truck outside. What a racket. I keep asking the city to fill in that damn pothole. Now let's breathe and count... in 1, 2, out, 3, 4... 1, 2, 3, 4. You remember. You've got it."
"Ma'am," Scott whispered. "What can I do? Shouldn't we call someone?"
"Just stay put, if you don't mind. She'll be okay in a sec."
Scott sat feeling useless watching the older woman reassure Lara and coach her through obviously practiced steps. Lara was breathing like she'd run a marathon, eyes alternating between being squinted shut and stretched wide, looking everywhere.
Over many minutes, Lara relaxed. Her color returned, and she looked around as her short gasping breaths returned to normal.
Finally, she sagged in her chair. "Thanks, Megan," she said to the owner.
Flicking a glance at Scott, she pursed her lips then swept her journal into her bag and stood, wobbling the glasses on the table. Looking somewhere past Scott's left ear, she said, "Whelp, nice talking to you. Gotta go."
By the time Scott got to his feet, she had fled out the door.
The cafe owner picked up Lara's glass and wiped the table.
"What just happened?" Scott asked.
The owner gave an apologetic shrug. "Better ask Lara that. But look... we look out for her around here. She's a great girl. Give her a chance, will you?"
~~~~
The next afternoon, the stationery store was crowded. Scott tried getting Lara's attention, declining help from other staff, but she avoided him.
He caught her when she went behind the counter.
"Someone else can help you," she scolded. "I'm getting something for a customer."
"Sorry to bother you, miss," he said, "but these ink cartridges you sold me yesterday don't seem to fit. Maybe they're the wrong type?"
Without looking at Scott or the package, Lara yanked a different pack from the display behind her and flipped it onto the counter.
"Those are the right ones," she said, not looking at him. "Same price. No need to ring in the exchange. Anything else... sir?"
Thanking her, Scott grabbed the package and fled.
~~~~
When Lara stepped into the cafe, Scott felt wary. She saw him immediately but chose another table and sat facing away.
When she got settled, he walked over.
"Excuse me, miss. I'm sorry to bother you, but—"
Lara said, "You want to know why I freaked out yesterday."
"Uh, no, miss. That's none of my business. Glad to see you're all right, though. It's just I still can't get this ink cartridge into the damn pen."
Lara blew out a breath and plucked the pen from his fingers. Unscrewing it, she said, "This model is a little tricky. You have to turn it while forcing it in hard. Keep doing it until it stops so the needle thing punctures the plastic all the way." After a moment's work, she put the pen together and handed it back.
Scott scrawled a few lines in his journal. "Hey, it works! Thanks. I'm not good with fiddly things."
Lara hunched over her cup, arms crossed and hair hanging over her face.
Scott said, "Uh, just one more thing and I'll let you be. Just curious—why did you sell me the wrong ink in the first place?"
