THERE ARE CASTLES FOR KINGS,
THERE ARE BIRDS WITHOUT WINGS
He knows her. This should not be a shock. Still, it is: the golden-haired girl with the dark slanting eyes, the remarkable cheekbones. Nathaniel cannot recall a name, but he knows he has seen her before. Maybe in this very building. Maybe in a scene like this one, years ago. He feels so much larger now.
Almost offensively so. As if he's bout to knock something over with an elbow any second. Straightening up, Nathaniel shuts the door behind him, never turning his back on the young woman behind the counter. He ought to speak; he is aware he ought to speak.
"I — remember when this was a bakery. Before." His eyes skirt the room, landing anywhere but her face. What is her name? It refuses to come. "I, uh, heard it had been reopened." Does she remember him? A younger version of Nathaniel would have covered the hole in his memory with anger. This version is dumbfounded. "Nathaniel," he offers, and holds out the basket of eggs like a shield. "A baker can never have too many eggs, right?" Moving forward, he places them carefully on the counter. His eyes manage at last to find her face. "I think we've met, but..."
Almost offensively so. As if he's bout to knock something over with an elbow any second. Straightening up, Nathaniel shuts the door behind him, never turning his back on the young woman behind the counter. He ought to speak; he is aware he ought to speak.
"I — remember when this was a bakery. Before." His eyes skirt the room, landing anywhere but her face. What is her name? It refuses to come. "I, uh, heard it had been reopened." Does she remember him? A younger version of Nathaniel would have covered the hole in his memory with anger. This version is dumbfounded. "Nathaniel," he offers, and holds out the basket of eggs like a shield. "A baker can never have too many eggs, right?" Moving forward, he places them carefully on the counter. His eyes manage at last to find her face. "I think we've met, but..."
