“Here’s a black coffee and a ham and cheese toastie for table number three,” Nisha says from the doorway of the staff room, which is nothing more than a store cupboard really.

“I’m on my break,” I moan.

“Please, Louisa. I’m desperate for a pee, and its getting crazy busy out there with the lunchtime rush and all. I’ll be two ticks, promise.”

“Fine, hand it over,” I say, holding my hands up for the tray.

“Thanks, babe,” Nisha says, blowing me an air kiss. I smile at her retreating back. Going for a ‘pee’ was code for having a sneaky cigarette. Still, I’m not that bothered, she got me this job at Angelo’s café. Nisha and I have been friends for years. We live in the same housing estate in south London. Both of us had Mums who were absent, mine to alcohol, Nisha’s to hard drugs. The first time we met, Mum had sent me to the off-licence for a bottle of vodka. I’d managed to persuade the owner to sell me the bottle; unfortunately that same persuasion had fallen on deaf ears when the local gang decided they wanted to steal it from me. Nisha had found me huddled up, crying on a bench outside our flats. She’d sat down next to me, put her arm around my shoulder and given me her sweets. I was eight, she was ten. We’ve been friends ever since. The point is, aside from her, and later Richard, she’s my only friend, so I can’t begrudge her a quick cigarette on my time. Nisha would do the same for me. Besides, I’m grateful for the work, and the money. New year, new job and a pile of bills to deal with. Richard offered to pay my most pressing bills a few weeks back when I realised Mum had failed to pay any on time. Whilst I had no choice but to take his money, I didn’t want him to think I was taking advantage of his kindness. He’s already done so much for me. So, this job is a must, financially and for my sanity. Thankfully, having Nisha move in last week has eased the burden a little. She’s a great flatmate and I actually look forward to coming home now. That in itself is a novelty.

“Louisa, hurry up,” David, the café owner, shouts. Contrary to popular belief he is not called Angelo and is about as Italian as I am, although his pretend accent has most clients fooled.

“On it, Boss,” I say, giving him a sweet smile whilst secretly cursing him under my breath. I mean, he’s alright, but he isn’t the best boss I’ve ever had. No, they had come in the form of the Freed brothers. Snowfall, wooden cabins and three beautiful men enter my thoughts. I shake them away quickly. I can’t allow myself to go there.

Nisha is right, it is busy. Outside rain is pouring down, and a load of bedraggled customers have found their way into the café and settled in some of the free seats. They’d better buy something, or David will have them flung out before they can get their wet coats back on. I can see old Mildred sitting huddled with her Yorkshire Terrier in the far corner of the café, drinking a cup of coffee. She often comes in to nurse one drink all day just to keep warm. When David isn’t working I let her stay as long as she likes. Today, he’d have her out as soon as she’s swallowed the last mouthful. I make a mental note to use my tip money to buy her a sandwich, David can’t refuse that.

“Excuse me, coming through,” I say, holding the tray above my head. Customers part for me so that I can move towards table three without dropping the order all over the floor. Finally, I reach the table, surprised that not a drop of coffee has been spilt. “Here we go,” I say politely, putting the tray down.

“Louisa, next order is ready,” David calls irritably over the increasing chatter. Outside a flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. A wet and cold January in London is just about as depressing as it gets. For the briefest of moments, I remember the pristine white snow of Alpe d’Huez, the crisp air and the smell of pine needles. Sighing, I pick up the mug of coffee and toastie and place them in front of the customer. “There you go,” I say, completely distracted by David, who is gesturing at me to hurry up.

“Thank you, Louisa,” a familiar voice says.

I stiffen. It can’t be, can it? I tell myself it’s just a figment of my imagination, that I am having some kind of auditory hallucination. My eyes slide slowly upwards, taking in the large hand wrapped around the chipped mug, the crisp navy suit. A white shirt is open at the neck, showing a peek of dark chest hair. I breathe in the musky smell of his aftershave as memories of a t-shirt that smelt just the same settle around me. Finally, my gaze moves upwards, taking in the shorter black beard and hair, the beautiful hazel eyes. He’s had a haircut, the bun has gone, and so too has the bushy beard, now trimmed close to his face, but he is still gorgeous, still ruggedly handsome.

“Bryce,” I whisper. The chatter in the café and the storm outside is drowned out by the sudden thundering of my heart. Bryce gazes at me, a soft expression on his face.

“Louisa, get your butt back here. I have orders waiting.” My head snaps around to David, the sounds rushing back in. The tray slips from my hand, clattering to the floor. I don’t bother to pick it up, I just push my way through the crowd of waiting customers and rush towards the staff room at the back. David watches me pass.

“What are you doing, Louisa? I’ve got orders waiting to be served. Where the hell is Nisha? Is she skiving again?” he asks, his Cockney accent breaking through the pretend Italian one.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel well,” I lie, putting on my coat and swinging my bag over my head. I glance back at Bryce, who is watching me with concern. I don’t want to pass him, so I head out the back exit instead. I can get to the main strip from the alleyway that runs along the back of the neighbouring shops and from there, hop on a bus home.

“Louisa,” David calls after me. “If you leave now, don’t think about coming back!”

Nisha steps out of a covered doorway, a plume of smoke curling out of her mouth as she speaks. “Hey, Lou, what’s up?”

“I’ve got to go. I’m sorry,” I say, pulling up the hood of my coat as the rain pelts down harder. I am drenched in seconds.

“Louisa, what the hell?”

I don’t stop, not even when Nisha calls after me. She’s going to be so pissed, but what choice do I have? You could have stayed, talked to him. Instead you ran, just like you did in France, an ugly voice says inside my head. I choose to ignore it. My inner voice is a bitch and frankly she can sod off.

Lightning slashes across the sky above me, and my old parka jacket is already soaked through. Fortunately for me, my bus is coming along the street. I pick up speed, running through puddles and swerving people who are trying to get out of the rain themselves.

The bus pulls up at the stop just as I do. Over the pouring rain, I hear my name being called.

“Louisa!”

Turning around, I see Bryce standing on the pavement further along the street. The doors slide open, and I put one foot on the step.

“Louisa, wait. I just want to talk to you.” Rain pours over him, flattening his hair against his head. He looks scared, hopeful, sad. I can’t bear it.

I hesitate, suddenly uncertain.

“Just come and have a drink with me, please.” He starts to walk towards me.

“Make your mind up, on or off,” the bus driver says, losing patience.

I take one last look at Bryce. “On,” I say, stepping up and placing my oyster card against the reader. The doors slide shut behind me and the bus jerks forward into the flow of traffic.

Heading to the back of the bus, I take a seat and turn to look out of the window. I see Bryce standing there, watching as the bus pulls away.