Page 8 of Moros

“You wanted to see me?”

I hadn’t heard her walk up.

Self-consciously, I turned my head with practiced ease to hide the scar on my face.

“You were the one looking for me.” I told her.

“Look,” she said, cocking a rounded hip and dropping a hand on it. “It’s been a long shift, and I’m in a shit mood. So, if this is your attempt at hitting on me, find another girl, okay. I’m working.”

“My name is Khadri Weston.”

“So, what, I don’t—” She gasped and slipped into the seat across from me. “It’s you.”

I tilted my head to the side as she smoothed her hand over her head, removing the hair net, then tapping her cheeks as if trying to get some kind of colour or feeling back into them.

“Can I buy some coffee?—”

“I shouldn’t drink caffeine so late.” I responded. “I already don’t sleep well as is.”

“Um—”

“Miss Larwick, you don’t?—”

“Ryanne.” She interrupted. “O—or Anne.”

“Ryanne, you really don’t have to do any of this. I helped you because you were in trouble. It was a kneejerk reaction. I don’t need you to hold any guilt about it.”

“I can’t help it.” She leaned closer.

She smelled like French-fries and cheap perfume.

It saddened me.

A woman like this deserves to bathe in the most luxurious scents.

I cleared my throat.

“And I wanted to ask you something,” Ryanne said.

“Ask me something?”

She nodded.

“Um—okay.” I exhaled. “How about something cold instead of the coffee?”

“I have the perfect thing!” She brightened and tried scrambling from the booth.

Ryanne succeeded in getting tangled into herself and tumbled over. Instinctively, I reached for her and to stop her momentum from pulling me off balance, I brought her weight into myself and fell back to my ass on the seat.

She gasped, stared up into my face the pushed away from me.

I smiled but said nothing.

“Sorry.” She adjusted her clothes and scurried off.

She isn’t different.

The scar?—