Basil Dean and the China-Boy Blue

Basil was working her morning shift at the coffee shop when he walked in, wearing slippers and an old Ramones T-shirt. She watched him as she poured iced coffees and espresso macchiatos behind the counter, and noted his scruffy hair and sleepy brown eyes with quiet curiosity. That’s the Blue Boy, she thought, as she poured vanilla steamed milk into a paper cup. He’s handsome. I didn’t think he was this handsome.

She busied herself with a café americano as he walked up to the counter, whistling the tune to some eighties track Basil knew but couldn’t quite name. Standing at the cash register, he absentmindedly leafed through the jazz and soul CD’s on display.

I wonder if I should ask him about the boxes, Basil thought as she capped the hot coffee. She gave the americano to Hitch, one of the regulars, before returning to her perch behind the register.

“How can I help you?” Basil chirped, grateful her voice didn’t give away the butterflies in her stomach.

The boy smiled politely and scratched his head. “One large coffee please,” He replied sleepily, stifling a yawn. “With lots of sugar and cream.”

Basil glanced once at him, taking in his tall frame. He had caramel-colored eyes, and a dimple in his right cheek that showed when he smiled.

“You’re the girl who lives upstairs, right?” He added abruptly. “You’re Basil Dean.”

Basil blinked twice, momentarily thrown. “Um, yes,” she replied, returning his gaze with a rare surprise. He knows who I am, she thought, and suddenly felt nervous.

“That’s a great name,” the boy mused, flashing her a crooked smile before extending a hand over the counter. “I’m Landon. We just moved into the apartment across from yours.”

Basil took his hand and shook limply. “I know,” she said, smiling shyly. “I saw you.”

“Really? When?”

“Yesterday, when you were unloading your car.”

“You should have said hi,” he replied. Landon grinned, revealing a row of white, slightly-lopsided teeth, before adding: “By the way, how much will the coffee be?”

“Two dollars and fifty cents,” Basil said, slightly dazed. He’s adorable, she realized, as she watched the light from the window play off of his hair. “Um, I-I should get started on that.”

Basil quickly turned to the coffee machine, letting her dark hair hide the blush rising to her cheeks. Now’s the time to ask him about the boxes, she thought, as she poured black coffee, cream, and two sugars into a paper cup.

“So, uh, are you guys-” She began, turning towards him, but was cut off by the loud BEEP BEEP BEEP blasting from his direction.

“Shit,” Landon muttered, digging into his pants pocket and retrieving his phone, before pressing the receiver tightly to his ear. “What’s going on?” He asked hurriedly, and Basil watched as his face contorted from concern to obvious worry.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be right there,” He quipped, digging his free hand into his pocket and placing a wad of wrinkled dollar bills and loose change on the counter. Shifting his gaze to Basil, Landon urgently and silently motioned for his coffee, which she handed him without further question.

“Keep the change,” he mouthed, still holding the phone to his ear, before dashing towards the doors in long, bounding, sweatpants-clad strides.

“Just keep her calm until I get there,” Basil heard him say as he exited the doors. She watched him, slightly stunned, as he sprinted down the block and out of sight.

What was that all about, she wondered, as she smoothed out her apron and collected the cash he’d left on the counter. Among the contents, she sorted four dollars and thirty-six cents, a green paper clip, and a small note written in black india ink; the latter of which Basil unfolded, and peered at the small print.

“Galamantine - Three doses daily,” she read to herself, the words scribbled haphazardly in slanted handwriting.

“Do not let her touch the bottle - Attempted suicide possible.”