SOULMATES



A stranger sat at my table, claiming to be my soulmate.

I looked up at his words, having had my nose buried deep into chapter eight of my book. I had to look up, way up. He was tall, medium build, and had dark hair a little on the longish side. He had a charming boyish side and if you asked me, even from first glance, he seemed just a little too cocky and sure of himself with his arms crossed over his chest and his right foot resting on the metal garden chair opposite mine.

I sat at the small cafe where I habitually sat, pretty much every Saturday morning when the weather was fine. It was a little off the beaten trail, as they say, and was therefore usually fairly quiet. There was the usual Saturday morning crowd, the old couple who held hands and giggled together like a couple of schoolchildren, the young couple, who sat quietly laughing and signing in ASL, blissfully unaware that I could understand American Sign Language fluently. Their conversations often took a rather risque turn and I tried to reign in my curiosity and give them some privacy. One day after a particularly juicy conversation, I paid my bill and signed to them to have a nice day and enjoy the beautiful weather. The look on their faces was priceless. After that, I chose to turn my chair and face slightly away from them and bury myself in my book to give them privacy.

I sat at the same table pretty much all the time. Henri, pronounced with a French accent, always knew what I wanted. I am a creature of habit and have the same standing order every time. Henri spoke with a heavy French accent, however, I quickly noticed that he never actually spoke French, and did not even seem to understand the French I spoke on the first occasion that I met him. The blank look on his face told the story. On several occasions; once when he dropped a tray of cups that shattered on the pavement and once when a particularly offensive woman spoke rudely to him, his accent was dropped completely.

 But if he wanted to use an affected French accent that was no business of mine. I went along with his ruse. Who was I to judge him for portraying something that he wasn’t, for after all, I was a master of subterfuge, deception, and intrigue.

Getting back to the hunk standing over me, he asked me if he could have a seat and then proceeded to sit before I had even answered. Generally, I like to keep pretty much to myself and would have made some excuse, but like I said, there he was, seating himself without so much as a by your leave.

His constant smile and intense gaze were beginning to mesmerize me, he had a look that a snake has just before it devours or squeezes the life out of you. I tried to look away, but those China-blue eyes kept drawing me in. He was saying something about the beautiful weather, but the entire conversation just went over my head. I gave myself a mental shake and made some inane comment which I hoped would suffice.

Henri came by and he placed his order, which happened to be the exact duplicate of my order, and he gave an intense questioning look when Henri retreated. He mentioned that he couldn’t quite place Henri's accent, and I quietly mentioned that I believed Henri was trying to fit in with the cafe's name which was Le Petit Jardin, or The Little Garden. The menu was written in both French and English on a large menu board when you entered the outside cafe area, and the inside washrooms were also labeled in French and English. I knew the owner Maurice well, having frequented his establishment for the past few months. He was an authentic Frenchman, born in Paris, and had come to Toronto to live many years ago. There were pictures of the Eiffel Tower scattered both inside and outside the establishment and the garden cafe looked like it could have been designed from a photograph of Paris. Flowers abounded everywhere in the outside portion of his cafe. The ambiance was perfection, and it really did take you to a place where you felt you were sitting in a French cafe by the River Seine in France.

“I couldn't help but see how intensely you were reading your book,” he said. “Are you enjoying it?”

‘Of course I was, jerkface, that's why I am reading it,’ is what I thought, but what I said was quite a different thing. “Yyyes.”I replied, stuttering with a total lack of aplomb. This guy’s good looks and suave attitude had really thrown me for a loop. Not at all a jerkface.

 The proverbial cat seemed to have got my tongue as well as my wits. His mesmerizing blue eyes still held me at bay.

“I think we are destined to be soulmates,” he said once again.

 I took a deep breath and a long sip of my coffee, I tried to hide the flush that rose to my cheeks and to regain my composure. I said, “That's got to be about the worst pickup line I ever heard. Did you really think something that hokey was going to work?”

His boyish dimple showed itself as his smile deepened.

Why? Why did he have to have a dimple, I was a sucker for dimples. I dropped my gaze to his chest and said. “I haven't heard something that trite for some time now, you really have to work on your opening line.”

He threw back his head and laughed, revealing his perfect teeth, Gosh, did this guy have no flaws?

“No in all seriousness, I recognized you.”

“You really have to start working on your picking-up-a-girl-at-the-bar patter,” I said, playing the girl about town for all it was worth. As they say, ‘Fake it until you make it,’ No way I was going to outwardly let him know that my insides were turning to mush just sitting across the table from him. This had never happened to me before. I had always considered myself to be a world traveler, a sophisticated young woman of the world, well versed in fashion, culture, and not just street smarts but world smarts. I had played the part of a rich young socialite, a homeless person, a decoy, and many other roles; whatever was needed at the time. I had met princes and celebrities without as much as skipping a single heartbeat or having my brain turn to jello, yet here I was, a stuttering and blushing fool.

“No, seriously. I recognized you from the Skyline Tower last night. I saw you in the lobby.”

 A cold chill went down my spine, and what seemed to be a handsome face in my mind until now, suddenly, for a few seconds, seemed to have an evil countenance. I tried to calm myself and took another sip of my drink, giving myself a few seconds to respond.

“Skyline Tower? I don’t know what you mean.”

 He leaned forward his elbows resting on the white linen tablecloth, his face now very close to mine.

“I know who you are and I know what you are. And like I told you … you and I are going to become soulmates, best friends, co-conspirators, partners.”

“Partners?” I picked up on his last word.

“Exactly. Partners.” 

 He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot and then spoke quietly.

“Like I said, I saw you casing out the joint. Checking all the security cameras and the routines of the guards. I know, that you know, about the special shipment that is arriving there later today. Even your book gives you away. I mean who reads books about Egyptian pyramid treasures for breakfast on a Saturday morning unless they have a vested interest?”

I tried to keep my face neutral and we both raised our cups at the same time, now eyeing each other somewhat warily over the rim of the cups.

“You see, I also happen to know that the billionaire William Kent is expecting a large number of priceless Egyptian artifacts to arrive shortly at his penthouse suite at the Skyline Towers. I also was in the lobby of the Skyline Towers for the exact same reason you were there. To put it succinctly, we were both casing the joint.”

 I glanced down at my book now lying upright on the table beside me with its large picture of King Tut's golden mask on the cover. I never considered it a clear give away but to the discerning eye…

 “I followed you home last night,” he stated.

“I … I didn't realize,” I stuttered. Darn! This was becoming a habit.

“You weren't supposed to,” he said.

 I took another sip of my drink, once again stalling.

“I recognized you from several years ago. You are Toby McKees, daughter, aren’t you? I remembered your extremely long strawberry blond hair. It's very distinctive. I always knew you would grow up to be stunningly beautiful and I was right.” 


He gazed at me and somehow I instinctively knew that his heart was racing as fast as mine, he just had more experience at hiding it than I did. He reached out and gently held my hand which had been resting on the table. A jolt passed through us, I’m not sure in whose body it originated but it was there nonetheless. My fingers touched the pulse on his wrist and I felt the fast beat of his life’s blood coursing through him and was amazed that he was as affected as I was.

“Your father and I did a job together in Montreal. We planned it at a park while you sat on the swings, like a banished child. Your father didn't want you involved. It was my first job, and I looked upon Toby as my mentor. He needed someone small enough to crawl through the ventilation system of the building we were breaking into. It was my first heist. I was about eighteen I think. He taught me a lot, actually, everything I know. Man, that Toby, he was good at everything. I heard he passed away recently, I’m sorry for your loss. These things get around in underground circles. I know Egyptian treasures were his specialty and so when I recognized you from the Skylight Towers, I knew who you were and what you were planning. But I got to tell you, this is not a one-man job.”

“I don't remember you working with my father.”

 “Toby liked to keep you out of harm's way, out of danger. You were only a young girl at the time, as they say, just a girl not quite a woman.”

I searched my memory but came up blank.

“So Toby and I did a few jobs together until I was old enough and experienced enough to fly solo.”

 I nodded, “Dad never brought his work home and rarely discussed who he was working with. He always felt that the less I knew, the safer I would be, plus we moved around a lot. City to city, country to country, we followed the very rich and very famous and tried to relieve them of some of the burdens of their gold and treasures.”

Henri came by then and offered us a refill which we both accepted.

 “The last partner that Dad took on betrayed him. You know what they say, about no honour amongst thieves. Radley helped plan the job, executed it with my father, and then absconded with everything, so when the next job came along Dad more or less recruited me and took me on as his partner and showed me the ropes. They always say, ‘Keep it close to your vest,’ and you can’t get it any closer than teaming up with your own flesh and blood.”

 I reached for my cup.

“I never thought anyone would be following me, I mean nobody knows me. I’m not in the system, I haven't done any time. Dad would not be pleased that you followed me.”

“But I didn't follow you to harm you, I wouldn't do that. I owe Toby a lot. I just knew you were up to something the moment I recognized you. And then I started to watch you, the way you never touched anything, or used your long sleeves to push the elevator buttons so you wouldn't leave any fingerprints, the way you scoped out the security cameras behind your dark glasses. The way your hat covered most of your hair. Just small things that no one else would recognize unless they were casing the joint themselves.”

“I wanted to do this job, for Dad, he would have given anything to be able to do this job. I realized it was going to be hard to do it by myself but I had to try, for Dad’s sake.”

 “Look! We need each other. Let's do it together. In honour of Toby McKee. So what do you say, partner? Co-conspirators? Will you be my soulmate?” 

He held out his other hand and I put that hand in his as well. I felt a tingle go from my fingertips throughout my body again. Our eyes met and held and I felt my heart beat faster. I began to believe in him, that we could not only be partners but also soulmates. So what if I still didn’t even know his name? 

 And maybe, just maybe, if the fates were with us, we could be true soulmates someday. A girl can dream, can’t she?