Jack

  Jack ignored her. Not intentionally. Not entirely, anyway. He was ser focused on the book in front of him, frantically scribbling notes on one of the papers covering the table. The waitress waited a moment before trying again.

  “I brought your tea,” she began. “Do you take it with milk or sugar?”

  “Bck is fine,” he replied absentmindedly, still focused on his work.

  “Are you a scientist?” she said, as she sank down into the chair next to Jack and waited for a reply.

  Jack finally dragged his attention away from the book, his hand jotting down his st thought before blinking at her. The strange waitress was sitting next to him. She was so angry when he first came into the cafe, but there she was, pretending to be sweet again.

  Interesting.

  “I’m actually quite busy here,” he said gruffly, trying to throw her off, the way she had been doing to him since he walked in. It worked.

  Her dark eyes fshed with something bordering on dangerous. Her jaw clenched and her brows knitted, but his gaze was drawn down to where she bit her bottom lip, no doubt trying to hold back a scathing remark. He swallowed down a grin.

  Probably shouldn’t test my luck.

  She let out a small breath and looked down at his table. She tilted her head slightly, reading aloud, “The Characterization of Roman Settlement and the use of Roman Hieroglyphic writing in Central and Southern Engnd, AD 25-220.”

  Jack smiled at the reference to his work. “Ah yes, that’s the title of my dissertation,” he crified.

  “So, you’re a student?” The waitress seemed surprised at this. She was fiddling with the white colr that peeked out from under her emerald green cable-knit sweater.

  Jack was three and a half years into a doctorate program at Oxford University's Institute of Archaeology. His mentor was pressuring him to finalize his findings, constantly reminding him that students were expected to complete their thesis within four years. It wasn’t as if Jack wasn’t trying. He lived and breathed his research. Technically, he knew he had enough ideas to put something passable together, but passing wasn’t good enough. Jack felt like he was on the verge of discovering something important. This could make or break his career, and Jack knew a little something about breaking a career.

  When Jack nodded, she added, “what are you studying?”

  Jack’s smile widened. He couldn’t help himself– he loved talking about his work. He unched into an expnation of his degree and his exciting research into an early alphabet of symbols used by Roman settlements across Engnd in the first century.

  “We’ve always known the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc alphabet was used before the adoption of the Latin alphabet,” he expined eagerly. “But the earliest confirmed usage in Engnd has only been dated to the fourth and fifth centuries.”

  The waitress seemed to hang on to his every word, her eyes never leaving his face throughout his long soliloquy. He realized this was the first time he’d had such a rapt audience when talking about his work. Even Jack’s colleagues at the Institute were less than interested in his ramblings.

  “So, you’ve found proof this other alphabet was used earlier than that?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “Exactly!” His mouth quirked. “Well, I think so, anyway,” he continued on with a long expnation of documents and dig sites, pottery pieces and carbon dating. When he got started like this, he could go on for hours. He even forgot to eat when he was wrapped up in his projects like this.

  “What’s interesting,” he continued, “is that I’ve found evidence of these hieroglyphics, as I’m calling them, in caves near Derbyshire, but they’re used in a way we have never seen before. The letters are yered on top of each other to create images that likely have complex meanings. I’m positive this is the key to understanding a side of early cultures we’ve never seen before.”

  The woman seemed to be genuinely interested in everything he was saying, she even perked up at this mention of his discovery. “Do you have a picture of them?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Jack said, rifling through his leather bag hung from the back of his wooden chair.

  Suddenly, a loud ringing sounded from the front of the cafe and the waitress gnced over her shoulder to the door.

  “That’ll be the lunch rush. I better go back out there.” She turned back to Jack with an imploring look.

  “No problem,” he said, slightly defted, and pulled his empty hand back out of his bag. “I have work to do, too.”

  She gave him one st look and rushed out to help the other customers.