As I walked back around the counter and returned the round coffee pot to its metal base, I realized that it had been a couple of days since the Davenports had come in for their morning 'treat,' as Mrs. Davenport enjoyed calling it. Hearing the bells over the door of the café chime, I spun toward the sound, expecting to see my honorary grandparents entering the café.
The girl poised before me was definitely not Mrs. Davenport.
Stick-straight golden blonde hair, illuminated by the morning sun streaming through the window behind her, fell a few inches past her shoulders and framed her stunning face. She was dressed in a black top worn off the shoulder and skinny jeans with black stiletto shoes. She looked as though she’d stepped right out of one of those fashion magazines that I'd seen so many girls reading at the café. I had never felt more frumpy and homely in my life, wearing my purple henley, worn-out jeans, and essential ponytail. Studying her made me intensely aware of all the things I was lacking. Young, polished, and beautiful, she reminded me of the heroine in the many stories I had read.
Until she spoke.
"Is Julian here?" she inquired without looking at me, her eyes lazily scanning the café. "I stopped by his place, but he wasn't home."
"No," I replied stoically, though internally I was more than a little curious about her identity and her interest in Julian. "He doesn't usually come in this early."
"Julian does what suits him," she said with a smug smile and a gleam in her eye. "He always has."
I stood speechless, fidgeting with a long stray string on my apron while I pondered the depth of her relationship with Julian that allowed her to speak of him with such familiarity. Then her words interrupted my thoughts.
"You're new," she stated matter-of-factly, her blue eyes finally raking over me in disdain. "How nice for you."
"Um, yes," I stammered while my hands nervously attempted to smooth my unruly ponytail. "I'm Aspen."
"Right . . . " She shrugged off my words with a smirk and a slight nod of her head.
Clueless as to the proper way to make conversation with this girl, my eyes darted around the café, looking for something to save me from myself. The awkward silence and weight of her impatient stare reminded me that we were indeed engaged in some sort of dialogue, and, apparently, it was my turn to speak.
"So, who did you say you were?" I managed to stutter under her scrutiny, struggling to predict my reaction should the word girlfriend escape her perfect pink lips.
"I've known Julian a long time," she revealed with a slow smile, though she offered no details.
"Oh" was the entire retort I could summon in the moment. Her response had left me with more questions than answers.
"I like your top," she remarked, though her disingenuous demeanor belied her words.
Stunned by her behavior and yet driven by the need to be polite, I bit my lower lip and responded with a slightly confused "Thank you."
"Tell Julian I stopped by," she tossed over her shoulder with her long blonde hair as her black stilettos headed out the door.
I was straightening my apron and attempting to determine exactly who the mystery girl might be when her words finally sank in.
"Wait!" I called out after her before she was out the door. "Tell him who stopped by?"
She made no indication that she heard me, and the door closed with my unanswered question still hanging in the air.
I briefly considered going after her until my mind began to register the disastrous consequences of that endeavor. In the end, my feet remained planted safely behind the counter in favor of self-preservation over morbid curiosity. Replaying the exchange in my head, I cringed as I heard myself practically grunting monosyllabic responses to her eloquent slights. Worse yet, I was still at a loss as to who she was and what she wanted with Julian. Julian.
Just thinking about his mischievous smile had my stomach doing somersaults. I couldn't imagine him wanting to spend time with a girl so blatantly offensive. Except she was stunning, and I was ordinary. Thoughts began to swirl, and I wondered if I had been fooling myself with the delusion that Julian had been interested in me as anything other than a charity case.
I suddenly realized I was pacing back and forth behind the counter, and when I stepped out from behind it, I was astonished to see the café was empty. Staring at the vacant chairs in disbelief, I attempted to discern how I’d managed to miss the exodus of the last three morning patrons. I knew that I had been engrossed in thoughts of Julian and my encounter with his rude friend. I mentally crossed myself as soon as I conceived the word, knowing that I shouldn't be unkind to someone I didn't even know.
Grabbing a plastic bin, I walked purposefully over to the table closest to me and picked up the empty coffee cup and matching pastry plate. I knew I had been entirely too focused on other things when I should have been attending to my customers; I decided not to think of it anymore until I saw Julian. I had absolutely no idea how to broach the topic with him, but I refused to dwell on that while I had a job to perform.
Gazing out the window as I cleared the tables, I saw that the sun was hidden behind a cover of gray clouds while the wind blew debris down the street and the trees swayed with restless abandon. I was hauling my small load of dishes back to the kitchen when the phone rang. With my heart beating wildly in my chest in anticipation, I ran to the spot behind the counter where the cordless phone rested on its base.
I answered with a breathless, "Holy Grounds, this is Aspen."
I held my breath until I heard a female voice on the other end of the line. My high hopes were dashed in an instant. I tried desperately to pay attention as one of my co-workers, Chloe, explained to me that she’d woken up with some sort of flu virus and couldn't get anyone to cover her night shift. My heart sank as she said that she had tried to contact Julian but had been unable to reach him. I offered to pick up the extra shift without giving it a second thought and hung up the phone, feeling more conflicted than before.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall to see that it was already almost eleven. Julian normally stopped into the café around ten each morning. He said he liked to check on things, but I always secretly hoped it was to see me. Perhaps he was telling the truth after all. Stop! I refused to think about it any longer while I was working, and my workday had just doubled.
Once I was able to refocus my attention on the tasks before me, the day flew by at a breakneck pace. The lunch crowd piled in shortly after Chloe called and continued straight into the after-school groups. I was thankful for the distraction the customers provided as I poured and chatted mindlessly. When evening finally came, people were shaking the rain from their umbrellas as they entered and popping them back up on their way out.
I felt exhaustion creeping up on me like a shadow at sunset. My long shift had at least yielded two discoveries about closing up the café on a Monday night: there were not a lot of tips to be had at the end of it, and I had quite a bit of free time on my hands to read.
Marie, the now full-time baker at the café whom I lovingly referred to as the Scone Nazi (in my mind or under my breath), had already shooed me out of her kitchen twice. I groaned internally at myself as I made a mental note to go to church this week. I'd been avoiding it, but calling someone such an uncharitable name, even if I didn't invent it, was definitely confession-worthy. And twice in one day now? I quickly pushed that unwanted thought out of my mind and refocused on the café.
Since I had already wiped down the counters and tables, mopped the floors, and shined the glass, I decided a little reading behind the counter would be a better use of my time than pacing and letting my thoughts drift back to unnecessary places. I made my way to the back and pulled my current literary obsession, The Scarlet Letter, out of my canvas bag. As I went to open it, I noticed something other than my bookmark sticking out from it.
With a frown, I flipped to the page where a fifty-dollar bill held my place. Tucked directly behind it was a note.
Aspen,
I know th
at you were desperate to return this to me the other morning, but I just couldn't let you win that battle. Consider this an endowment for your education in fun. Feel free to spend it with reckless abandon on anything I would approve of. And NO approaching homeless men to give it to them! I meant what I said about that. I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you . . .
So, go buy all the chocolate you can find instead.
Julian
I stared down at Ulysses S. Grant, remembering the interaction with Julian when I’d returned his money (or so I had thought). He’d listened intently as I explained why I still had the fifty and what the vagrant had said when he approached me on the street. After I finished, he’d delicately reaffirmed that what had happened was the very reason why I shouldn't have done it in the first place. “Unpredictable,” he had said in reference to the mentally unstable man before he scooped me into a hug, asking me never to do such a dangerous thing again. His action had made me smile at the time, and as I was recalling it, my heart skipped a beat. Though I couldn't fathom why, Julian Casey cared about me. The thought made me beam from the inside out.
Then I remembered the cryptic blonde who had whisked in and out of the café earlier, and my heart went from skipping to stopping in a flash.
Not wanting to allow her to cloud my thoughts any more than she already had that day, I turned my attention back to my used bookstore find and to the chapter titled "Pearl" with more than a little satisfaction. My choice of reading material would be labeled deplorable, if not sinful, by Mother Superior and would likely feed the fire on cold night. Regardless, I was swept quickly into the fictional world of the curious child born to an adulterous woman until the tinkling of bells over the door alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone.
Once again, I let my hopes rise for a moment, picturing Julian, with his baby blues and boyish grin, standing in the doorway, ready to dazzle me with his charm. I shoved my book back into my bag with less care than it deserved as I peered over the counter to appraise the late-night arrival. It was definitely not Julian. The stranger bypassed me entirely and strolled to the table in the corner as if he were a regular. And though I was still definitely considered the new girl around the café, I was oddly capable of recognizing the usual patrons.
I knew I would be hard-pressed to forget this stranger if I lived a thousand years.
Something about him was compelling, and I had to grapple with my mind to oppose the gravitational force of his masculine energy. Focus, Aspen. And stop staring! I sucked in a deep breath and took a hesitant step toward the table in the back while smoothing my camel-colored, coffee-stained apron. He was completely unfazed by my approach as his eyes were fixed on the pages of a small leather-bound black book he held over the Formica table. Interrupting an earnest reader was something that I abhorred, but it was part of my job, so I managed to stammer, "Is there anything I can get for you" while biting my lower lip.
"No," the stranger replied thoughtfully as he closed his book and folded his hands on top of it.
The confusion on my face was plain as I repeated his answer back in the form of a question.
"No?”
He finally looked up to meet my eyes, and I audibly sucked in a breath of air at the sight. The sage green color alone would have been magnificent, but the irises were a bit milky, making the rings around them appear to glow.
"Actually, I was just looking for a dry place to read," he replied, with a hopeful expression that looked strangely out of place on his face.
"Oh, um, of course," I stuttered as I mentally slapped myself and looked up at the clock, "but we close in about twenty minutes."
"Thank you," he acknowledged as he returned to the small book in front of him and I wandered back to my spot behind the counter.
Trying desperately not to stare devolved quickly into trying desperately not to be caught staring at the stranger in the back of the café. While the former had proved completely impossible, the latter was proving quite promising. He was captivating. Aside from those eyes, his raven-colored, wavy chin-length hair would have made any girl swoon. His sense of style was unique; he’d opted for a fitted gray t-shirt with print that read The Doors, which I presumed to be a band name, and a very worn-out looking black and gray flannel shirt over it. The black military jacket he topped them off with looked very utilitarian, and I realized that, aside from the t-shirt, the rest of his clothes were black, right down to the motorcycle boots. The only other piece that stood out was a black leather studded cuff on his wrist.
I pondered his intensity while he absorbed the words on the delicate pages of his book, turning them methodically, almost like clockwork. The longer I watched him, the more I became aware of a nagging sensation in the back of my mind. I looked up at the clock to see that it was already five minutes past nine. My anxiety spiked to a dangerous level when I considered having to tell this dark stranger that it was time for him leave.
As if reading my mind, he placed his book in the inside pocket of his military jacket, rose smoothly from his chair, and strolled toward the exit just as casually as he had come in. I wanted to thank him for coming in or say something to him about the book he was reading―at least ask his name―but I found myself, not for the first time, utterly speechless.
Pulling the door open slowly, the mysterious stranger paused before he turned back toward the counter and said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Goodnight, Aspen."
6
I stood frozen behind the counter, staring blankly at the door where the mystery man had just disappeared. How did he know my name? As if my brain had suddenly grasped the concept of danger, I clamored to lock the door behind the dark stranger and darted back to the counter, hiding behind it like a child under her bed after a nightmare. I knew I would appear foolish to anyone able to see me cowering that way, so I stretched up and quickly flicked off the lights.
As I did, I struggled to peer through the darkened windows. Heavy rain pelted the glass, creating an eerie sound that caused shivers to run down my spine. Frightened, I returned to my crouch and abandoned my mental checklist, which I typically reviewed to ensure I'd completed all the necessary closing procedures. Ignoring my duties, I grabbed my canvas bag from under the counter and practically crawled out the back door.
I took the back steps to my room two at time and arrived at my door more than a little out of breath. Fumbling in my jeans pocket for my key, I found myself looking over my shoulder because I couldn't seem to get the door open fast enough. Once inside, I bolted the lock and fell back against the door, sliding down to sit with my head on my knees. I pulled the hair tie out of my ponytail and shook my long hair free, allowing myself the first deep breath of the day.
The face of the man from the café flashed through my mind, and I wondered again how the stranger would have known my name. Repeatedly coming up empty, I pushed myself up off the floor and removed my coffee-stained apron, tossing it into the laundry hamper next to the closet. I finally managed to convince my overly-analytical mind that the mysterious stranger was probably just a customer I had been too busy to notice before, that is until I absentmindedly flipped my hair back to remove my nametag.
Dual waves of embarrassment and relief washed over me when I realized that the man from the café wasn't some creepy stalker after all. He had simply observed the badge I was wearing and had been polite enough to address me by name. I felt incredibly silly for thinking otherwise, especially given the fact that he had hardly spoken to me at all, but I chalked it up to being so tired from working two back-to-back shifts. My imagination was overactive at the best of times. .
Exhaustion was pressing down on me, and I felt too tired to worry any longer or shower or even change before I finally climbed underneath the mass of blankets and buried myself in the middle of my bed. I reveled in having a full-sized bed. All the beds at the convent had been twins, which left absolutely no room to sprawl out with arms and legs askance in every direction.
Lettin
g each limb sink into the comfort of the mattress, I sighed contentedly. But the second I closed my eyes, a milky sage-colored pair crept into my mind. Throwing my tangle of covers back, I got out of bed, irritated with myself at my inability to control my thoughts. Mother Superior had often chided me about my lack of skill in that particular area, and I was afraid I would forever disappoint us both.
I decided that sleep was not likely in my immediate future, so I reached down to turn on the nightstand lamp and grab a book of poems I kept for such occasions. Sitting down on the floor next to my bed, I read until a calm overtook me. Poetry had always had a soothing effect on me, and there were many nights in my quarters at the convent where I fell asleep on the floor after a long night spent seeking comfort from the stanzas in those pages.
Climbing into my bed with a book was simply not an option. I had been taught not to read in bed, and I still felt as though I were breaking rules for doing so. I was soon lost in the beautiful Irish imagery of William Butler Yeats, and found myself drifting off into his magical world, until an ungodly sound nearly sent me sprawling onto the hardwood floor.
My cell phone.
Julian had insisted that it was lunacy not to have one, given the times, especially because I was living on my own. I’d finally agreed, even though Julian was the only one who ever called or texted me. I quickly retrieved the annoying contraption from the nightstand in an attempt to answer before the call went to voicemail.
"Hello," I answered a little breathlessly, nervous to speak to Julian after this morning.
Tempted by Evil Page 4