Tempted by Evil (6 page)

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."

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.

Letting 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.

"Aspen?" a female voice asked from the other end of the line.

"Um, yes," I replied hesitantly.

"This is Felice Casey. Julian's mother."

"Of course. Hello, Mrs. Casey," I said, masking my disappointment with the telephone for the second time today.

"Aspen," she began slowly, "I wanted to tell you that you've been doing a fine job at the café since you started. Always pitching in, picking up shifts, and being wonderful with customers."

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Casey, um,
Felice
," I spoke quickly because I was unaccustomed to praise. "I appreciate the opportunity you've given me more than I can express."

"No, dear," Mrs. Casey stated emphatically, "it is I who appreciates you and all of your hard work. And that's why I'm calling. I would very much like for you to join my family for dinner tomorrow evening, if you're available?"

"Oh," I stammered, thinking of Julian's visitor this morning and wondering if he was aware of his mother's invitation. "Um, I'd be honored."

"Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Hors d'oeuvres will be served at five so I'll send our driver for you at 4:30."

"That sounds wonderful," I responded with as much enthusiasm as my exhaustion would allow.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Aspen," Mrs. Casey said warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Thank you, I'll see you then."

I pushed the ‘end’ button on my phone after I heard Mrs. Casey disconnect the call from her end. My brain was warring over the desire to overanalyze the upcoming dinner and its desperate need for sleep. Deciding I should probably change into my pajamas, I quickly did so before climbing back into bed and pulling the covers over my head. Exhaustion finally won out, and I drifted off without any more intrusions from unwanted green eyes.

*

I awoke with a start to the sound of someone knocking on the door of my apartment. I rolled over to see the blue numbers on the alarm clock and flew out of bed with amazing speed. I couldn't believe I had slept until noon. Rushing to grab my robe from the hook on the bathroom door, I pulled my arms through the sleeves and tied a bow in the front as I hurriedly made my way to the door. When I finally pulled it open, there was no one there. Instead, a large black and white box sat expectantly in the hallway as if waiting for me to pick it up. I stood in the doorway and glanced around the corner before bending down to appraise the package. The label on the box read SAKS and there was a small envelope attached to the box. Carefully removing the card from inside, I read:

Aspen,

Thought you might like to wear this to dinner. I hope you like it.

See you tonight,

Felice

I was truly stunned. No one besides Sister Mary Constance had ever given me a gift before, and the gesture was so foreign that I couldn't seem to find the proper emotion to attach to it. Opening the box, I folded back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a pale blue cardigan sweater made of the softest cashmere. The coordinating tank top was white with blue, purple, and black polka dots, and matched the black knee-length skirt perfectly. Finally, a pair of ruched black satin ballet flats completed the gifted ensemble. Placing the thoughtful present back into the box, I stood up and carried the box back into my apartment, setting it on the bed while I picked up a book. I knew I had a few hours before I had to get ready and I intended to spend them buried in a classic. Losing myself in antebellum south with Scarlett O’Hara seemed an entirely romantic thing to do, and besides, Rhett Butler was one of my favorite heroes of all time. When I finally polished off the last line, I headed for the shower, eager to try on my new outfit.

The showering process seemed to take forever as I went through my normal morning routine. Once that was complete and I finally slipped my feet into the flats, I was surprised at how well they, and everything else, seemed to fit. I stood back from the full-length mirror hanging from the wall next to my chest of drawers and looked at myself for what seemed like the first time. I looked like a woman. I mean, I knew I was a woman, obviously, but a large part of me had always felt very much like a little girl. The reflection staring back at me was no little girl.

A strange sensation of power coursed through me momentarily, until the blare of a horn from the street brought my focus back to the fact that a car was likely waiting downstairs to take me to the Casey home. I quickly scooped up the only purse I owned, tossed my room key inside, and closed the door behind me as I headed downstairs to the car.

*

The driver pulled up to the stately white Victorian just before five p.m., having taken the scenic route through town. I couldn't explain why, but I felt as though I were meeting Julian's family for the first time as I climbed the steps and rang the doorbell of the Casey home. Everything seemed so formal that I couldn't help but feel that it was a far more proper introduction than the one we'd had.

After only a moment, Julian's father opened the door and greeted me with a warm smile, putting his arm around me as he led me into the picturesque living area.

"Aspen," he said. "It's wonderful to see you again."

"You too, Mr. Casey."

"Constantine, remember?" he chided playfully.

"Of course," I replied, blushing a little. "Does Mrs. Casey, I mean Felice, need any help in the kitchen?"