Descension (9 page)

Her ears felt the pressure rise as she left Willamette valley behind, following the narrow highway into the Coastal Range. Colossal trees lined the road—cedars, firs, spruces and hemlocks—and their greedy canopy blocked the waning sun, dimming the two-lane path and casting the undergrowth in murky green shadows.

When the timber finally thinned, the sun broke through, practically blinding her despite the partly cloudy sky. Having been in the shade so long, tunneled by towering trees, the daylight and openness was like a wave of air, like when she’d lay on the bed as a child and let Katherine spread a cool sheet over her. She couldn’t see the ocean yet, but the oxygen leaking through her vents suddenly smelled salty.

She followed the signs into Cannon Beach and kept driving west, looking for water, which she eventually spied in the distance, through gaps between buildings.

Unsure where to go, she followed the foot traffic onto North Hemlock Street, passing shops and restaurants that looked more like houses than businesses, and she kept glimpsing the ocean at intersections. A road lined with inns ran closer to the beach, but Layla was keeping an eye out for one business in particular. After driving for several blocks without finding it, she sighed and searched out a parking lot, trying to deny the disappointment. With only an hour of daylight left, she didn’t want to waste time chasing coffee shops in the sky.

When she exited the car, bitter wind whipped her ponytail around, and she quickly grabbed the long locks, pulling them in front of her shoulder as she raised her hood. Though she couldn’t see the ocean, she could taste it in the shockingly salty air, and she could hear its waves crash against the shore. She leaned against her car and closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to stand on the beach when her senses were so overwhelmed at a distance.

“Why speculate?” she mumbled, opening her eyes. Then she joined the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

She quickly found a café… but not the one she was looking for, so she kept walking. A few window displays tempted her, particularly the ones advertising fudge, but she wanted to find a good cup of coffee—the best cup of coffee—then go see the beach.

After another three blocks of crushed hopes, she decided to give it a rest and backtrack, visit a different café and perhaps ask about the one eluding her.

She headed for the next crosswalk, wanting to explore the other side of the road, but when she reached the corner and glanced around, she finally found what she’d come for.

Larger than she expected but as charming as she’d imagined, the L shaped building sat on a corner lot, a wooden deck stretching from one corner to the other, providing seating and scenery with cedar tables and overflowing flower beds. The smaller side of the L was devoted to a quaint bookstore simply named
Enid’s
, while the bigger portion of the building had a large, white sign curving over the entrance—
Cinnia’s Cannon Café.

Layla froze. She couldn’t make her feet move. A huge lump consumed her throat and her stomach knotted. After all these years the café survived, keeping memories made within its walls alive.

She tried to force the lump down, but her mouth was too dry. This is stupid, she scorned. There was good coffee in there and she was standing outside, afraid to move. She took a deep breath, trying to relax. Then she forced her feet forward, one shaky step at a time.

The café was perfect, exactly the way a coffee shop should look—cocoa and cream color scheme, round wooden tables and high-back stools, comfy couches and chairs facing a wood burning fireplace. And the aromas were heavenly. Layla wanted coffee before walking in, but after getting a whiff of the place, she needed it like an addict needs their fix.

The shop was busy and being tended by only one woman, who handled the pressure well, every move perfected and immeasurably graceful. She was around Layla’s age, but slightly taller with an outgoing attitude, and she was gorgeous, an unusual bright spot amidst mundane kitchen gadgets. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and smooth from a flawless part, boasting honey-gold undertones, and she had a friendly face, with round cheeks and a big smile exposing perfect teeth.

When the line advanced, giving Layla a closer look, her mouth fell open. She’d never seen eyes like the clerk’s before. Around the pupil, ran a thin ring of pastel green, which was encircled by a darker ring, then another. They continued that way, subtly changing hues, until they reached the outer iris, a dark layer of forest green. They had to be contacts, Layla concluded. No one has eyes like that.

When the man in front of her left with his order, Layla approached the counter, trying not to stare as the clerk wrote something down on a notepad.

“One second,” she murmured, still focused on her memo.

She’d only said two words, yet she had the most beautiful voice Layla had ever heard.

“Take your time,” Layla replied, ridiculously in awe of the woman.

The clerk whipped her head up, scanning Layla with narrow eyes. Then she smoothed her scowl and warily smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Layla returned, completely confused.

The clerk’s forehead creased. “What can I do for you?”

Layla cleared her throat, answering in the clearest voice she could muster. “Large coffee and um…” Damn, she’d forgotten what she wanted. She threw a quick glance at the hand painted menu. Oh yeah. “A piece of the chocolate-hazelnut torte. Please.”

The clerk’s odd expression stayed in place as she repeated the order.

“Yeah,” Layla confirmed, torn between looking at the counter and staring hard into the strange woman’s multicolored eyes.

The clerk totaled up the tab then expertly fixed the coffee and dessert, glancing up often. Layla tried to pretend she didn’t notice the looks, but found her own eyes constantly shifting toward the weird and wonderful woman.

Once Layla had her purchases and her change, she offered the clerk a small smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” Layla mumbled. Then they both furrowed their eyebrows at the same time, sharing one last look of confusion.

Layla turned and scanned the room, quickly choosing a corner table with a clear view of the entire store, including the counter and the woman tending it.

The dessert was excellent—silky smooth and sweet—and the coffee was, in fact, the best she’d ever had. As she ate, she imagined what her parents would look like sitting at each table, but most of them were occupied, and aside from the stunning clerk, no one could compare to her lovely mom and dad.

Until he walked in.

Layla’s gaze was roaming over the front door when it swung open, revealing a man so gorgeous her breath caught in her chest. Her reaction surprised and embarrassed her, but she couldn’t look away as his tall, bronzed body moved with strength, grace and purpose to the counter.

Instead of entering the queue, he moved behind the bar and began helping the clerk. All Layla could see then was his back, but she didn’t mind. She took her time examining his head, shoulders, torso—and by leaning to the left—his hips, butt and legs. He wore a white t-shirt, brown cargo shorts, and flip-flops. Inappropriate for the weather, but fantastic for the view.

Layla cocked her head to the side, appreciating his relaxed style and fine form. Then her gaze returned to his upper half, quite content to do so. White cotton rippled over muscle as he worked. And his thick hair—the color of which was strikingly similar to a pot of strong coffee held up to the light—shimmered in loose waves, sweeping over the nape of his neck.

Just as Layla wished she could see his face again, wondering if it was as beautiful as she remembered, the last customer in line walked away. The female clerk moved to the handsome stranger, and he leaned in, letting her whisper in his ear.

She must be his girlfriend, Layla concluded, swallowed by an unexpected wave of disappointment. Not that she would ever, in a million years, have the courage to talk to someone who looked like him. He could easily be a famous face and paired far better with the stunning clerk.

Layla tried to force her gaze away, but the attempt was unsuccessful and quite pitiful. She
really
didn’t want to look away. He might disappear.

Suddenly, he straightened and turned, staring right at her.

Layla gasped and looked down, heat flooding her face as her heart thundered. It felt like he’d x-rayed her, peered straight into her soul, and she didn’t dare look up again. Instead, she watched the coffee at the bottom of her cup, mortified to be caught ogling and worried she’d offended his girlfriend.

Layla wanted to leave immediately, run far away from the ridiculous situation and forget it ever happened. She shouldn’t have come, except… well, the coffee was excellent. Damn. She’d blown her chance for a refill.

She took a deep breath, working up the courage to raise her head and leave, but her concentration was blown to bits when a deep voice spoke, quickening her hasty pulse.

“Would you like a refill?”

Layla snapped her gaze up, locking eyes on the most magnificent man she’d ever seen. His front was
so
much better than his back. “Um… yeah, sure,” she stuttered, feeling like a complete idiot.

He took her cup, a small smile curving over his strong jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

Layla figured he was laughing at her in his head, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind. The tiny smile sent pleasurable goose bumps across her chest and neck.

Once he walked away—for only then did Layla have the brain capacity to ponder anything at all—she wondered what her problem was. Sure, he was the most crush-worthy man she’d ever seen, but she’d lived twenty-one years without getting silly over a guy. Melting like butter when he was near made her feel weak and ridiculous.

When he returned, she looked at the table, sliding figure eights across its polished surface, trying not to make her attraction obvious, but most likely achieving the opposite affect. Who sits around staring at a table while tracing invisible figure eights? Loonies and people trying not to look at something, that’s who.

He sat down in the chair across from her, but he didn’t surrender her coffee. He just watched her with intense brown eyes that were so dark the pupil and iris were barely distinguishable.

“How do you drink it?” he finally asked, holding up her cup.

“Sugar and cream,” she answered, voice cracking.

He gave her another small smile, and Layla couldn’t tell if humor or sympathy played on his lovely lips.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he said, picking up the cream.

More embarrassed than ever before, Layla couldn’t quit blushing, and her palms were slick with sweat. She wiped them on her jeans and ordered herself to pull it together. If she got any worse, he’d think she escaped a nuthouse.

“I’ll do it,” she offered, taking the cup. “I use a lot of sugar.”

He stayed seated, watching her add the condiments. When she poured the sugar, he raised a dark eyebrow, one corner of his full lips twitching into a smirk. “That is a lot of sugar.”

Layla shrugged, trying not to stare at his mouth. “We all have our vices. Mine’s really sweet coffee.”

He wouldn’t look away long enough for her to take a drink, and she felt stupid just sitting there, so she straightened her shoulders and met his stare. “Do you always sit and visit with your customers?”

“I don’t work here,” he replied.

“Then why are you working?” she asked.

“I’m not. Earlier I was helping a friend. Now I’m a customer sitting with a beautiful woman.”

Layla glanced around the table, half-expecting to find a pretty lady. Then she returned her suspicious gaze to the handsome man. “You’re not a customer,” she said, pointing out the empty table in front of him.

His smile widened, and dimples appeared below chiseled cheeks.

Now that’s not fair, Layla thought, absolutely blown away by the pristine package in front of her. How perfect can one person be?

“Would it help if I got a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Help what?” she returned.

“Make you more comfortable sitting with me.”

So her embarrassment was obvious. Great. “Maybe, if you tell me who you are and why you’re sitting here.”

“Then I’ll get some coffee,” he said, smoothly rising from his chair. “Be right back.” He walked behind the bar and helped himself, ignoring the pointed looks the clerk threw him.

Layla wasn’t sure what to make of everything. Why was this beyond gorgeous man giving her the time of day? And why was the beautiful clerk reacting so strangely? Layla was stumped; therefore intrigued.

When the handsome man started back, Layla looked away at nothing in particular, waiting for him to sit before looking forward.

His gaze stayed on her face as he added a small amount of sugar to his cup. Then he sipped and set the mug aside. “Now, what was it you wanted to know?”

It took longer than it should have for Layla to remember what he was talking about. “Who are you?”

“That’s right.” He flashed dimples as he reached across the table. “My name’s Quinlan, but most people call me Quin.”