I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (5 page)

“I’m calling an ambulance,” she says sternly.

“No! I’m fine,” I answer hastily. I open my eyes to see Kristy staring at me. She’s waiting for an explanation of my sudden extreme physical discomfort. "It’s just cramps," I lie.

She lifts her right eyebrow, unconvinced. “Fine, but if it happens again, no discussion; okay? Straight to the hospital.”

I nod in agreement, thankful she doesn't press the issue. I smile at her hesitantly and nod.  

***

A few hours later, I feel like myself again. The coffeehouse is buzzing with activity as the regulars order their skim-no-whip-lattes while the tourists are busy deciding what drink best expresses their experience. Tourists hate to waste money on the normal, everyday items. They want an irreplaceable memento, unique to their specific, unspoken journey. Every detail of their travel is a cherished celebration. The simple task of taking a picture becomes transformed into picturing history. This is why I created the Live Oak Latté: a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, complemented by a full body espresso roast coffee. The day shows no signs of slowing down and by lunchtime, we’re slammed. The majority of my clientele during this hour are hungry college kids. The Savannah College of Art and Design is located just a few blocks from here, so most students come to study, unwind, or get jacked up on caffeine. Last year, I hired a junior named Susan Kim who majored in Arts in Illustration, to create a mural representing a piece of Savannah. Three months later, the massive live oak that frames my doorway was born.

“Lunch was busy today,” Kristy sighs.

“Yeah, I’ll feel it later." I didn’t even notice the time. It was already six o’clock. 

“What are you doing tonight? Wanna grab a drink after work?” she asks, tempting me with one cocked eyebrow.

“I would, but Janie’s at my house. She’s staying with me until Cara’s wedding.” I want to keep the
why
Janie is staying with me as vague as possible. I don’t feel comfortable sharing other people’s personal business, although Kristy is an expert at prying out every detail.

“Why is she staying with you? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I answer too quickly, avoiding her eyes.

“You’re not very convincing,” she responds, tapping her finger against her lips. “What is it? Something big is happening, right?”

“Janie’s thinking of divorcing Nick,” I spit out, too tired to participate in the hundred questions game.

Kristy’s smile quickly fades. “Why?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know. It makes no sense,” I respond, restacking the clean mugs under the counter. “She claims she isn’t fulfilled, but I know there’s more to it. I tried explaining to her she’s not doing the sensible thing," I finish nervously.

“Really?” Kristy responds curiously. “What other reasons would make her want a divorce?”

“Your guess is as good as mine."

“Maybe he cheated?”

I shake my head. “No way. Nick would never do that. Besides, Janie would have told me immediately; it’s not something she can keep bottled up,” I sigh. “She seems concerned about something else.”

“It’s possible she might want to be happily in love again,” she shrugs.

I pick up a soiled rag and fervently wipe down the counter, unconvinced. She’s hiding something... a big something. “I know there’s more to it,” I respond, confused.

Kristy sighs, clearly frustrated by my disbelief. I’m not great at articulating my thoughts or creating a fancy closing statement. That’s why I own a coffeehouse, not a law firm. Kristy skips out the front door to wait on the customers crowding the terrace. I glance at the clock, hoping time jumped a few hours since I last checked. It’s slowly making its way to seven o’clock. Three hours before I can go home. Ten o’clock sounds late, but surprisingly, there are a lot of people filtering in and out at that time. Providing live music also helps. Every other Friday, a band of acoustic musicians perform in my shop from seven until closing. Tonight, the band, Southern Drawl, is scheduled. They’ve been here a few times already, and attract a decent-sized crowd. In a few hours, the sidewalk will be covered with blankets and chairs, filled with people sipping coffees and bobbing their heads. I wipe a long streak down the center of the counter and throw the dirty rag in the sink, making a mental note to tackle the ever-growing laundry pile.

The chattering from outside grows louder as a few band members approach the patio. Girls are running up to them, batting their long lashes and twirling their perfectly coiffed curls. I snort, remembering those days. Peeling my attention away from the young, fearless teens, I start prepping the ingredients for tonight’s iced coffee specials - caramel Frappuccino and iced vanilla coffee with fresh chocolate shavings. I reach inside my fridge and grab a huge block of dark Swiss chocolate. I scan behind the counter for the grater, finding it buried under a mountain of papers and glasses. I gently grate the chocolate, watching the curls fall lightly on the plate. Normally, this tedious chore bores me, but tonight, I actually enjoy it. If this is the only way I can wipe my thoughts out of my mind, then so be it. I let them melt away, focusing on nothing but grating. I don’t know how long I am transfixed, but my attention is suddenly drawn to the doorway. I turn my head, watching a gorgeous man walk through the entrance. All the air seems to be sucked from the room in a collective gasp at his striking presence. Strands of wavy, jet-black hair frame his square face, lightly brushing his strong, chiseled jaw. Shadows accentuate his well shaped features, adding intensity to his already rugged look. His black eyebrows are intimidating, hovering a few inches above his powerful gaze. Thick eyelashes surround his hypnotic, ice-blue eyes that seem brighter than a lagoon. I’m transfixed, and completely unable to tear my eyes off him. A worried voice insists I look away before I drown in the depths of his irises. He’s intriguing. An unfamiliar feeling stirs inside, and my cheeks flush as butterflies flutter in my stomach and render me speechless.

Reality, unfortunately, returns, cautioning me to get it together. I don’t want to be a lust-filled adolescent. He gazes my direction, and our stares become entangled. My heart thuds like a hammer while my palms turn into clammy puddles. His stare slowly disarms my senses, one by one. Sights, sounds and smells fill my brain without warning, causing sensory overload. A thick cloud of musky cologne mixed with a woodsy scent surrounds me. I give him a confused look, and notice a twinkle of yellow crossing his eyes. What the hell? I study his fluid movement as he strolls toward the couches, eventually plopping down on one of them. I shake my head, trying to break the invisible string tethering us. I exhale uncomfortably from our unusual exchange, and glance at my hands, not knowing what to expect. They appear normal, still ten fingers. I survey the rest of my body, making sure an extra leg or arm didn’t suddenly grow. Nope, I’m all set. I continue my prep work and welcome the diversion. Customers filter in, determined to keep me busy, for which I am grateful. I steal a quick glimpse of him, noticing he hasn’t moved or ordered anything. He drums his fingers along the table to the warm-up melodies of the band, starting with his pinky finger and moving to his thumb. Typically, I find this sort of fidgeting extremely aggravating, but there isn’t anything about him that I don’t like.

Kristy comes barreling through the door, holding an empty tray, and stops directly in front of him. I attempt to grab her attention, knowing it’s a futile effort. She’s already mesmerized. Who wouldn’t be? I’m stunned he doesn’t lift his gaze to return the gesture of a beautiful woman.

“Kristy," I whisper her name. “Kristy!” She pops her head up.

I motion for her to come over, meeting her halfway. I loop my arm through hers and escort her behind the counter to avoid further embarrassment. I think we both had enough for one evening. “What are you doing? You just stared him down!” I admonish her, keeping my voice soft.

“Did you see that guy? How could you not?” she responds, fanning her face dramatically. “I don’t know what happened… I just couldn’t take my eyes off him. He’s a Greek god!” she adds, smiling and pointing in his direction.

I politely knock her arm out of the air. “Apparently, he has Medusa’s powers too! I thought you were going to turn into stone,” I say, laughing. “We’re both acting like we never saw a good looking man before.”

I snatch my favorite soiled rag from the sink and wipe down the counter for the hundredth time. I have too much nervous energy to just stand around.

"That’s because we’ve never seen a man like that,” she whispers, pointing at him again. “His looks could kill… literally.” Kristy proclaims, adjusting her perfect ponytail. “You should talk to him,” she says, jabbing her finger into my shoulder.

I laugh a little too loud. I can’t help it. She really believes I can muster the courage to speak to him. “No way! I can’t talk to him,” I point back at her. I know better. Men like him prefer the blond, trophy types.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she counters. “You should at least offer him a smile!”

I shake my head, refusing to respond. I’m not going to talk to him or flirt; that’s for sure. Plus, what would I say?
Hello, would you like a coffee?
If he wanted something, he would have ordered it. I scowl at Kristy, who in return, raises both her eyebrows, daring me. I put my hands on my hips, determined. I’ll be damned if she thinks I’m going to just march over to him and strike up a random conversation.

She playfully pushes me out of my diva stance. “By the way, most of the tables are clean. Mind if I cut out early? Josh called and said he wants to grab dinner and drinks.”

“I thought you weren't going to see him anymore," I reply suspiciously. Josh is her go-to guy when she needs male companionship.

She waves me off. "Why would I? I have it good right now. We both enjoy each other’s company without all those pesky strings," she responds modestly.

"Go on, get out of here," I wink.

Kristy takes off in the direction of the office to gather her things and close out for the night. My new thoughts are unexpectedly obsessed with this handsome stranger after my curiosity left little room for anything else. Kristy could have a point about the Greek god thing. I sigh inwardly. How is it possible some people can look so perfect? I bet there’s something wrong with him. Maybe he stalks women, or he’s happily married. I frown, thinking of his lucky wife. That’s what it is. All the sinfully gorgeous men are either already married or gay. The stagnant air almost becomes suffocating when he stands up. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, causing my breaths to grow shallow. He’s so elegant and composed, something rarely seen nowadays. He carries himself differently too, as though he came from another time period. Bewitching is the best word I can think of to describe him. He casually glances over his shoulder, making me wonder if he can hear my thoughts. That’s ridiculous! People can’t read minds... right? I snicker at my stupidity.   

“Anna? Did you hear me? Hellooooo?” Kristy’s voice shouts in my ear.

It takes a minute for the fog to clear out of my brain before I notice Kristy standing directly in front of me, blocking my view of him. I shake my head. “What? Um... I'm sorry, what did you say?”

I peek over her shoulder to see if he’s still here, but to my utter disappointment, he’s gone. A devastating feeling of regret overtakes me. Regret for what? I can’t describe it. All I know is I wish I heard his voice. This can’t be normal.

“Geez, he sure did a number on you,” she continues. “Why don’t you meet us when you’re off work? Josh is bringing his friend, Shane, who just moved here from Mississippi,” she says a little too lightheartedly.

Kristy’s blind dates for me are like combining oil and water, they just don’t mix. I sigh, not feeling in the mood to be tortured tonight by stale conversation and uninteresting questions.

“Come on, it will be fun. He just got a job teaching at SCAD, Romance Period Art or something boring like that,” she winks.

She says it like I’m even interested in art, let alone that particular period of it. My only interest in art stems from the architecture of the Greek Revival period. Thus explains my love of Southern architecture and its noteworthy display of antiquity.

“No, really, it’s okay. I see what you’re trying to do and as much as I appreciate it, I have a lot of stuff to get done around here, like marketing,” I reply without any enthusiasm.