hair.
He did that so often I wondered if there were trenches in his skull. Finally, he seemed
to notice I was there. He looked up at me. “Plans tonight?”
“Nope.”
“Not seeing that guy?”
“What guy?” I asked, perplexed.
“The guy from Halo.”
“Oh
that
guy,” I said, my heart speeding up. It’d been weeks since that night and neither
he nor Tracina had brought it up, Tracina because she was probably too drunk to remember
and Will because he never pried. Had he seen something after all?
“That guy was just a one-time date. There was no real chemistry.”
Will squinted as though he remembered things a little differently. “No chemistry?”
He turned back to his adding machine and punched in more numbers. “Could have fooled
me.”
When I asked Matilda what to do if I ever ran into someone I knew while out on a S.E.C.R.E.T.
date, she told me that the truth was always better than a lie. And yet, here I was,
lying.
“Will, Tracina’s here, so I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, making ready to
bolt.
“Cassie!” Will said, startling me.
Please don’t ask me any more questions
, I prayed silently.
Will met my eye. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said.
I saluted and left.
“Cassie!”
What did he want this time?
I turned and walked back to poke my head through the doorway.
“You looked really … good that night. Great, even.”
“Oh. Well. Thanks,” I said, no doubt blushing like a teen. Oh, Will. Poor Will. Poor
Café Rose. Something had to be done soon.
It was inevitable. That evening Tracina got the heel of one of her neon pumps caught
in a crack in the sidewalk. Her toes moved forward, but the heel stayed put, wrenching
one of her bird-like ankles. She had warned—and had been warned—about the cracks in
the pavement and the perils of wearing those pumps at work. But such is a woman’s
vanity, and such was my life, since I was the one who had to absorb a few of her night
shifts until her puffed-up ankle returned to its normal dainty size. I complained
to Matilda, who had asked me to keep her aware of my work schedule. I was hoping my
next fantasy would take place in the Mansion, and I was also hoping it would happen
soon. But it was looking more and more like this month might be fantasy-free. “Not
a problem,” she said. “We will just schedule twoevents next month.” But still, memories of that interlude in the jazz bar were fading
and the truth was, I was longing for more.
Thank goodness for Spring Fling was all I could think, while wiping down the tables.
I couldn’t have made it through a week of double shifts if we’d been busy. The days
stayed dead quiet, but the early evenings cast an even sadder mood over our part of
the city. There were so few customers to absorb the glow off the streetlights, it
just bounced around the walls and glass, giving the Café the feel of a lonely painting.
Will was staying at Tracina’s to help her get around, so his reassuring presence wasn’t
felt upstairs. I didn’t mind. I had a couple of good books on the go, and was even
boldly using my free time to scribble some thoughts into my fantasy journal, which
was the only homework S.E.C.R.E.T. had asked me to do.
That’s actually what I was doing at the bar when the door chimes alerted me to what
I thought was a late-night customer. But it was the pastry delivery man, odd because
normally those guys made their drop at the crack of dawn, when Dell was around to
sign off on the waybill. I had sent the cook home hours before, since the only things
I’d serve after 7 p.m. were coffee and dessert, and only to people who were wrapping
up their meal. I turned to watch as a young man in a gray hoodie pushing a dolly stacked
with pastry boxes walked right up to me without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding off my stool and hiding my journal behind my back, “but
aren’t you a little late?
He did that so often I wondered if there were trenches in his skull. Finally, he seemed
to notice I was there. He looked up at me. “Plans tonight?”
“Nope.”
“Not seeing that guy?”
“What guy?” I asked, perplexed.
“The guy from Halo.”
“Oh
that
guy,” I said, my heart speeding up. It’d been weeks since that night and neither
he nor Tracina had brought it up, Tracina because she was probably too drunk to remember
and Will because he never pried. Had he seen something after all?
“That guy was just a one-time date. There was no real chemistry.”
Will squinted as though he remembered things a little differently. “No chemistry?”
He turned back to his adding machine and punched in more numbers. “Could have fooled
me.”
When I asked Matilda what to do if I ever ran into someone I knew while out on a S.E.C.R.E.T.
date, she told me that the truth was always better than a lie. And yet, here I was,
lying.
“Will, Tracina’s here, so I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, making ready to
bolt.
“Cassie!” Will said, startling me.
Please don’t ask me any more questions
, I prayed silently.
Will met my eye. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said.
I saluted and left.
“Cassie!”
What did he want this time?
I turned and walked back to poke my head through the doorway.
“You looked really … good that night. Great, even.”
“Oh. Well. Thanks,” I said, no doubt blushing like a teen. Oh, Will. Poor Will. Poor
Café Rose. Something had to be done soon.
It was inevitable. That evening Tracina got the heel of one of her neon pumps caught
in a crack in the sidewalk. Her toes moved forward, but the heel stayed put, wrenching
one of her bird-like ankles. She had warned—and had been warned—about the cracks in
the pavement and the perils of wearing those pumps at work. But such is a woman’s
vanity, and such was my life, since I was the one who had to absorb a few of her night
shifts until her puffed-up ankle returned to its normal dainty size. I complained
to Matilda, who had asked me to keep her aware of my work schedule. I was hoping my
next fantasy would take place in the Mansion, and I was also hoping it would happen
soon. But it was looking more and more like this month might be fantasy-free. “Not
a problem,” she said. “We will just schedule twoevents next month.” But still, memories of that interlude in the jazz bar were fading
and the truth was, I was longing for more.
Thank goodness for Spring Fling was all I could think, while wiping down the tables.
I couldn’t have made it through a week of double shifts if we’d been busy. The days
stayed dead quiet, but the early evenings cast an even sadder mood over our part of
the city. There were so few customers to absorb the glow off the streetlights, it
just bounced around the walls and glass, giving the Café the feel of a lonely painting.
Will was staying at Tracina’s to help her get around, so his reassuring presence wasn’t
felt upstairs. I didn’t mind. I had a couple of good books on the go, and was even
boldly using my free time to scribble some thoughts into my fantasy journal, which
was the only homework S.E.C.R.E.T. had asked me to do.
That’s actually what I was doing at the bar when the door chimes alerted me to what
I thought was a late-night customer. But it was the pastry delivery man, odd because
normally those guys made their drop at the crack of dawn, when Dell was around to
sign off on the waybill. I had sent the cook home hours before, since the only things
I’d serve after 7 p.m. were coffee and dessert, and only to people who were wrapping
up their meal. I turned to watch as a young man in a gray hoodie pushing a dolly stacked
with pastry boxes walked right up to me without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding off my stool and hiding my journal behind my back, “but
aren’t you a little late?
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