CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
"You ... you weren't going to call me ma'am, were you?" she asked. She was not in the ma'am age-range or the ma'am married range, either.
"I was not."
She looked behind her and saw the blue-eyed man who'd watched her drama with Carol at the dry cleaners.
No. He looked like the one in the dry cleaners, but he was different. His hair was longer and curled at the nape of his neck. His tie was sky-blue, much like the color of his eyes. Tall and gorgeous and well-dressed. Oh, my.
She felt the same odd pull that she had with the other guy. Recognition. And ... desire for closeness. She really wanted to crawl into his arms and stay there, warm and secure, forever.
You are losing it, girl. Snap out of it!
"So ... twins?" she whispered.
"Miss?"
"You ... you weren't at the dry cleaners earlier, were you?"
He shook his head. "My brother Reeve was there, though."
"Oh. Um. Sorry." She moved aside, but he shook his head.
"Go in front of my ma--er, lady?" he said. "My parents would be ashamed." He opened the door and gestured for her to go through first.
"Thank you." She hesitated and then met his gaze head-on. "I appreciate your kindness, Mister…"
"Call me Ryle."
"That's your first name, or your last?"
"First," he said with a gentle smile. "What's your name?"
"Right. Sorry. I'm Cassandra Willowstone. You can call me Cassie, if you want." She heaved a shaky breath, but she didn't break eye contact. "I figure you're new around here, so here's some advice, Ryle. I'm the town pariah. Being nice to me will only make trouble for you."
"Good thing I like trouble," he said. He flashed another smile, but this curl of his lips sent a tingle from her head all the way to her toes.
Uh-oh.
Attraction was so out-of-the-question. Yet, her body was not listening to her brain. It continued to respond with little sparks of pleasure.
"I also like making up my own mind about people, Cassie." He nodded toward the door. "Coffee awaits."
"It's your funeral," she murmured. She entered the shop and felt her heart drop.
The place was empty, which meant she couldn't avoid the inevitable confrontation with Joe.
Ryle would get to see Round Two of Humiliate Cassie. She glanced at the clock on the back wall and saw that it was fifteen to eleven. Already? Shoot. If she didn't hurry, she would be late to work. Ugh. That would be the crap frosting on her failure cake.
Relief cascaded through her when she saw Sara Banton behind the counter, adding chocolate-chip muffins to the three-tiered display stand on top of the refrigerated glass case.
Sara had once been her best friend. They'd known each other since kindergarten. In high school, they were practically inseparable.
She lost her best friend the same day she'd lost everything else.
Sara didn't blame Cassie for what happened between her mom and dad. She knew nothing Delia Willowstone did was her daughter's fault. Sara had confided in her about her parents' bad marriage way before Mom ever had the affair with Joe.
Sara had never said a mean word to her. But she couldn't extend the hand of friendship anymore, either. She was a legacy in the coven, same as she should've been. And she was being groomed by her parents to be part of the Council of Six.
Ironically, Marie Banton had always been kind to her—even after Joe left her for her mother. But she rarely saw Marie. She was a pottery artist who spent most of the time in her studio. She specialized in making cauldrons and other witch-casting materials such as mortars, pestles, and bowls. She also had some wonderful art pieces.
"Good morning," Sara chirped as she looked up. Her gaze met hers and she saw a flash of regret before she looked at Ryle. "How can I help you, sir?"
"Cassie was here first," said Ryle pleasantly.
"We…" Sara's expression turned miserable. "Uh, I can't serve her."
"Why not?"
"It's okay, Sara. I'm here for Dorianna."
"Oh." She nodded. "I'll prepare her usual then."
Sara started the coffee machine, pulling on handles and pushing buttons. The machine whooshed with steam as she worked.
A couple minutes later, she put two cups of coffee on the counter. "One skinny latte with three pumps of sugar-free vanilla and no whip. And one white chocolate mocha with extra whip."
She looked at her and then at the coffees. The latte was for Dorianna, but the white chocolate mocha … that was her favorite drink.
Back when she'd counted Sara as her dearest friend, she always ordered it when they'd drop by the coffee shop after school. She felt tears crowd her eyes. The thoughtful gesture made her chest feel tight.
"Thank you," she said. "How much do I owe you?"
"Sara? We're out of—"
Joe Banton stalled his progress, glaring at her over the refrigerated case full of quick-buy food and drinks. "What do you want?" he spat.
"She's here for Dorianna," said Sara.
Joe's gaze landed on the two coffees and then he turned his frown onto his daughter. "Who's the other one for?"
She saw Sara flinch, her expression turning guilty. Her niceness to her in any form would get her nothing but grief from her dad. Cassie opened her mouth to defend her or to lie or to do something that would get her friend out of trouble.
"That one is mine," said Ryle. "I need a plain coffee, too, please."
Joe's face cleared. "Ah. Okay. I'll get your other coffee, sir," said Joe, taking care of Ryle's request.
"That's three dollars and eleven cents," said Sara, pushing Dorianna's coffee toward her.
She got her wallet out of her purse, and paid cash for the coffee. She tucked a $5 tip into the tip jar and mouthed "Thank you." Sara nodded, glancing at her dad.
She turned, smiling at Ryle to show her gratitude for his help, and then she left. Relief cascaded through her as soon as she left the shop. She was so glad to be out of Joe's presence. If she didn't get her butt in gear, she'd be late to her shift. She hurried to the corner of the block, waiting for cars to pass so she could cross the street.
"Cassie! Wait!"