“Feeling better?” Aunt Nellie asks as I tie my apron.
“Yeah.”
“Good. You can work the café.”
The “café” is a counter in the back right corner of the store, where we sell coffee, pastries, and prewrapped sandwiches. A side door leads to a covered strip of concrete with a few tables and some colorful chairs. It’s open from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., Monday through Friday. I don’t mind playing barista, especially since we keep it simple and the cappuccino machine does most of the work for me.
I’ve barely stepped behind the café counter when the bell on the side door jangles. I look up just as Edgar Linton walks in.
The morning sun illuminates his wavy, golden hair, and when he smiles at me, my breath catches. He looks fucking angelic. Under his arm he carries a few books, and I glimpse the wordocculton one of the spines. Not the kind of reading I’d expect a Bible collegegraduate to be doing.
“Hey, Cathy.” He rests a hand on the countertop, drumming his fingers lightly. “I came around earlier this week, but you weren’t here. I heard you were sick. You okay?”
“Peachy,” I say lightly. “What can I get you?”
“A pumpkin spice latte, please—skim milk. And I wanted to ask if you’re free for dinner tonight.”
Oh god. “Tonight?”
A soft pink tinges his pale cheeks. “It’s just…I know we’ll be hanging out at the beach thing this weekend, but I thought it might be nice to catch up before then.”
This is a date. Edgar Linton, pastor’s son and probable heir to the pulpit of Wicklow Heritage Chapel, is asking me out on a date.
I can’t think of a reason to blow him off and I’m taking way too long to answer and… “Um…sure.”
“Great!” He brightens. “Moretti’s, around seven? Or…what time do you get off?”
“Six or so. We close at five thirty, but I help out with a few things afterward.”
“Pick you up at your house, then. Seven o’clock.” He turns away, heading for the door.
I clear my throat. “Don’t you want your coffee?”
“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Flushed and laughing, he returns to the counter, and I can’t help smiling as I ring him up. He’s cute. Why shouldn’t I go on a date with him? It’s not like I’m dating anyone else, certainly not that grouchy, tattooed Heathcliff with his menacing, mysterious comments.
Once Edgar’s coffee is ready, he takes it outside and sits at a table with his books, occasionally glancing at me through the window. Not gonna lie—it feels good to have someone like him notice me.He’s so…clean. Such an upstanding Captain America type. Most guys around here are grubbier than Heathcliff and less satisfying in bed—though to be fair, I rarely do it in an actual bed anymore. It feels more transgressive and exciting to do it literally anywhere else.
Eventually Edgar leaves. The lunch rush begins, keeping me too busy to wonder about his motives for asking me out.
Around one thirty, a shiny Rivian pulls into one of the café parking spots, followed by a second car, a BMW M8. Yeah, I notice cars. When you don’t have one and you long to travel, they tend to be extra fascinating.
Four of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen climb out of those cars and walk toward the café tables. They’re eye-catching in a way that goes deeper than surface-level hotness—they all possess an indefinable grace, a cool confidence, as if they’re perfectly at ease with themselves in a way most people aren’t. I could almost swear they’re walking in slow motion, like in movies…but nope, this is real life, and they’re sitting down at one of the outdoor tables.
I grab the tablet we sometimes use to take orders outside, and I’m about to go greet them when I see two more cars pulling in—Pastor Linton’s Toyota and my dad’s Ford. Dad and the pastor head straight for the group of strangers. Like they were expecting them to be there. Like this is some kind of meetup.
What the hell is happening?
I walk to the side door and lean against the wall beside it, right next to the big window. The window isn’t sealed well, and if I focus, I should be able to catch a little of the conversation. Pretending to be fiddling with something on the tablet, I concentrate on the voices outside.
“—heard you’ve been asking questions around here,” Pastor Linton is saying. “Thought we might be able to answer them so youcan be on your way.”
“We also heard you were poking around Old Sheldon Church,” Dad puts in.
“Sightseeing,” says a light male voice with a hint of a British accent. “That place has quite the history.”
“It’s an important site, wouldn’t you say?” Another man’s voice, quieter and sleeker somehow. More dangerous. “We just want to ensure that it’s being well maintained. We heard there’s a group around here that’s in charge of keeping an eye on it.”
“That would be us. Our church,” says Pastor Linton.
