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As he has for the past week, the blue-eyed stranger sprawls comfortably on a chair in the deserted corner of the coffee house. Reading in complete solitude. On the table sits an untouched latte and a flatbread, his usual order. Every night, he throws everything away exactly as I offered it to him. He does nothing but read his book and ignores the rest of the world. The cafe is packed with students from the nearby university, especially during the late night hours, but he never interacts with anyone. He arrives at the same time every night and leaves exactly at 11:00pm—my quitting time.
When he first came in a week ago, I thought nothing of it. He was just another customer. He walked in with a purpose in mind, strolled to the back of the coffee house, pulled the cherry oak chair out and sat. From within his handy dandy blue messenger bag, he removed a large, brown book, placed it on the table, and began turning the pages. I think he’s reading. Sometimes it looks like he’s only scanning the book, not really paying attention to what’s written there.
Maybe he’s just wasting time. I’ve begun to suspect he is.
Every night I saunter over to him, take his order, and listen as he asks for a small Iced Caffé latte and a flatbread. He follows the same pattern every time. Some days, I wonder why I bother asking. He doesn’t look up at me when he speaks, and keeps his answers short. When it's time for him to take off, he leaves a crappy tip on the table before discarding the contents of his tray. Then, he strolls to the cash register where he pays for food he never eats. At exactly 11:00, not 11:05 or 10:50, he exits the building and heads west.
A week ago, my life was set in a comfortable routine. But after the stranger ambled into the cafe for the third night in the row, I realized something was eerily wrong with the way things were playing out. Most customers come in for the food. Or the ambiance. Or to catch up with friends or school work. He does none of these things.
He’s not an ordinary customer.
Who does the same exact thing every night? Unless he’s got OCD. A brief observation of him, however, puts seeds of doubt in my head. He doesn’t have any behavior patterns that are obvious or stick out in any way. With the exception of his nightly visits, he looks basically normal.
It’s the word normal that causes my conflict. He’s not what he appears to be. My training has enabled me to pick people like him out from the regulars. I’m a hunter, schooled to spot creatures humans often overlook. I can detect the vibes these supernaturals give out and I keep a sharp eye out for them daily.
“Jesus, Daya.” The sound of my coworker’s voice startles me and I jump, effectively smacking my head against the cookie tray on the counter above me. The tray slides across the stainless steel surface and clatters to the floor near my right hand, catching the attention of the patrons still in the café. I feel the sting of embarrassment as they turn to look at me and giggle like a bunch of amused teenagers. I can’t imagine the image of me, on my knees, trying to hide under the counter, would give them a better impression.
“Girl, are you daydreaming again? What are you doing down there anyway?”
“Dammit, Deedee.” I reach up and rub the top of my head that connected with the tray. “I hate it when you sneak up on me.” I look up at her and frown. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologizes as she saunters in my direction and bends to pick up the tray. “Good thing we didn’t have a fresh batch of almond cookies on here.”
I pick myself off the floor and stand, gazing out at the seating area. I’m almost shocked when I realize the blue-eyed stranger has actually bothered to look up from his book to see what all the commotion is about. No matter what goes on in the coffee house, he never looks up from his book. He always seems completely oblivious of the world around him. Until right this second.
His sudden interest in me is most definitely a first, and I find myself pinned in place by his stare, which is deep and reeks of curiosity. Those cerulean orbs seem to pierce right through me and that unnerves me. Does he know? I almost slap myself on the forehead. How would he know? He’s not a mind reader. Or is he?
“He’s here again,” I whisper to Deedee.
“Who?” She settles the tray back on the counter and takes two steps toward me.
“Him. You know, the creepy guy that always comes here at the same time every night.”
Deedee looks around and locates him near the back where he’s still staring at me. “Oh, him. God, he is good looking. Isn’t he?”
I try to tear my gaze away from him, but I can’t. “How can you say that?”
“One would have to be blind not to notice, Daya.”
He stares at me a moment longer before turning on his seat and back to his book. Finally I can breathe again.
“You should go over there and ask him for his number.” Deedee elbows my ribcage. “He seems to like you.”
“Not in a million years,” I reply with an indignant huff. “Besides, how in the world would you know if the likes me or not? He barely shares a few words with me every night. And that’s because I’m asking for his order.”
“Call it woman’s intuition.”
“What a cliché, Deedee.”
“Fine. Whatever, but if he comes in tomorrow night too...” Deedee leans her face closer to mine, “...I’m asking him for his number.”
I shrug. “He’s all yours.” Though the last thing I want is for Deedee to have any type of interest in someone so shady. He inspires nothing but distrust.
“Hey,” Deedee gestures to the digital clock hanging above the cappuccino maker to my right, “go on home. I can finish cleaning up in here.”
The clock finally reads 11:00 pm—time to go home.
“Fair enough.” I untie my apron as I hurry to the employee lounge at the back of the building, next door to the owner’s office, and continue to where I left my backpack and sweatshirt earlier. After hanging up my apron on a hook near the door, I slip on my sweatshirt and grab my pack from where it has been laying on top of cardboard box. I saunter out of the room and peek inside my boss’ office for a moment to say, “Hey, Doreen. I’m headed out.”
She takes her eyes off the computer screen in front of her long enough to acknowledge me standing there. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
I wave at her before marching off in the direction of the coffee house where I spot the stranger at the cash register, paying for his order. This throws me off because he usually pays before I go to the back to retrieve my belongings. But tonight’s different. I stand there, a bit shaken, as he hands Deedee the exact change for his order and takes a step back. He never says please or thank you, which is another indicator that he’s either an arrogant bastard or just rude. Either way I don’t like him and I’m sure my reservations about him are well-founded.
When he takes out a pair of gloves and slips one of them on, my doubts flee. He’s definitely up to something. I’m sure now. This break in his routine raises red flags. People like him do not mistakenly tear away from their predictable actions unless something is amiss. I sincerely doubt he’s one to screw things up on purpose.
Something is going to happen. I’ve been observing him and not once has he broken from his pattern, which means he’s up to no good.
Whether he knows it or not, I’ve caught on. Something about this night is different, and though he has yet to say more than a few words to me, I’m fully aware of the fact that as soon as I exit the coffee house he’ll be hot on my trail.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m counting on it.