The Doctor's Fake Nanny(32)

A series of inane thoughts run riot through her mind.

He needs a haircut …

Could those eyes be any more intense...?

How can an imperfection on his chin make him look so sexy?

"I... err- …  I …  sorry. We've run out of cappuccinos and lattes. I'm  afraid all we have is plain coffee," Cassidy stuttered, unable to gather  her wayward thoughts.

"I like mine black," the man answered as his eyes swept her body from head to toe.

For some strange reason, Cassidy thought he was referring to her skin tone and a primal shiver ran up her spine.

Don't be stupid. Her common sense said. He means he likes it without sugar and cream.

"Look …  I was watching you from across the street and … "

Stalker! Stalker! Stalker!

The word repeatedly screamed in her mind as she scurried to the counter.  She knew she had a baseball bat hidden under there somewhere, and she  wouldn't hesitate to bash his gorgeous head in.

"Please, Cassidy? I'm not a psycho. I just really need my caffeine fix right now," he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

Cassidy was dumbstruck. "How did you even know … ?"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, interrupted as the stranger pointed to the nametag just above her breast pocket.

"Oh," she added feeling utterly foolish.

Finally summoning some of her sensibility, Cassidy stammered, "It's rather late …  and …  and … "

Just then, the 8:15 bus whizzed by. She missed it. Shit.

"There goes my bus!" she sighed.

"Well, I promise I'll keep an eye out for the next one. Now, can I have  coffee while we wait?" he deadpanned as he approached the counter.

Cassidy didn't really believe much in destiny or good fortune. All that  mystic nonsense happened to someone else, not her. But she did have  another forty-five minute wait for the next bus …  which was entirely his  fault, and he'd better leave a substantial tip for being such a  nuisance. Besides, he didn't really look like a serial killer.

She pointed to the coffeemaker that the house used for refills and handed him a mug.

"Help yourself," she gave in.

The man walked over to the machine as Cassidy studied him furtively. He  had a lean body under the leather jacket, and his easy stride told her  he was athletic. His manner was casual as he slid onto a barstool in  front of the counter. His presence made her uneasy in a mysterious,  thrilling way. Hell, he was even better looking up close. She gave him a  tentative smile as their eyes met over the rim of the coffee mug.

"You're my hero, Cassidy. Thanks for indulging me. My name's Tristan," he said with a warm smile.                       
       
           



       

Tristan? Such a coincidence! That was Brad Pitt's name in the movie  ‘Legends of the Fall,' and Tristan Ludlow was her childhood crush. His  poster still hung by her old bedroom back in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

"Thanks," Cassidy politely returned his smile as she brushed Brad Pitt‘s  bearded face from her mind. "It's a shitty night. I guess everyone  deserves a break." After a few seconds of pause she added, "So …  what  brings you to this part of town?"

Small talk was cheap. Besides, she really wanted to know about her fluke  of fate. He struck her as someone who would be more at home in the  designer coffee shops of Fifth Avenue.

"I like watching people out of the ordinary and there are pretty  interesting characters on this side of town," Tristan explained.

"So, you're a stalker then?" Cassidy joked.

Tristan threw back his head in amusement, displaying a beautiful set of pearly whites.

"No, no, I'm a photographer," he added, inserting a hand inside his jacket pocket.

He drew out a compact digital camera that fit perfectly into the palm of  his hand. He pressed a button and the LCD screen came to life.

"Here … " he said, leaning across the counter.

Cassidy inched forward and watched as he flipped through a series of  photos. There was a homeless man with a cardboard sign hanging from his  neck, a kid with muddy sneakers riding a bike, a drunk in the act of  tipping a whiskey bottle in a brown paper bag into his mouth, a pair of  nuns walking hand in hand, a woman selling flowers by the sidewalk, and  so on. His ability to capture images was so defined that they almost  seemed to jump off the small screen.

Desperation was written on the homeless man's face. The boy on the bike  looked bothered about his muddy sneakers. His mom would probably give  him hell for it. Reckless dependence and thirst painted the drunk's  face. The two nuns looked happy and carefree to be out in the open. And  the woman selling flowers had a resolute look on her face.

"They're beautiful … " Cassidy gushed. She could tell the story behind every shot.

"I'm glad you approve," Tristan replied, shutting the camera off and  sliding it back into his jacket pocket. "It's called physiognomy, or the  interpretation of a person's character or personality using the face as  a canvas. I use the camera to capture those characteristics."

"What do you do with all the pictures you take? Sell them to a magazine or something?" Cassidy asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Sometimes I do, but they're mostly just for my pleasure. This camera's  just my little point-and-shoot I carry with me for when I'm strolling  around town," he explained as he patted his jacket pocket. "My  professional camera's back at my studio. I actually prefer this little  camera here since I can easily fit in my pocket and snap a quick photo  whenever I see somebody interesting while I'm out and about. Each photo  is unique and allows me see a part of the person's soul," Tristan went  on.

Cassidy digested this information as she wiped down the countertop with a  damp rag. So, he was a camera bug - a specialized stalker who wanted a  glimpse into another person's psyche. Of course, she didn't dare say  that aloud.

"How about you, Cassidy? What makes you tick, aside from being totally  beguiling and letting a complete stranger keep you from going home on a  rainy night?"

Cassidy was momentarily taken aback. Beguiling? No one had ever called  her that before. Spunky, maybe, but only because she'd learned to deal  with the variety of characters who came for their daily fix. Gritty,  even, because she was determined to see her mother through chemotherapy  for her recently diagnosed cancer despite their financial dearth.

Well …  she did have that other job, but it wasn't something she was  comfortable telling someone she'd just met. He might not understand. The  stigma attached to it was widespread. No, she decided not to mention  that job at all.

"Me?" she asked, thoroughly abashed. "I... I just work here. There's nothing exciting about me at all."

"Surely you have family? A dog? Cat? Friends you hang out with? Everyone has a story to tell," Tristan urged her.

Cassidy wrinkled her nose, still not sure if her story was worth  telling, but he seemed sincerely interested in hearing what she had to  say.

Probably just being kind …  considering that I could be home right now  instead of waiting for the bus and racking my brain for a story to tell.  The thought ran through her mind.

"I'm from Alabama initially," she began. "That's where my mom and dad  are. He owns a small cabin near Perdido River, and rents it out to  tourists who visit the Forest Preserve. It was destroyed by Hurricane  Katrina, so my dad's trying to build again. My mom stays home mostly."                       
       
           



       

She saw no need to tell him that much of her salary from the coffee shop  was sent home to dad to help with the construction. Nor did she see the  need to tell him that she was forced to get a second job months ago  after receiving a frantic phone call from her dad. A painful call where  he broke the news that her mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

"So …  your mom and dad, they're okay?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure they're fine," Cassidy lied.

She felt prickly with him staring at her face.

"What brought you to New York? Do you have family here too?" Tristan asked.

"No," Cassidy answered briefly, then added, "A trip to New York was part  of the prize money I won joining a local pageant. I found New York  exhilarating and never wanted to leave. So that's why I'm here. The  people, the action, the art, the conversation. Meeting strangers..." She  smiled at him with an arched eyebrow.

Cassidy wished he would stop with the twenty questions. Thinking about her mom and dad made her sad.

"This pageant you mentioned …  was this one where you had to wear a  bathing suit and pose in front of a huge crowd?" Tristan questioned with  a smirk.