Free Descension by B. C. Burgess Page B

green. They had to be contacts, Layla concluded. No one has eyes like that.
    When the man in front of her left with his order, Layla approached the counter, trying not to stare as the clerk wrote something down on a notepad.
    “One second,” she murmured, still focused on her memo.
    She’d only said two words, yet she had the most beautiful voice Layla had ever heard.
    “Take your time,” Layla replied, ridiculously in awe of the woman.
    The clerk whipped her head up, scanning Layla with narrow eyes. Then she smoothed her scowl and warily smiled. “Hi.”
    “Hi,” Layla returned, completely confused.
    The clerk’s forehead creased. “What can I do for you?”
    Layla cleared her throat, answering in the clearest voice she could muster. “Large coffee and um…” Damn, she’d forgotten what she wanted. She threw a quick glance at the hand painted menu. Oh yeah. “A piece of the chocolate-hazelnut torte. Please.”
    The clerk’s odd expression stayed in place as she repeated the order.
    “Yeah,” Layla confirmed, torn between looking at the counter and staring hard into the strange woman’s multicolored eyes.
    The clerk totaled up the tab then expertly fixed the coffee and dessert, glancing up often. Layla tried to pretend she didn’t notice the looks, but found her own eyes constantly shifting toward the weird and wonderful woman.
    Once Layla had her purchases and her change, she offered the clerk a small smile. “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. Have a good night.”
    “You, too,” Layla mumbled. Then they both furrowed their eyebrows at the same time, sharing one last look of confusion.
    Layla turned and scanned the room, quickly choosing a corner table with a clear view of the entire store, including the counter and the woman tending it.
    The dessert was excellent—silky smooth and sweet—and the coffee was, in fact, the best she’d ever had. As she ate, she imagined what her parents would look like sitting at each table, but most of them were occupied, and aside from the stunning clerk, no one could compare to her lovely mom and dad.
    Until he walked in.
    Layla’s gaze was roaming over the front door when it swung open, revealing a man so gorgeous her breath caught in her chest. Her reaction surprised and embarrassed her, but she couldn’t look away as his tall, bronzed body moved with strength, grace and purpose to the counter.
    Instead of entering the queue, he moved behind the bar and began helping the clerk. All Layla could see then was his back, but she didn’t mind. She took her time examining his head, shoulders, torso—and by leaning to the left—his hips, butt and legs. He wore a white t-shirt, brown cargo shorts, and flip-flops. Inappropriate for the weather, but fantastic for the view.
    Layla cocked her head to the side, appreciating his relaxed style and fine form. Then her gaze returned to his upper half, quite content to do so. White cotton rippled over muscle as he worked. And his thick hair—the color of which was strikingly similar to a pot of strong coffee held up to the light—shimmered in loose waves, sweeping over the nape of his neck.
    Just as Layla wished she could see his face again, wondering if it was as beautiful as she remembered, the last customer in line walked away. The female clerk moved to the handsome stranger, and he leaned in, letting her whisper in his ear.
    She must be his girlfriend, Layla concluded, swallowed by an unexpected wave of disappointment. Not that she would ever, in a million years, have the courage to talk to someone who looked like him. He could easily be a famous face and paired far better with the stunning clerk.
    Layla tried to force her gaze away, but the attempt was unsuccessful and quite pitiful. She really didn’t want to look away. He might disappear.
    Suddenly, he straightened and turned, staring right at her.
    Layla gasped and looked down, heat flooding her face as her heart thundered. It felt like he’d x-rayed her, peered