"If you've changed your mind, I can always get you something else," she offered.
"It's fine." Marcus glared across the table at Nick.
She caught his gaze again, and smiled as a rabid team of butterflies went racing through her insides. She envisioned herself lying naked with him on satin sheets in a bed of pillows, surrounded by gauzy netting and flickering candlelight.
She really had to stop reading Jamie's smutty romance novels. She turned to leave.
"Hey, Cupcake?" Paul called.
She turned back to him with a smile. Always smile Ashley had told her. Smile and flirt. It was the best way to guarantee a good tip. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" That was another tip from Ashley, saying, 'sweetheart' reminded people of their mothers, unconsciously it made them feel secure, but also let them know that you weren't interested. At least, that was Ashley's theory.
"Can I get some horseradish, and a refill?"
"Absolutely," she smiled at him.
"So how long have you been working here?" Paul asked when she returned.
"A couple of weeks. How am I doing?"
Paul shrugged. "Not terrible."
"Thanks, I guess."
"So did they tell you about us?" Paul asked.
"Tell me what?" she asked, innocently.
"About our crazy star cult?" Paul said as he waved his arms about to punctuate the 'crazy star cult' part.
She felt that twinge across her back again.
"Oh, are you guys part of some crazy star cult?" she mimicked his tone and gestures back to him.
"Well..." Paul started, giving a half shrug.
"No," Marcus said gruffly as he scowled as Paul. "We're Disciples of the Ange. Sometimes, we're called Star Souls."
"Star Souls," she repeated. "Yeah, I think I did hear someone mention that."
"Some people like to poke fun at us because of our beliefs," Marcus continued.
Great. A complainer.
"It happens," Jennifer shrugged.
"I don't imagine you'd know much about what that feels like?" Marcus scoffed.
Your beliefs, your family's beliefs, your father's latest sermon... "Sure I do," she shot back. "I just don't feel the need to take it personally."
Nick covered his smile with his sandwich.
She was beginning to see why no one wanted to wait on them. That Marcus was a real downer. Paul was all right, and she definitely wouldn't mind seeing Nick again... and again and again... and between her thighs, heaving breathlessly.
Oh. My. What was happening to her? Just because he was without a doubt the sexiest thing she had ever seen was absolutely no reason to allow her fantasies to keep having their way with him like that.
She decided the best course of action was to leave them alone. She kept herself busy with other customers until—
"Hey, Cupcake?" Paul called.
"How can I help you guys? You need some drink refills?" she smiled.
"Just the check," Marcus said.
"You want them separate?"
"No. It's on me today," Marcus forced a smile and handed her $50. "Keep the change."
They shuffled out of the booth. She couldn't help but notice that Nick was exactly as tall as she had envisioned him being.
"You'll have to excuse Marcus, it's been a rough couple of weeks," Nick explained.
"No worries," she said, trying — unsuccessfully — to keep her gushing smiles to a minimum. "I understand."
"Do you?" Marcus countered.
She imagined he was doing his best not to sound combative, but he did. Maybe friendly wasn't in his nature. They'd had a cat like that once, named Skipper. Growled at everything, and liked only food and naps. Died in his sleep on top of the clothes dryer.
Marcus scoffed. "You know what it's like to lose someone?" he condescended.
The smile left her face and she met his gaze. "Yeah," she said seriously, "I do."
"Really," Marcus's tone was filled with doubt. "Who did you lose?"
Jennifer tried not to think of them, but she couldn't help it — in an instant they were in her thoughts: the Taylors who'd been her family, her parents, her brothers, and sisters, Mike, Xavier, the family she couldn't remember. She could feel the first sting of hot tears. She fought them back with a swallow. "Everyone," she answered him.
She stole what she had only meant to be a quick glance at Nick, but something in his gaze kept her there longer than she had intended — something familiar, something safe — or maybe it had only been her imagination again. And then she left as quickly as she could.
Chapter 7
Stranger Than Science Fiction
"I'm taking my break now," she informed Brett, in the steadiest voice she could manage as she hurried through the kitchen and out the back door.
She wanted to run, to escape, and she was pissed. Work had been the reprieve from her pain, from her memories, and her nightmares. It had been her sanctuary, her haven, it was everything she had now, and she was happy when she was there. She couldn't lose that. She needed to clear her head and get things straight again.
She ran. Not far, just to the beach. It was off-season still, and the beach was mostly vacant, except for a few avid runners and some off-season tourists.
She closed her eyes and breathed the crisp sea air deep into her lungs.
Someone cleared their throat expectantly behind her.
She turned.
Marcus.
What did he want? She looked past him for the others — unfortunately he was alone.
"What do you want?" she asked, not sounding as mean as she wanted to.
"Nick thinks I may have been a little harsh with you," he said.
"Everybody has bad days," she shrugged and turned back toward the beach, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
He didn't.
"Our people, the Ange and their disciples, lost some very important souls recently," he shared, coming to stand beside her.
Souls? Who talks like that? There was something odd about his presence, a sensation she probably wouldn't have minded if his personality hadn't made him so revolting.
"We've been with other followers, mourning their loss, this past week. I guess it's still affecting me pretty hard, and for some reason I decided to take it out on you."
"Like I said, everybody has bad days." She tried to sound nonchalant. She understood, but clearly he didn't, and she just wanted him to go away.
"You don't have to be so cold, you know." He scoffed.
She wanted to tell him off, to yell at him, to throw all her anger from everything that had happened to her at him. But she wanted him to walk away even more so she clenched her jaw shut and kept quiet.
"You have no idea what I'm even talking about do you?" he condescended. "It's been all over the news."
"I don't really follow the news." Her own life was disaster enough for now.
"Well, maybe you should," he sneered. "Ignorance isn't bliss you know, it's pathetic."
She wished she could will him to leave, like she knew Genevieve could — minus the violence of course. She shuddered involuntarily as the vivid imagery of three men spontaneously blowing their heads off flashed before her eyes. Kill or be killed, she could hear Genevieve's rationalization in her mind, but it really didn't make her feel any better.
"You didn't really lose everyone did you?" he huffed.
He really wasn't going to let this go was he? Maybe he needed a win. She shook her head. It felt like a lie. But they weren't gone forever she reminded herself, just separated.
"You're a pretty good actress," he chuckled.
What a prick. She didn't know what to say to make him leave so she decided not to say anything at all.
"You like to be alone don't you?"
"Sometimes," she answered, hoping he'd take the hint.
"Because the emptiness doesn't feel as strange when you're alone as it does in a crowded room." It was almost a question. "You feel disconnected, different, and alone, even in
a crowd. You want to connect to people but your connections feel superficial. Even people you care about, and who care about you, they don't really know you — not the real you — not your soul."
How did he know? No one knew this about her, and she really didn't like the idea of an ass like Marcus being able to read her — to know her so well. "Everybody feels like that, sometimes." She glared at him.
"Thought so." He grinned. "Yeah, I know you."
"Do you?" A back street alleyway and five men in suits flashed in her mind. Kill or be killed, she heard Genevieve's rationale, only this time it felt more reasonable than she had been willing to consider before Marcus's insinuation that he knew her.
Marcus stepped close to her. Part of her wanted to back away, but she didn't. She stood her ground and kept her eyes firmly on him, and he did the same. He did have rather remarkable eyes; green with flecks of amber.
"You have an affinity for stars and sour foods, you talk to animals and you're sensitive to the feelings and moods of those around you. You feel you're meant for something great, or you did, before you gave up on yourself to pursue waiting tables." He moved closer. He smelled like turkey and onions. His sandwich hadn't even had onions on it. Gross. "This world seems somehow not quite right to you, and sometimes, when you find yourself alone," he paused, probably only for dramatic emphasis, "you can feel someone is there with you, watching you, looking after you almost. People you've never met before seem familiar to you, like déjà vu. Do I seem familiar to you?" he said softly.
"Not especially," she answered, but it felt like a lie. He did seem familiar but not like they had met before. A jerk of Marcus's magnitude was hard to forget. He reminded her of someone she should be familiar with, like a well-known celebrity, or the bully at school the other kids would warn you to steer clear of.
"Maybe I'm wrong."
He didn't believe her, she could tell.
The corner of his lips curled slightly as he stepped back from her. "I guess I'll see you around," he said.
She lifted her head in a half nod. He held his gaze a moment longer then turned and left — thank the stars.
It bothered her that she identified with so much of what he had said. She didn't relate to the feeling of being watched, but everything else was familiar.
Maybe it was some kind of recruitment technique, she figured. Find the right combination of seemingly unusual things that a certain percentage of the population has experienced, and persuade them to sign up.
Well, not her. She'd been raised on religion and it was never really her thing, but a cult? No. Hell no.
Ashley was waiting for her by the back door when she returned. "Give us a hug," she said with her arms outstretched.
A hug was exactly what Jennifer needed, and she readily accepted Ashley's offer. Ashley stroked her back and kissed her on the forehead. It was very motherly.
"We saw you on the beach with Marcus," she said with concern. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just needed some air," Jennifer reassured.
"Nick was here," she said coolly.
"Nick?" Jennifer asked.
"Yeah, we were all out here talking about you behind your back," she smiled. "Nick said Marcus came to apologize."
Jennifer scoffed. "Do me a favor? If Marcus ever tries to apologize to me again, don't just stand there — save me."
"Can do," Ashley chuckled.
Chapter 8
Said Among Friends
Erin was being quieter than usual on the walk home after work. Jamie was making small talk with Jennifer, about the latest book she was reading.
"So what was all that on the beach?" Erin cut in.
"I don't know," Jennifer shrugged. "It was weird."
"Twenty bucks says he was trying to convert you."
"They don't convert people, Jamie, they discover lost souls," Erin corrected.
"Lost alien souls," Jamie added with a chuckle.
"I had no idea you were part alien." Erin said to Jennifer in mock surprise. "Which side of the family is that from now?"
"I'd have asked for a deposit if I'd known you were an alien," Jamie eyed her.
"The tentacles didn't give me away?" Jennifer teased.
Jamie and Erin laughed.
"What are you guys talking about?" Jennifer laughed at their giggles.
"The Disciples of Ange," Jamie said with mock respect. "The DOA," she said ominously. "Dun Dun Dun!"
Jennifer shrugged and shook her head.
"D-O-A," Jamie smiled. "Dead on arrival... Disciples of Ange, D-O... never mind."
"They believe that aliens live among us." Erin looped her arm through Jennifer's. "They call them the Ange, and they worship them."
"It's a little on the whack-a-doo side, if you ask me." Jamie derided.
"Ange," Jennifer rolled the word around in her head for a moment. "Isn't that French for Angel?"
"Yes," Erin said with a sigh. "I can't believe they think no one notices that."
"But people would laugh if they called themselves Martians," Jamie snickered.
"They worship aliens?" Jennifer asked incredulously.
"Oh, but you haven't heard the best part," Jamie went on. "They believe that aliens have been traveling to earth for centuries, and that some of them decided to breed with humans." Her voice took on a dark and sinister tone reminiscent of a campfire tale. "That's who these lost souls are that they're after, descendants. So that when the mother ship finally comes, they'll all be able to return to the stars or France or wherever it is they're from."
Jennifer was half expecting Jamie to lunge at her and shout the punch line of her tall tale; 'and then they eat you!' or... 'Don't drink the Kool-Aid!' or... 'boogedy boogedy boo!' or something. But she didn't.
"I'm not sure who the bigger idiot is," Jamie chided. "The dimwit that came up with the whole idea or the unfortunate morons who follow along."
"So what would make Marcus think that I was one of them?" Jennifer asked.
"Marcus lost a bet," Jamie scoffed. "He's just looking for a return on his investment."
"And it looked like he was doing okay, from where I stood," Erin huffed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jennifer glowered.
"Nothing," Erin shrugged. "I'm just saying you two looked pretty cozy out there on the beach together."
"Not from where I was standing," Jennifer shuddered. "It was creepy. And smelled like onions."
Erin and Jamie burst into fits of laughter again. She didn't really feel like it, but she laughed along anyway.
Chapter 9
Déjà Vu Is A Jerk
Three days later it was Emily's wedding, which left Sammie's short staffed in the evening. Jennifer didn't mind the extra work. Plus, when she got home that night she'd finally have her own room — all to herself, with a queen-sized bed and a closet. She had already moved most of her things into the room, as Emily had moved her things out. But Emily was still sleeping there and so Jennifer had been resigned to sleeping on the couch.
Brett had been trying to help out with the tables but for someone who ran a restaurant, he was surprisingly inept at waiting tables. Sam put him to work washing dishes, and came out front to help. He was very popular.
"Everybody loves Sammie," Brett shrugged.
"Sam is Sammie?" Jennifer marveled. "That's awesome. I thought it was just a coincidence."
Brett told her the story of Sammie's as they saw each other throughout the day. How Brett was Sam's grandson and had been working at Sammie's off and on since he was 16. Sam was transitioning him into ownership of the place, Brett explained. And the restaurant would be all his one day, once Sam retired. Or died, Brett joked, saying that death was probably Sam's definition of retirement.
Nick came in just before closing and ordered some sweet potato fries to go.
Jennifer did her best to keep her ogling to a minimum. It was hard to pay attention to what people were saying to her when her thoughts were lost in his imaginary embrace. Besides
, she had to remind herself, he was a part of some whack-a-doo alien-worshipping cult, and she didn't want any part of it.
Brett was packing his order. Badly.
"Don't forget napkins," she reminded him.
"Thanks," Brett smiled at her and reached for the napkins.
"How's it going?" Nick asked her.
"Busy. We're a little short staffed today."
"Waitress," someone called her.
"It was nice seeing you," she smiled, rushing off. She hadn't meant to say it. Polite habit, she reasoned. It didn't seem right to feel bad about being polite, but she didn't want him to get the wrong message. On the other hand, she didn't want to miss out on any tips either. Okay, so maybe it was better to be nice than not nice, even if she didn't really mean it.
She hadn't expected to see him chatting with Brett when she returned but there he was.
"I asked Nick to see you home," Brett explained.
Not that she minded the idea of spending time with Nick — except that she did — but even still, this was a matter of principle. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of Brett deciding things for her. "Is that so?" She glared, with her hand on her hip.
"Don't bother," Brett replied frankly. "This isn't up for discussion. You're not walking home alone. I'm going to be here for at least another hour, and I trust Nick."
Brett attempted to make an escape into the kitchen. But she wasn't going to let it go that easy. She rounded the counter, past Too-Sexy-For-His-Own-Good – err Nick, and followed Brett into the kitchen.
"What makes you think you have the right to decide for me?" she argued.
"Tell me about your family," Brett turned and raised an eyebrow at her.
"You're looking at it," she shrugged.
"No. You're looking at it," he said back.
She hadn't seen that coming. She didn't want to start crying, but she couldn't help it. Suddenly the tears were just there.
"Oh crap," Brett faltered. "I'm no good with tears. What would Ashley do?" He half-hugged her, half-patted her on the back.
She laughed at his awkward attempt and sympathized with his plight. She wasn't sure what to do with her tears either. She had never really been much of a crier before the whole... incident of becoming Jennifer Hollis.
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