HE PRESSED HIMSELF against the cool, dry rock and observed the girl. She was pretty, in a Satan’s bride kind of way. Her devilish costume somehow only added to her perky cuteness. He watched her settle a large spoon into the center of several large, silver dishes and then re-cover them, repeatedly checking the small notebook she kept in her apron pocket. Frowning over the contents of the table, the devilish miss expelled a breath, obviously angry. “Dammit! They didn’t give me the deviled eggs.” Spinning on her heel, she headed toward the door. He listened to her soft footfalls as they travelled back the way she’d come.
When he was sure she was gone, he stepped into the room, which was cozily lit by several tall candelabras filled with slim, red candles whose dripping wax reminded him of b
