Chapter 2

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A/N: I entered You are the Answer into the wattpad4 contest and guess what? It won! There are three other winners since each of the wattpad4 girls chooses one and you can see who they are and a link to their stories on my wall. Enjoy :)

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I buttoned down my white shirt and stood in front of the mirror for one final check; brown hair fashionably ruffled, no leftover food between my teeth and a collar perfectly folded. Was I a model employee or what?

You wouldn't be if you don't hurry up, I mentally reprimanded myself after glancing at the time on my phone.

I grabbed my jacket and walked out of the apartment, double checking if I'd locked the door, then trotted down the stairs, greeting some of my neighbors as I went. Stepping outside of the building, I shielded my eyes with my hand until they adjusted to the bright summer light. I then turned left, taking all the necessary shortcuts to get to work on time.

I'd recently found a new, more satisfying job. Employment at the mall definitely had its perks: better working conditions, a higher salary and security guards just a scream away; a big step up from the dump I'd previously labored in. And it all had happened at the stroke of luck. The car belonging to Mr. Philips – my current employer – had broken down and he'd had it pulled to the nearest service-station which just happened to be right across the street from the dingy café I'd worked at back then. He'd come in, ordering coffee and cream, as he waited for some minor fault to be repaired. Seeing his long face, I'd used the cream and a spoon to draw over his drink. End result? Not only did my doodle lift his mood, but he'd said it was a nice touch and that he could use my talent in his own coffee shop. About two weeks later, I was addressing him as boss.

The pleasant smell of coffee and baked sweets reached my nostrils as soon as I'd opened the door to the Milk & Cream and I smiled in greeting to the regular costumers on my way to the bar. We had waiters and waitresses, of course, but many of the clients preferred to order from me; even though I drew on orders which did not come directly to me, the patrons enjoyed watching the process which led to the unique designs in their cups and they could only do that if they sat at my 'drawing table' as my colleagues jokingly called the bar.

I tied the small black mandatory apron with the café logo around my waist and got to work. My shift started as every other day but an hour into it, a new client came in. He walked steadily towards me, ignoring the confused and anxious glances from the costumers and other members of the staff, his leather jacket and naturally faded jeans contrasting with the family-friendly theme of the establishment. He held my eyes from the moment he'd entered and didn't let go even as he sat right before me. He leaned forwards, elbows on the bar, and greeted me with a hello and a small smile.

"Hi," I squealed, grimacing at the way my voice had come out. "Hey," I tried again, this time without sounding like an overly excited cheerleader. One of my colleagues – Tim, a fit guy in his thirties – gave me a questioning look, silently asking whether I needed him to step in. I shook my head and turned back to the brunet who had given me a ride home less than a week ago.

"What are you having?" I asked, doing my best to imitate the carefree tone I used on every other client. After all, he didn't look like he came here to cause trouble so I should treat him like any other paying costumer.

He was going to pay, right?

Uneasiness settled in my stomach and I very much wanted to take a deep breath, but I was scared I might offend him; I still remembered how I thought he sounded disappointed in the car when he realized he frightened me. That brought me some comfort; if he didn't want to intimidate me, he might not be as bad as the rest of them. He certainly didn't seem as a threat with the way he looked at me with the small, kind smile that still graced his features also showing in his eyes.

"What do you recommend?" He answered with a question of his own, his voice relaxed as his posture.

"I don't know what you like," I replied, glancing behind me at the large menu on the wall in search of ideas. As I turned my head, I realized a large portion of the clients who had previously been at bar were now sitting on tables or had left the café. If I hadn't been sure before that I wasn't the only one who found this guy scary, I would be now.

"Something not too sweet and with a rich texture. Not too watery," he elaborated when I raised my eyebrows at the description he provided. "And in a large quantity."

"An extra large coffee with extra cream then?" I suggested and he gave me a nod. "Would you like a drawing with that?" I asked and it was his turn to be confused.

"A drawing?"

"Yes, I can use the cream to make a drawing of something. What would you like?"

"A wolf," he answered without hesitation.

"You like wolves?" I questioned as I poured the dark brown liquid into a large mug and began to work my magic with the cream. His eyes finally parted with my face to follow the movement of my hands with unhidden interest.

"They are amazing animals," he said. "Strong and loyal."

"And loyalty is important to you?" I spared a second to sneak a glance at him; he looked very serious now that his smile was gone.

"Where I come from loyalty is everything," he uttered with a quiet, but confident tone.

I pushed towards him the cup with my design of a grown-up wolf, my attention back on his face. He was smiling again and I found myself mimicking the gesture.

"You have talent," he said in a voice which sounded proud. "Now I don't want to drink it because I'll ruin your masterpiece."

I laughed and his head tilted towards me, his smile bigger than before. For some reason I blushed. Scratch that, I knew the reason: he was hot.

"You can always take a photo of it." A moment after I suggested it, his phone was in his hand and I heard the click of the camera.

"One with the artist?" He asked, not putting away the device.

"I... Erm, maybe next time?" I had taken pictures with my work and clients before but even though he seemed nice enough, I still couldn't trust him. It was when his grey eyes landed on my arm that I realized I was running my hand over the scar; a mark left by another handsome man who had seemed nice. For all I knew, this guy could be some creepy stalker...

"How did you know I worked here?" I asked something which should've come to my mind sooner and as I took a step away from him, I looked around for Tim.

"Keychain," he replied back to the carefully controlled voice he used when he'd tried to make me relax in his car. "When I drove you the other night and you took your keys out, I noticed this logo," he pointed with his chin towards the one on my apron. "I wasn't sure whether you worked here or if you were a patron but I thought I'd give it a shot and it seems it has paid off."

"So you did come because of me?" He nodded.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. Alec can be rather... overwhelming."

"You mean terrifying as Hell," I corrected.

"He has a way of getting into people's heads," he said with another nod and took a sip of his drink. "He gets it from the other side of his family," he added, placing the mug back on the polished surface of the bar.

"You two are related?" I asked surprised; they didn't look alike. The only thing they had in common was making me feel scared even though it was in a different way; with the boy, I'd been absolutely horrified while with this man, it was common sense and previous experiences that made me cautious.

"I'm his uncle," he replied in a tone expressing he wasn't exactly leaping for joy at that fact.

"You are?" I exclaimed loudly then looked around to check whether I was bothering the costumers or my colleagues. And that was when it hit me: this guy had been here for maybe twenty minutes and throughout that time no one had approached me; not the patrons, not the other members of the staff. Everyone steered clear.

"Really," the man replied and I turned back to him. "I can imagine your surprise; he takes after his mother in the looks department and there isn't much of an age difference between us."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"You are six years my senior then." He narrowed his eyes and I startled, thinking that in the end I did somehow manage to offend him.

"Are you always so eager to offer personal information to strangers?"

"You told me your age first," I began to justify myself.

"That is because I want you to get to know me," he replied simply but I failed to see his logic.

"Why?"

"So you could trust me."

"Why?" I repeated.

"Because I want you to trust me."

"But why?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Do you realize you sound like a kid right now?" I lowered my head then heard him say gently: "Look up. It's good that you are questioning people; it will help keep you safe."

I did as he told me and saw he had a smile to match his tone.

"What's your name?" He asked then. It was funny how we already knew a few things about each other but we had yet to find out something as basic as what we were called and even funnier that he would ask me about that right after he'd reprimanded me about giving personal information to strangers. But what harm could telling him my first name do?

"Riley," I replied. I bore no nametag as Mr. Philips believed that we should tell our names to the clients only if we felt like it; it was unconventional, but it provided us with some security.

"Well, Riley," he made a brief pause after my name as if to savor the sound of it. "I'm Rhys," he extended a hand in greeting and I thought I felt him shiver when I shook it. He was looking at me strangely; not the frightening type of strange, just in a way I could not decipher. The warmth of his hand left mine as he let go and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the unusual look was gone.

"Why were your eyes closed at the parking lot?" I inquired, remembering the night we met.

"My other senses heighten that way."

"Why did you want them heightened?" I asked, leaning on the bar.

"Because I smelled something good."

"What?"

"A scent I had not smelled before."

"But what was it?"

"Again with the questions," he chuckled but this time I didn't lower my gaze. "Maybe I'll tell you next time," he said with a wink and the way he pronounced 'next time' sounded as if he had every intention to see me again. It scared me a bit, yes, but I would be lying if I said the promise didn't also excite me. He was gentle and a looker so the old Riley – the one before the fire – would've at least sent him a flirty smile by now, gang member or not.

"I have to go; I'm meeting my brothers," he announced, drinking the rest of his coffee in one huge gulp.

"How many brothers do you have?" I asked, wanting to keep him here even if it was just for a few more minutes.

"By feeling – many; we are a close-knit community; by blood – three. Actually, you already met one of them."

"I have?" He nodded, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket.

"Everett.He was the eldest guy you saw on the parking lot. He's also Alec's father." I gasped so he went on: "He had yet to reach seventeen when Alec was born."

"So Alec's parents are childhood sweethearts," I assumed aloud and he suddenly became serious. He paused, a wallet in his hand, and his face thoughtful as if he debated on how much to share with me.

"Alec's mother is a lot older that my brother," he voiced slowly.

"How much older?" I asked quietly, afraid that he might take my question as me prying.

"A lot. Age can be complicated with some people," he began moving again and I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to figure out his words. A fifty dollar bill landed on the bar and I was just about to hand him his change when he said:

"Keep it."

"That's more than four times what you owe for the coffee," I objected with a shake of my head and attempted to give him his change again.

"Buy yourself dinner," he insisted and got up. "You are too slim."

"I eat regularly; I just don't put weight anywhere but on my stomach," I protested, somewhat offended that he thought I was unable to provide for myself. There had been a time when that had been true, but I didn't want him to know that; I didn't want him to think less of me.

I shifted from one leg to the other as Rhys took in as much of my figure as wasn't hidden behind the bar before he nodded – a gesture he seemed prone to.

"You don't look sickly," he agreed but still didn't take his money. He kept his eyes on me for another minute before heaving a sigh and swirled around to exit the café. He stopped at the door and turned back one final time, saddened as he waved me goodbye. I blushed as the most ridiculous thought swirled in my head: he looked like he didn't want to leave me.

*****

A/N: Yay, I managed an upload in a week! I'm going to do my best to post a new chapter each weekend, if not more often. Speaking of chapters, what do YOU think of this one?

Did it earn itself a vote?

And did you expect to see Rhys again so soon?

Also, do you think Rhys meant to offend Riley by giving him the money and telling him to spend them on food?

Have a great time on wattpad everyone!


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