He watches me flounder for a moment, edging further into the room and crossing his arms.
“Kinda klutzy, aren’t we?”
A lopsided smile emerges, sending shockwaves through my veins.
Good lord, how old am I?
“What do you want, Blake?” I say, firmer this time.
The last thing I need is for him to know he’s getting to me.
“So, I was thinking about what you were saying before,” he says, taking another step into the room.
“You’ll need to be more specific,” I mutter, trying to center myself. I feel heady—and off. Like there’s not enough oxygen in the room and I’m desperately trying to breathe.
“You said people are stupid and rarely worth your time. It got me thinking about my own situation and I still think we’d make a good team.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I think you’re wrong. People are generally flawed—yes. Plenty of them have issues, as you saw the other day. But I’ve also witnessed some pretty amazing people in my time. For whatever reason, I feel like you’re missing out if you’re not witnessing that side of people, too,” he says, taking a last stride forward and leaning on the back of the chair opposite me.
“I seriously doubt you’ve had enough experience with people, if this is your take,” I say, leaning back.
“Come on, let me show you. Let’s do coffee—and maybe, if you want, we can work together on this case and I’ll help you see the world a little differently,” he says, grinning.
“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” I say, irritation welling up.
Who does this guy think he is?
Seriously, I’ve been around a while. I highly doubt his thirty some odd years—maybe forty—have gifted him more people experience than all of mine.
“So, is that a yes?” Blake says, his eyes flashing mischievously.
“Screw you,” I sputter, suddenly unable to contain myself. After all he’s done this past week, I can’t believe I’d actually considered calling him.
“Could be fun, but I don’t generally make a habit of it on the first date,” he smirks.
I roll my eyes.
Wonderful, we have a comedian in our midst. Swell.
“Let me make this abundantly clear to you,” I begin, folding my hands across the table, “I will, in no way, shape, or form ever—EVER go on a date with you. There will be no screwing for that matter, as I’m not even sure you’d pull your head outta your ass long enough to entertain the thought of someone else’s pleasure…”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been told by many women I’m very attentive,” he cuts me off, an eyebrow quirking smugly.
An absurd shiver squiggles down my spine and I instantly get unwanted flashes of intimate moments he’s had with women—of course, they’re all from my imagination as it springs into action—instead of any sort of reading from him.
“Gah—” I cry, throwing my hands to the sides of my head to try to ignore my mind as it plays tricks. “That’s—it’s not the point. The point is, it will never, ever happen with us. So the sooner you can get it through your thick skull, the better off we’ll both be.”
Blake takes a step around the table toward me, his dark eyes penetrating mine in the most intimate way. I can’t explain it—it’s like he strips me down to my bare essence. Not the naked me, but the soul level me. The corner creases of his eyes deepen as he takes me in, and his lips tilt ever so slightly upward.
Reaching his right hand out, he cups the side of my face without a word. Warmth radiates from the palm of his hand, making me shiver despite myself. My body suddenly craves to lean into it.
“Give me time,” he finally whispers, winking.
I glare at him, knowing full well my traitorous insides want desperately to give into it.
Dammit.
Leaning away, I pull my face from his hand.
“Listen, I don’t know about you, but where I’m from, touching someone without consent can be considered assault,” I warn.
My skin blazes, tingling from his touch.
Blake chuckles, his dark eyebrows rising in a high arc.
“Oh, is that so? Well, I’ll keep that under advisement,” he says, tipping his head. “It was good to see you again, Diana. Think about it.”
Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks out the door.
My eyes stray, mesmerized by the way he walks.
“Mmmm mmmm,” Renaldo mutters, appearing in the doorway. “Honey, I don’t know what the dealio is, but damn, that man has a fine stride.”
“Go away, Ren,” I say, my eyes flicking to his from beneath my eyebrows.
I don’t know what kind of magic this guy has, but I’m not about to be his bitch. I’ve been around the block long enough to know when to stay the hell away. Everything about Blake screams RUN—even if half of me is in direct disagreement.
“I’m just saying… How long’s it been since you…” he wiggles his eyebrows, “…ya know?”
I stare at him unblinking.
Four years, eight months, and 12 days. But who’s counting?
“It wouldn’t hurt ya to use him to get a little somethin’ somethin’ and ignore the rest—if that’s what floats your boat. I mean, your nether region is gonna atrophy, if you’re not careful. What I wouldn’t give to have your kinda freedom,” he says, his eyes going distant, and a giddy smile stretching across his lips.
“Oh please,” I say, “you and Brody are perfect for each other and you know it. Even if you were able, you’d still be chasing him around like a lost pup.”
Renaldo snaps his fingers in the air, “Oh no you don’t, woman. Take it back. If anything, the lost puppy would be him.”
I chuckle and walk to the doorway.
“Sure, if you say so. Let me know when my next client is here,” I mutter, ushering Ren out and slowly closing the door to my reading room so I can seal myself off.
Walking to the window overlooking the garden, I stare out into the sea of color. If it were up to me, none of these flowers would exist, and I’d have nothing to appreciate as I stand here. Thank god for Sebastian and his green thumb. He’s the first landlord I’ve ever had who couldn’t stay away from gardening. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve spent walking the garden, pulling in their potent fragrance and allowing it to wash the day’s energy from my aura.
I stare out at the hydrangeas, watching as they buzz with activity from the bees roaming the garden.
How does Blake get under my skin so easily?
It’s not like there’s anything special about him—not really. Sure, great ass. But as much as I can appreciate his physique—it’s not what’s annoying the crap outta me. Maybe it’s the fact he’s right. Something is sparking between us—despite my best efforts to ignore it. For the first time I can remember, I’m not in control of how it’s gonna play out and that scares the hell outta me. Something’s sweeping me away and I’m powerless to stop it.
Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be intrigued, or pissed off.
Suddenly, flashes of a possible future consume my vision and I stumble backward. They flit back and forth: caught in Blake’s embrace, white dresses, birds flying, and music playing. The emotions come through clearly—bliss, love, light. Green lights twinkling.
I shake away the vision, surprised.
Green means go.
The thought repeats in my head—the same words I tell my clients all the time.
The only difference, this is for me.
I’ve been at this for centuries—of that, I’m certain. I’ve kept my journals dating back to when I realized I wasn’t aging. But this—this is the first time I’ve ever seen anything of my own future. Gotten any specific info or details. And believe me, I’ve tried. It’s even put Demetri in the hospital.
What in the hell?
A knock on the door makes me jump.
“Everything okay in here?” Ren asks, leaning in.
“Because I’ve been buzzing you for the last ten minutes and you haven’t responded, weirdo,” he says.
I walk over to my reading table, “Sorry, I was—send them in please,” I say, taking a seat.
Ren shoots me a sideways glance, and turns to the woman beside him, “Diana will see you now,” he says.
He does his typical flourish with his hand as he sweeps it out to allow her entry.
“Thank you,” the oriental woman says, ushering past him and walking to the seat opposite me.
“Hello, Tina,” I say, picking up on her name immediately. It was loud and clear—as if it was the one thing she wanted me to know before anything else. A test, most likely.
“Hi. Hi, Diana,” she says, taken aback, but recovering quickly. “I—do you need me to tell you why I’m here?”
“Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get to all that,” I say, sweeping my hand toward the chair.
She circles the chair and sits down quickly, placing her hands in her lap and facing me tentatively.
I watch her closely as she fidgets with the ends of her hair.
Her nervous energy gives way—sending over details. Light and dark—life and death.
“Did you lose someone?” I finally say.
Tears well up in her eyes and she nods.
I nod to myself, tilting my head slightly as I wait for more details. After a moment, I reach my hands out across the small round table.
“Can I have your hands for a moment?” I ask.
Tina holds out her hands and places them face down over my own. Her hands are cold and clammy—but our contact relays who she’s thinking of. She’s recently lost her boyfriend, Trevor to a car accident.
“Okay, I think I see—you’re wondering about Trevor. About whether or not you’ll ever see him again,” I say, opening my eyes. “Am I right?”
She nods, large droplets falling from her eyelashes to her lap.
“Is there—I need to know if there’s anything after this life. Will we ever be together again?” she asks, her lip quivering. “Will he be reincarnated?”
This is one area where I honestly have no idea. The universe has never relayed information one way or the other about it. I can’t say in all the time I’ve been alive, I’ve never stumbled upon anything conclusive. At least, as far as I’m aware of—and with my lifespan as it’s been, I would have thought if it were a thing, I’d know.
“Physics dictates all energy created can never be destroyed. Whether or not you’ll join Trevor in the recognizable form as you are now—I honestly can’t say, nor can I promise. The universe hasn’t given me that kind of insight. However, I do know he’s around you now. Part of his energy and essence will always be with you,” I say, trying to carefully tread the line between honesty and hopefulness.
Her eyes widen, “He’s here? Now?”
She looks over her shoulder.
“No—not like that. He’s not a ghost or anything. I just mean, part of his energy—his atoms if you will—are with you. They’ll stay with you until the end. Does that make sense?” I ask, watching her.
“I miss him so much—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Do I wait? Do I try to move on?” she whispers, dropping her eyes back to her clasped hands in her lap.
“If there’s one thing I know for sure—it’s Trevor wants you to go on living. He may not be here, but he doesn’t want you to stop living your life. He wants you to embrace all this world has to offer. Run at it headlong and don’t ever look back.”
The words, keep trucking pop into my head.
“Keep trucking,” I say, “he wants you to keep trucking—if that makes sense.”
Tina’s head jerks up.
“He—he used to say that all the time,” she gasps.
It’s a clear sign to her—I see it in her eyes.
“Thank you, Diana. Thank you,” Tina says, standing up.
She rushes around the table and leans down, embracing me in an awkward, tight hug.
“Don’t mention it,” I say, patting her arm.
“Thank you, thank you—” she says, releasing me and rushing to the door.
Whatever I said was clearly what she was looking for.
I lean back in my seat.
It’s so strange the way humans love—even after a loss. We’re all so willing to run headlong into it—at least, the first few times. But after a while, losing those you’re close to wears on you. It makes you bitter. I should know.
It’s not often I’m asked about the afterlife—or reincarnation. But it always makes me pause when it does. The universe is a good many things, but an open book is certainly not one of them.
When I hear the ding of the doorbell, I pop my head into the storefront.
“I’m gonna head down to the coffee shop. Want anything?” I ask.
“Ooooh, you’re a lifesaver. I’m dying for a mint mocha latte. A splash of skim milk, no whip. Heavy on the mint,” Ren says, his eyes lighting up.
“Got it,” I say, knowing he’ll be lucky if I even remember the mint part.
I grab my jacket and head out the front door, hands in pockets, and hood up.
The midday sun hangs slightly lower than it does during summer—casting deep shadows across the pavement as I walk the concrete sidewalk toward the coffee shop up the road—Ruby Moon. I’m not sure where the name came from, but I’ve always loved it. It’s a fitting nomenclature for the type of place I’d like to gift my money to.
Besides, they make a helluva good cup of coffee.
I listen to the birds in the trees flitting around, chirping and trilling away—and can’t help but smile. It’s not quite spring yet, but twitterpation is certainly in the air.
Walking up the front steps, I swing the door open and waltz to the counter. The owner, Maxwell, is stationed behind the register, and a young barista leans against the counter, picking at her nails. Only one other customer graces their presence, as he rests—belly up to the bar.
“Hey Diana, the usual?” Max asks.
“That’d be—” I begin, glancing at the man at the counter beside me.
I double take.
“Ah, right on time,” Blake says, twisting on his pedestal seat and facing me. “Told ya I’d get you to have coffee with me one way or another.”
Chapter 9
MY MOUTH DROPS OPEN, and I’m at a loss for something to say. I’ve been to this coffee shop hundreds—scratch that—thousands of times, and I’ve never, not once seen him here.
“What are you doing here?” I ask indignantly, unable to help myself.
“Having…coffee,” he says, cocking his head. “You?”
“I uh—” I step back, glancing from Maxwell to Blake, then the barista—who looks as bored now as she was before. “Getting coffee for Renaldo,” I finally decide on.
“Isn’t that sorta his job?” Blake says, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, to get coffee for you?”
It’s true, ordinarily, he’d be the one doing the running—but I wanted the fresh air for a change. Especially after everything going on.
“That’s kinda sexist,” I blurt out.
“Has nothing to do with sex,” Blake says, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
A shudder races up my spine at the way he says it. Like he’s deliberately taunting me and he wants me to know it.
Turning from Blake, I square up to Max, “Yes, the usual for me, please. And a mocha latte thingy for Ren.”
“His usual?” Max asks, grabbing a paper cup and writing something along its side.
“Possibly?” I say, dropping my chin and shaking my head uncertainly. It’s never occurred to me to pay attention to what Ren’s usual is. How terrible is that?
“See, you don’t even know what the hell he’s meant to drink,” Blake laughs.
“I do, too. It’s a long, complicated order,” I scoff.
“Shouldn’t
a psychic be able to pick up on what it was without a notepad to remind her?” Blake taunts.
Maxwell’s eyebrows skirt up to his hairline, but he doesn’t say a word. He passes the order on to his barista who sets to work, her expression never changing. The only thing that could make her more cliche is if she were snapping gum—but she’s not.
“We’ve been over this, Blake. It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “I’m still human.”
Granted, if I really wanted to, I could probably pull up a mental recall…
He sets down his drink.
“Hmmm, seems I have something to learn about you and being psychic. Care to join me at a booth? Chat with me a bit?” he grins, pointing at the booth near the window. “I’ve got some time to kill and I could use a lesson.”
“I can’t. I have to bring Ren’s coffee back to him, remember?” I say, shaking my head and pointing to the coffee being made.
“I can have Amy bring it down to him, if you’d like Diana,” Max says, a smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing—a sure sign he wants me to take him up on the offer. Seems like everyone is trying to hook me up.
“See?” Blake says nodding and pointing at Amy. “Amy will do your bidding. So, it’s a date, then?”
“It’s soooo not a date,” I say, trying to control the drumming of my pulse. It kinda feels like a date. An impromptu—‘where the hell did this come’ from date. But a date nonetheless.
“It could be if you wanted, though. Right?” he says. “It’s all about mindset.”
His dimples deepen beside his goatee, and I sigh. His smile just about rivals his physique.
Would it be so bad to sit down for a cup of coffee?
“Fine,” I say, grabbing my cup of coffee from the bored barista. “I’ll sit with you for a minute—but it’s not a date.”
Blake throws up his hands, “Whatever you say.”
Turning to the nearest booth along the bank of windows, I slide into my seat and take a deep sip of my coffee. The foam on top makes my lip tickle, and I set the cup down. Sliding into the spot right beside me, he forces me to shift over and effectively locks me between him and the window.
“You know, there’s another seat on the other side of the table. Makes for an easier way to have a conversation,” I say, pointing to the empty seat.
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