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.
“Yeah, I uh—yeah, why?” I say, blinking away the last tendrils of the vision.
“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.”
9
MY MOUTH DROPS OPEN, and I’m at a loss for something to say. I’ve been to this coffee shop h
undreds—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.
“Eh, where’s the fun in that?” he grins.
There’s a strange playfulness in his energy—if I can call it that. I can’t read his aura, but I still feel it somehow. Plus, the smirk on his face broadens the longer he sits beside me.
Amy shoots me a strange—aren’t you a little old to be so awkward?—kinda look as she heads out the door with Ren’s cup in hand.
“So, what exactly did you want to talk about? I doubt world peace—and I already said no to helping you on your case,” I say, returning my gaze to him, and feeling the need to throw that in there.
Blake shifts closer; the scent of aftershave or cologne wafting around us. It’s a heady kind of smell, making me want to lean into him and take a better whiff.
Before he answers, he grins again, then takes a slow, deliberate sip of his own coffee.
“What exactly is Diana’s usual?” he finally asks, pointing to my coffee cup and ignoring my question completely.
“It’s the campfire mocha,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Normal variation, or your own special blend?”
I shift in my seat, twisting a bit to look him in the eye.
“White chocolate, not milk chocolate,” I say, a slow grin spreading across my lips.
“Interesting—” he says, nodding in approval. “I happen to like my coffee black as my soul, but if I did add chocolate, it would be of the white variation.”
“Ewww. Black coffee. Really?” I say, sticking out my tongue and making a face.
“What’s so wrong with that?” he chuckles. “Nice look for you, by the way.”
I shove him.
“Oh shut up. Black coffee is wrong on so many levels,” I say, shivering.
“Enlighten me,” he says, tipping his head and taking another swig.
“The only reason to drink coffee is for the sugar and caffeine. When you take away the sugar, you only have the caffeine—and I can get the same effect drinking tea, or a shot of an energy boost drink. So, no.”
I shake my head and lift my own cup to my lips.
“Good to know,” he says, nodding. He takes another sip of his coffee and waits.
“Gross,” I mutter, unable to hide my grin.
“You get used to it. Besides, too much sugar isn’t good for you,” he adds.
“Oh boy, you’re not one of those health nuts, are you?” I laugh.
“If I were, I wouldn’t be drinking coffee. Caffeine is just as bad,” he says.
“Really?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “And how would you know that if you weren’t one of those crazy health nuts?”
“Because I had a friend who blew out her adrenal glands with a coffee addiction,” he says nonchalantly.
“Yikes. Sounds brutal,” I say, glancing at my cup of coffee. “How much does one need to drink for it to be considered an addiction?”
“Way more than a cup,” he laughs.
“I figured,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Hey, you asked,” he says, shrugging.
His eyes fall to his cup while his fingertips fondle the handle. I can’t stop staring at his dark eyelashes—he has the kind most women would kill for, but they definitely suit him.
“So, have you always lived here in Helena?” I ask.
“The outskirts, technically,” Blake points out.
“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, no actually. I used to live in Minnesota, if you can believe it,” he says, shifting in his seat.
“Eeewww. Really? Isn’t it, I dunno—freakin’ cold there?”
My mind traces back to my short stint that direction. I don’t remember the winters fondly, that’s for sure.
Blake laughs a hardy, deep laugh.
“That’s an understatement,” he says.
“Then why?”
“Family, I guess. I grew up there. But, my folks passed away and I had no other ties to Minnesota anymore. So, I decided to come down here,” he says, biting his lower lip, and eyeing his cup.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Nah, it’s no big deal. It’s been a few years,” he says.<
br />
“Do you mind if I ask, how?” I say, leaning in.
“Mom passed when I was younger—breast cancer runs in the family. A heart attack got Dad, though,” he says, his voice low.
Reaching out, I place a hand on his leg closest to me.
“I’m sorry Blake. I’m sure losing your parents was so hard.”
His eyes widen as he looks from me, to my hand. He shifts his eyes slightly, but nods.
“It was, especially at first,” he clears his throat, “So, what about you? Are your parent’s still around?”
There it is, the dreaded questions about me and my life—the ones I hate answering because they can unravel so quickly into a complete cluster.
I shake my head, “No, they’re gone.”
It’s the truth—though I don’t remember them at all. For the amount of time I’ve been alive, there’s no way they’ve managed to survive. Unless they’ve passed down this insane longevity to me.
“Sorry, this has, ah—taken a turn,” Blake says, scratching the back of his head.
“It’s okay, it was a long time ago for me, too.”
“I suppose it’s what drove you to helping people, huh?” Blake says, watching me closely.
I pause for a moment, considering. For the most part, it transpired gradually. My gifts have always been around and not adhering to them didn’t feel right.
“I suppose in a sense it did. But I don’t think I really had a choice. When you know things, hear things—see things—ignoring them and going on with your own life isn’t always an option. As you know,” I say, pointing to him.
Blakes eyebrows flutter upward in surprise.
“I do?”
“Well, yeah, once I could see things more clearly with Esther—I couldn’t not get involved at that point. You know?”
“Oh right—you’re still talking about you. Got it,” he says, shaking his head.
I chuckle and scrunch my nose.
“What did you think I meant?”
“I thought—I thought you meant me. That when I see things, ignoring them isn’t an option.”
“Well, I suppose that’s right too—isn’t it?” I say, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.”
“Sooooo,” I say, trying to fill the awkward silence surrounding us, “what’s the deal with you and Aiden?”
Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1) Page 9