by Mia Downing
“Yes.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she tucked the paper into her purse.
“I assume you took someone with you?”
“The seller met me here at the bookstore when Todd and Mr. Dexter were working. I was safe.”
“Good.” I leaned back in the booth, glad that Molly approached with her pad and pen in hand.
We ordered drinks—coffee and water for us both—and Molly departed.
I cleared my throat again. “Are you hungry? Please, look at the menu and order whatever you’d like. As I told you, it’s a free meal.” I gestured to the menus tucked in between the sugar dispenser and the metal stand that held ketchup and mustard.
She plucked one free. “Anything I want? Even the lobster roll?” she joked with a straight face. She said “lob-stah” with a true, Down East accent that I’d tried to perfect in another time and failed. I guess living here for twenty-four years had made up for the practice.
I took a menu, too. “Even the lobster roll.”
The joke was that the diner made a terrible lobster roll, and that was why everyone was at Carleton’s tonight. She knew it, as did I. But I guessed she’d have a burger. No, a hot dog. With fries.
“We’re out of lobster,” Molly said from the end of the table, her enunciation of the delicacy even more pronounced. She plunked down two coffees and waters with no spillage despite the force she used.
We both jumped and glanced at each other over the menus, sharing our first true smile. The way her eyes crinkled warmed my insides and made my stomach flip-flop in a silly way. I’d missed that.
“Can I get an omelet, or is it too late?” Skye asked, blowing my hot dog theory out of the water. “Spinach and swiss, a side of bacon, and home fries, please.”
“Sure.” Molly scribbled.
“I’ll have a Western omelet, bacon, and home fries as well, please.”
Molly finished scribbling and turned, leaving us alone.
I put the menu away. I was wrong about her dinner choice, but I would be right on drawing her out. “So I know you make lists. What do you want to know about me? We’ll even the score, so to speak.”
“Hmm.” She focused on returning the menu to its spot and grabbed the sugar container. “Anything, or are there limits?”
“Anything.”
“Okay.” She fiddled with her paper napkin, working to dig the spoon from the wrapping. “Why haven’t I met you before now?”
I tried not to flinch. Again, she’d surprised me. I should have expected a blunt question, though. The Skye I knew would cut to the bone to find out what someone was made of.
I took a sip of water, sat back, and said the first thing that came to my mind. “I wasn’t ready to meet you.”
“Oh?” She began to measure sugar for her coffee, pouring it from the old-fashioned, glass server.
She’d add two-and-a-half spoons.
“Grace had spoken highly of you, and she’d said once that you and I would hit it off. I realized then I wasn’t ready.” That wasn’t quite true. Skye hadn’t been ready. I wasn’t sure if she was ready now, but I was out of time.
“Are you single?” One spoonful. Two.
No. I paused a heartbeat that lasted that last half spoonful. “Yes.”
Her head jerked sharply as she set down the sugar container. “You hesitated.”
Busted. She was always too sharp, looking behind the words to see what a speaker really meant, to see if they were truthful. I’d forgotten her intensity.
I sighed. “There are days I don’t feel single.”
“Is today one of those days?” Her blue eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned.
“No. I’m just not used to admitting that my relationship status has changed.” A sharp pain throbbed dead center in my chest, and my throat tightened unexpectedly. I wasn’t married. Not technically due to a glitch in time.
“Grace remembered you mentioning a wife once.” Her expression softened. “How long has it been?”
So this question had been a test. I blew out a breath and raked my hand through the front of my too-long hair. “A year and a half. I threw myself into this book that’s being released now, writing my heart out. And since then, I’ve slowly found a new normal. But my heart aches at times for what should have been.”
She nodded and to my surprise, added sugar to my coffee. “I understand that.” One spoonful.
“You do?”
She nodded again. “I was supposed to be adopted by a foster family. But the foster mom died before that happened. I was only five, but I remember it clearly.” A half spoonful. She set down the spoon and reached for the little pitcher of cream. “She was just…gone, and I was forced to find a new normal. So, I know what it’s like to wish for what should have been.”
“I’m sorry,” I said around a growing lump in my throat. The hair on the back of my neck prickled with unease, and I rubbed at it.
I hadn’t known that about her past. That family was supposed to work out, was supposed to keep her forever and raise her. I had wondered why she hadn’t taken their name… Now, I knew. Somehow, that was my fault, too.
“It’s fine.” Her lips curved in a soft, sad smile. “Now, you know something sad about me. We’re even.” She looked down at the cups, and her smile slipped away as she bit her lip. “Oh. I’m sorry. I fixed your coffee without asking.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I took the cup and sipped, willing my hands not to shake. Both the coffee and her gesture were perfect. Maybe she did remember something about me down deep.
She shook her head as if knocking loose some internal cobwebs. “It’s been a long day, I guess.” She added cream to her cup, and Molly arrived with our meals.
We both dug in, and the topics turned lighter—my next order of books, her paper. We touched on my book release, but I skirted around it as much as possible.
The words flowed easily between us, and she laughed at one of my lame jokes that didn’t deserve a smile. But she had always liked corny jokes. I was glad she still did.
As we finished our meals, I set down my fork and drummed up the courage to set the next step of my plan into play. “I said I had something to discuss with you. I had wanted to ask if you were free this weekend.”
Her napkin fluttered to her mouth, and her shoulders squared with tension. “Oh. Mr. Young—”
“Marek,” I corrected with a frown. When had we slid back to that? “I wanted to see if you’d take me to that graveyard you mentioned, where you found the other odd headstone.”
“Oh.” She sat back with surprise. I wasn’t sure what she had been expecting me to ask, but I’m glad it wasn’t whatever she feared.
I lifted my coffee cup and contemplated her over the rim. “I’d like to see the stone, and maybe you could use a refresher visit for your paper.” I sipped as I waited for her to mull that over.
She didn’t want to say no, not from the way she twisted her fork as she weighed the options. She wouldn’t weigh options if she were on the negative side. She’d contemplate her choice of words, but that would be it. The pros/cons list happened only if she wanted something.
I set down the cup. “There are no cons to this one, either.”
Her head jerked up as if meeting my challenge. “I have to work Saturday.”
“Ah.” Maybe I’d been wrong about presenting that offer, too. I knew her schedule. She didn’t work until noon on Saturday. The store closed for the day on Sunday. “Maybe another time, then.”
She twisted her fork again. “But…I’m off Sunday.”
“Excellent.” I smiled and wiped my lips with my napkin. “Maybe I can take you to lunch.”
She brightened just a bit. “Maybe to the hot dog place on the corner of Route One? Have you been? They have this huge bar of condiments and toppings.” Her hands spread wide to indicate the size. “And their homemade relish is out of this world.”
I laughed at her exuberance, my heart melting all over again. I had missed that,
too. “I haven’t been, but it sounds perfect.”
Maybe I wasn’t so wrong about Skye after all.
Skye
After dinner, Marek paid the bill and walked me across the street to my car. I’d parked in the little lot behind the bookstore, and though the area was well-lit, he’d said it wasn’t enough for him to feel comfortable sending me alone.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I had taken self-defense training. I always had a knife on me. And I could always pick out people hiding in the dark if I scanned for energy before entering. He didn’t know that, though, and I guess it was nice to have someone give a damn if I died in cold blood in the back alley of my workplace.
He didn’t touch me, either. Most guys would have tried to take my hand as we crossed, or they’d place their hand on my elbow or back. But his were firmly lodged in his coat pockets as he escorted me at a respectful distance.
That I did like. I hated people touching me. It had to do with the energy. Shielding against the energy protected me from a distance. However, a touch transferred their vibrancy to me, and the force of it sometimes made me ill. I worried I had something wrong with me or I was an alien with weird DNA that made me odd. The doctors had given me a clean bill of health without knowing about this oddity, so I just kept that to myself and prayed I’d lose that aspect, or I’d learn to fit in.
“This yours?” Marek said as we stood in front of the only car in the tiny lot.
“Um, no, I drive the Porsche over there,” I joked as I pointed to the empty spot next to mine—Todd’s.
“Smart ass.” A smile came through those muttered words.
I unlocked my door and tossed my purse in, unsure what to do next. Would he try to kiss me now? Did I even want that? I cleared my throat and opened the door of my car between us. “So. About Sunday…”
“Oh, yes. What time?” Marek asked, his hands still firmly rooted in his pockets.
“Twelve?” I mentally marked time in my head. If I were plagued by the dreams, I could paint and still get a few hours of sleep. “I think the hot dog place opens then if you’re interested.”
“I am interested.” He withdrew a small book and a slip of paper from his pocket and used the book as a prop to scribble something. He placed the slip of paper in the book and held it out. “I also forgot to give you the book I promised.”
Instead of handing it to me, he placed it on the top of the door, balancing it precariously between us.
Huh.
I grabbed the book before it teetered off, the leather cover and binding still containing warm, pleasant energy. I’d never felt residual energy before like that, and I covered my shock by tugging the slip of paper and reading it in the dim light—his phone number.
“I also text,” he offered.
I had no clue why he just didn’t offer his phone or tell me his number so I could input it. But for some weird reason, I liked this slip of paper, his handwriting old-fashioned and familiar in an odd way. I don’t think he’d ever written anything for me except an email.
I held up the slip of paper. “Thank you, for this. I’ll text you when I get home, so you’ll have my number.” Then, I held up the book. “And thanks for this. I’ll read through it tonight and see if I can use it.”
“I’m sure it will be of use but take your time. It’s yours.” He smiled. The angle of the spotlight from the store gave his eyes a tired droop. He’d looked more than fine in the diner. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.” My limbs bent with awkwardness as I slipped into the seat and closed the door behind me. I had to turn on the car to roll down the window. “Good night, Marek.”
“Good night, Skye.” His lips curved with a sexy vivacity that filled me with liquid heat, warming me to my toes.
Maybe I did want to kiss him.
Skye
That night, the dreams revisited with a more adult theme that had me bolt wide awake in a sweat with the sheets bunched around my waist. Vivid dreams with heated bodies and a dark-haired male with a blurred face who catered to my every sexual whim. He spoke to me in hushed tones I didn’t recognize, but those foreign words ignited a fire all on their own.
This decadent evening of pleasure took place in a bed I knew well from my dreams though I had never seen it—a huge canopy bed with delicate flowers carved into bedposts and draped with gauzy fabric. Whoever he was…oh, this man had mad skills. His hands caressed my skin as feather-light kisses trailed down my neck. Stronger caresses explored my breasts, and eventually, that led to skillful fingers buried deep within me, bringing me to orgasm.
I didn’t want an orgasm, though. What I wanted came after, and I’d had several dreams that featured this blissful state.
After was like my dream of flying in the night sky with the path of lights, but it started inside me, bursting from my core like an explosion detonating at ten times the magnitude of any orgasm. The intense pleasure ignited a kaleidoscope of colors behind my closed eyes, shocks of sinful ecstasy rippling over my skin in bursts.
In real life, that after never came. I might get an orgasm, and it would be okay. But I was so disappointed when I didn’t get what should come next that the guy rarely got another chance. Even taking matters into my own hands didn’t lead to different results ending in an after experience. So, I just remained celibate.
I trembled as I sat in my boring bed with flannel sheets, my skin aflame with the promise of more. I blamed Marek for this dream as well. He just had to be dark-haired, just had to be charming enough, just had to have a warm, lingering energy that infected me with a desire to kiss him.
This was his fault for showing up and inserting himself into my life, and there was no way I was getting after with him, either.
Chapter four
Skye
Since my naughty dream didn’t require painting to purge it, I went into work early on Saturday to catch up on some stuff. I had some leads on Marek’s latest purchase to follow up on, and I wanted to research some finishing touches for my paper.
Grace had been scheduled for the counter, so she was in as well. Once Mrs. Daily left with her two kids, she came into the back office we shared and plopped down in her chair. “So, how was your date with Mr. Darcy?”
“Okay.” I squinted at the computer screen to avoid looking at her.
She clicked her tongue in annoyance. “I know that avoidance tactic. It was more than okay.”
I blew out a breath and turned to her, but her loud, floral shirt made me squint, too. “Okay, maybe more than okay.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know. He’s like…old.” I wouldn’t get my after, but I couldn’t say that.
She snorted. “He’s twenty-nine.”
“Yeah, but he feels old. And nerdy.”
“You’re not a kid, and you’re nerdier than he is,” she pointed out. “I bet you had a ton to talk about. A lot more than you’d have if you went with someone else to the movies.”
“Yes, true.” I sighed. Someone else was Todd, and he was scheduled to come into work soon. He was always late, though. I had nothing in common with Todd, and I definitely didn’t want to touch him. “He asked me to go with him to another graveyard to do some research on Sunday.”
“That sounds promising. Are you going?” Grace snapped her gum and leaned closer.
“I said I would, but I don’t know if it’s worth it.” I didn’t want to entertain a glimmer of hope when I was hopeless to begin with.
“So…what would make him worth it?”
That was easy. “If he met me at the door one day, wearing leather pants—worn ones, not shiny ones—and a button-down shirt. Maybe a little eyeliner. And an earring.” That wouldn’t solve my issues, but it turned me on.
Grace laughed. “I have never seen him wear anything other than a suit, or dress slacks and a shirt, so you might get a button-down shirt and jeans. Would that work? His ass would look great in jeans.”
“Don’t look at his ass,�
�� I warned.
“Okay, okay. Jealous already, are you?” She tossed up her hands. “But you’d better look at it.”
“I’d rather have leather.” I frowned. For some reason, the guy that gave me my after in my dreams also had a penchant for Victorian era clothing that bridged on steampunk and made me damp in all the right places as my knees went weak with desire. But maybe I was being unreasonable.
Grace leaned in and whispered, “Did he try to kiss you goodnight?”
“No. He didn’t touch me.”
“Oh. That must have been refreshing for a change.” Grace knew I had issues, but she had assumed I was abused as a kid. I wasn’t treated well, but I didn’t remember any outright abuse. However, it was easier to let her think that than to tell her about my weird energy issues.
“He was incredibly kind and considerate.” Maybe that was the issue; he was nice. I wasn’t used to people being nice unless they wanted something. He seemed to only want my company.
“Getting information from you is like pulling teeth,” Grace complained. “Do you want him to kiss you?”
“Maybe.” After the dream, the lustful swirling of energy hadn’t ceased. I longed to see him again, to test the waters, so to speak. I definitely wanted to touch him, and kissing did count as touching. “Yes, I guess.” I sighed with frustration. “I’m not good at this fluffy stuff.”
“Well, that’s why you have me,” Grace said in that matter-of-fact tone that I dreaded and loved. “I’ll get you through all this nonsense.” She rose to head back out front.
I held up a finger. “Wait. He just sent me an email.”
“Ooh. What does it say?” She scurried to my side of the desk, her shoulder brushing mine. I never minded her energy, and that always surprised me.
“Well, since it’s supposed to pour tomorrow, he has invited me…oh, no.” He’d given me a choice—to get hot dogs and drive out to the point to watch the ocean, or I’d come to his house to see his library, and he’d cook for me.