Chapter Nine
Vicki followed Becca into an early morning diner. The scents of fresh bread and cinnamon swirled in the air, filling her nose. As she slid onto the bench seat of an empty booth, her stomach rumbled.
“Thanks again for helping me get my paintings to the gallery.” Becca grabbed the single-page plastic menus and handed one to Vicki. “I probably should’ve let you sleep in since you just moved your entire existence, but I’m selfish. I like your company. And I needed someone to help with the heavy lifting.”
“It’s the least I could do.” She scanned the choices. Bagels, breads, pastries. All tempting, but she settled on a slice of toasted multi-grain bread and coffee.
Becca set her menu on the table in front of her. “So, tell me more about the vision you had before leaving Charleston.”
She jolted at the suggestion then bit her lower lip. Why not tell her? It’s not like it’s going to change anything. She stared at her dearest friend’s face. Can’t say I’d mind talking about it with someone who won’t look at me like I’m crazy. “It started with an infomercial about Savannah—”
The waitress approached with pad and pen in hand. “What can I get you two ladies?”
She ordered her toast while Becca requested a large milk and a plate-sized cherry cheese Danish from the display case. The woman jotted it down and headed toward the kitchen.
Vicki sighed with envy. Becca always ate whatever she wanted, never gaining a pound. She, on the other hand, needed to watch every bite. Hmm, maybe I can talk her out of just one taste.
The waitress returned with their food. As she placed their plates on the table, the bakery door opened with a muffled whoosh and the tinny jingle as two tiny bells, hanging from the door handle, bounced off the full-length glass. A man entered, holding two nested cups, which he dropped into the trash receptacle near the doorway. She stared, his easy masculine gait capturing her attention as he strode to the counter. The waitress returned to her station and, with a huge smile, took the guy’s order of two large coffees.
“What’d she look like?” Becca asked around a huge bite of Danish. “Was she pretty?”
“Sure.” Vicki dragged her focus back to her friend. “Long brown wavy hair, except it was kinda ashy in color.”
“Ashy like hot chocolate or ashy like pecan shells?” She brushed a napkin over her mouth, her eyes intent on Vicki.
“Pecan shells.” Vicki took a generous bite of toast. The thin layer of butter mixed with the crispy bread, and she sighed, relishing the taste. Who cared if it was healthy? It was delicious. “Oh, and she had these amazing green eyes. The kind that flashed with her inner energy.”
“An old soul,” Becca surmised.
She took another bite. Old soul or not, the girl’s life is going to change for better or worse within the next twelve days. Hopefully, it would be something wonderful like marriage or a new job, but something about the symbols she’d seen compelled her instincts to lean toward the opposite.
“Excuse me.”
She looked at the counter where the guy who’d ordered two large coffees stood, waiting for his order. He flashed a smile that sent ripples of heat all the way to her toes. His bright-blue stare brushed first over Becca then settled on Vicki, inducing her cheeks to warm. Goodness, he’s handsome.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He left the counter and sauntered to their booth. “But it sounded like you just described someone I know.”
“Really?” Disappointment withered the momentary thrill of his attention. He was probably the brunette’s boyfriend. Or, if her vision turned out to be something good, the guy was her soon-to-be fiancé.
“Yes. She drove a carriage around town. You might have known her. Penny Newhouse?”
She lowered her gaze from his alluring, expectant eyes to his mouth. Eye contact could lead to visions, and no way did she want to mess up his life. “No. Sorry.”
“Oh, come on, Vicki.” Becca picked up her glass of milk, and her myriad bracelets clinked together. “You were just telling me about a brunette carriage driver you’d seen on television.”
She rammed her foot into her friend’s shin, making her jump. Becca had told her numerous times how she envied Vicki’s gift, but her friend didn’t understand the heartache and personal repercussions that came with it.
“Really?” The guy’s attention never wavered.
“Yes,” Becca said over the rim of her glass.
Vicki sent a warning glare, but knew it wouldn’t stop her. The dark-haired artist was a romantic and believed the visions would ultimately bring forth a valiant knight. Vicki, however, believed her knight would end up beneath a bus.
Her friend arched a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Did your friend have green eyes?”
“As a matter of fact, she did.” He liberated a chair from a nearby table and seated himself at the end of their booth. “Mind?”
“Knock yourself out.” Becca gave him a saucy smile.
He held his hand out to Vicki. “I’m River Chastain. And you are?”
“Victoria Spiere.” She slipped her fingers against his palm, the warmth of his touch sending tingles up her arm. “And my overly verbose friend is Rebecca Carlson.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
The waitress approached, setting two large cups in front of him. “Here’s your order, hon. Sure I can’t get you anything else?” She gave him a meaningful stare.
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“I just bet you are,” she mumbled and sashayed toward the counter.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Becca pushed the sugar packets and creamer in his direction, bringing his attention back to the table.
He turned his focus to preparing the coffees. His large hands looked strong, his long fingers deftly pouring various condiments into the cups. “So, you did know Penny?”
“No.” She dared to allow her gaze to trail up his arm and over his muscular shoulder to focus on his ear. She nibbled her toast. “I saw her on television.”
“What my friend isn’t telling you, Mr. Chastain,” Becca piped up, “is that she had a vision about her.”
“A vision?” His brows drew together.
“Yes. Vicki is a psychic of sorts, though she’d never admit it.” A smile flitted over her lips, and she slipped a forkful of Danish into her mouth.
“A psychic.” His expression cleared except for the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth.
Vicki’s appetite abated.
“Yes,” her friend continued, undaunted. “What were the signs you saw for her? Bricks, an X with a dot above it, a green metal rectangle, and some kind of weird letter.”
“A weird letter?”
His apprehensive tone compelled Vicki to risk a quick glance at his face. Beneath lowered eyebrows, his narrowed eyes showed renewed interest—but it wasn’t the kind of interest she wanted. “What did it look like exactly?”
“Some kind of pointy D or something. She could draw it for you.” Becca sipped her milk.
“Good idea.” He reached inside his jacket and produced a pen. When he held it out to her, his hand jerked as though an unexpected chill shot up his spine.
She grabbed a fresh napkin from the dispenser at the end of the table then made a quick sketch of the pointed D seared in her memory. She’d seen it twice, once for the brunette and once for her best friend. She bit her lower lip. Is this the beginning of Becca’s fate? Maybe he’s the one who’ll make her happy. She pushed the napkin toward him, turning it so it aligned properly.
The guy stared at what she’d drawn for a moment then, touching a corner of the napkin with his forefinger, pulled it closer. When he looked up, she couldn’t stop herself from meeting his gaze.
A mixture of emotions filled his face, but anxiety was the most prominent. “You need to come with me.”