Hourglass

“More than you would think,” he answered, his gaze steady on my face.

“Hmm.” I rolled that around in my brain while concentrating on my empanada. Michael gave me the space I needed, returning to his newspaper.

The moment I started seeing things … ripples … I turned into a freak show. Then I became a freak show with no parents. When kids are orphaned—it happens—they might go under for a while, but they recover. I didn’t. I didn’t even resurface for air until I’d spent quality time in a private hospital with intensive therapy and nuclear-powered drugs.

Now Michael sat across from me, as normal as next Tuesday, claiming he was like me. Claiming that there were other “special” people out there. The idea that others existed with abilities, people I could possibly form relationships with—the thought both overwhelmed and comforted me. I could already think of one I wouldn’t mind forming a relationship with—and he was sneaking looks at me from behind his paper. I could almost believe he was checking me out.

But he was probably just waiting for me to go kooks and wanted to make sure he saw it coming.

“Okay,” I broke the silence. “What do I need to do?”

“It all goes back to my original question.” He folded his newspaper in half and placed it on the table. “What do you want?”

“I want to be normal, but I know that’s not possible.”

“Normal is overrated.” His grin was delicious.

“Well …” I faltered, distracted by his mouth again. “If normal isn’t an option, I guess I just want to be able to understand as much as I can about the way I am.”

“The way we are,” he corrected. “How about dinner tonight? You can take the rest of the day to think up more questions for me.”

Dinner. Tonight. Oh my. Yes. “I’ll get us a reservation at the Phone Company. I have an in. Seven?”

“It’s a date,” he said, smiling as he stood to leave. As quickly as his smile appeared, it faded away. “Um, not a date, exactly. The Hourglass doesn’t look too fondly on its employees mixing business with … pleasure.”

I smiled back as he walked away, but all the lovely butterflies in my stomach landed one by one in a cold, dead heap.

Of course they didn’t.

Chapter 6

On my way home I stopped by the Phone Company to make reservations. Thomas decided since everyone kept calling it the Phone Company, regardless of any name he tried to attach to it, he’d stick with it. He used the old logo and decorated with recycled hardware from the building. Very quaint, lots of shiny dark wood and polished metal. Nice, if you liked that kind of thing.

Apparently, a lot of people did, because without my connections I couldn’t have gotten us a table. I wasn’t shy about using them either, practically forcing the hostess to write my name at the very top of the reservation list. No way would I miss out on this date … dinner. I almost let a nervous giggle escape, but I swallowed it. The hostess looked up at me from the corner of her eye. I knew I was just providing more fuel for the town gossip fire. Fire it up.

Reservations in place, I walked across the square to the loft, willing myself to keep my eyes to the ground and go with the flow. I almost made it, but as I stepped up from the asphalt street onto the concrete sidewalk, I stepped through a 1970s hippie chick with love beads. She popped and disappeared in a tiny gust of air, just like ripples—at least I had a name for them now—always had.

I considered closing my eyes and feeling my way up to the loft, but I didn’t want to cause myself any unnecessary injuries before dinner. Silence greeted me when I opened the front door, and I was grateful for the chance to decompress and be alone.

Dru had decorated my room right before I came back to town, and it reflected my personality down to the last detail. Deep brown walls, a few shades lighter than my espresso from breakfast. White furniture with clean lines was accented by upholstery in soft corals that made the room come alive, and thoughtfully placed photos in frames made it feel like home. A leather chair and ottoman sat between two corner windows. Well-framed prints by John William Waterhouse lined the wall behind my bed. My favorite, The Lady of Shalott, resting in the exact center. A large mirror hung over a dresser topped with a small lamp.

Dru walked in without knocking, startling me.

“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t know you were home.” She put a fluffy tangerine-colored throw that still had the tags attached on the edge of my bed before backing toward the door. “I saw this today and thought it would be nice to cover up with. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Stay. You know, you don’t have to keep buying me things.” I said the words softly as I sat down on my bed and pulled the throw into my lap. I wanted her to know she didn’t have to try so hard. “But I love it. Thank you.”

She blushed, her porcelain skin glowing even more than usual, pleased that I was pleased. I owed a lot to Dru. Not only had she accepted me into her life as a surrogate daughter when still newly married to Thomas; she’d gone out of her way to make sure I felt loved when I had to come back home. She made me feel like leaving school didn’t mean I was a failure—constantly reminding me that it wasn’t my fault my scholarship had been cut.

“So,” she said, dropping into the leather chair in the corner, “will you tell me about Michael? He’s not exactly like the others, is he?”

I tried for about a half a second to keep my opinion to myself.

“I can’t stop thinking about his mouth.” Time to get my edit button repaired. I hadn’t meant to be that honest. I felt my eyes get huge and my face go hot, and I hoped frantically that Dru hadn’t heard me clearly.

She had.

“What? Emerson Cole, I have never heard you say anything like that in your entire life!”

I bit my lip, but the giggles escaped anyway. It felt completely normal, unlike me. Dru joined in.

“Well”—she wiped her eyes on her shirtsleeve—“your brother might not be, but I’m glad to hear it. You’ve dealt with a lot in the past few years,” she said, her voice growing serious. “More than most people deal with in a lifetime.”

As much as I didn’t want to talk about the past, it kept coming up today. Time to work in some more avoidance. I kicked off my shoes and pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. “Michael and I are going to have dinner later.”

“It’s not a date, is it?”

I rolled my eyes. “I wish. He was careful to make the point that the Hourglass doesn’t allow employee/client privileges.”

It was Dru’s turn for an eye roll. “I know all about that. Thomas clarified it with Michael several times before he hired him. But still … I saw Michael looking at you last night.”

“I dropped a glass and almost hyperventilated in the middle of your party. Everyone was looking at me.”

“No, before that.”

I’d seen it, too.

Maybe he was just happy to find someone else like him, or maybe the whole opposites-attract thing was baloney. I wouldn’t know. I’d been so busy hiding out the past few years I’d never been out on a normal date. Group dates, sure, which were their own particular brand of hell if I didn’t know everyone, but never a regular date and certainly never a blind date. Yeesh. Anyway, whether I wanted it to be or not, tonight wasn’t a date.