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I’m suddenly nervous. This guy is unpredictable. I have no idea what he’s going to do next, but I’m not exactly complaining.
“Your turn for what?” I ask.
“For me to read you,” he says.
I giggle. “I already know myself though. Any chance I can get my fortune?”
He considers this and then grins. “I’m never tried but I suppose I can make something work. I like to believe that the spirits have always looked favorably on me.”
I can see why.
I use my olive skewer to stir the remains of my martini. “Should I pick a card?” I try.
He bites the edge of one of those perfect lips. “No, I’d rather you give me your hand.”
My stomach clenches in anticipation, and I offer him my right hand. The left still bears a slight tan from my engagement ring.
He takes it in both of his. My fingers look like matchsticks next to his; my palm like a seashell he’s happened upon. He turns it over and uses one of those thick fingers to stroke the length of my palm, tracing my lifeline top to bottom.
Oh lord, is this really happening?
“So,” he says, “what would you like to know?”
Will the handsome stranger I just met have one of those fingers inside me within the hour? I’m definitely not ballsy enough to say that though.
So instead I chicken out and ask, “Will my pitch go well on Monday?”
He considers, applying pressure with the tips of his fingers. “I’m getting… surprise.”
“Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“The spirits aren’t elaborating,” he says.
“Wait, are spirits communicating with you or is it in my palm?”
He leans closer, close enough so that his lips are mere inches from my ear. “I wouldn’t look for logic in any of this,” he breathes.
Then Nick leans back, letting go of my hand, much to my disappointment (though I do seem to be able to breathe a little better now that we aren’t connected).
“How confident are you in your pitch?” he asks.
“Eh,” I say. “I mean, I am from Boston so who can say for sure? How will I hold up in the face of real businesspeople? I might just break down weeping in the face of their cruelty.”
Nick laughs. “I won’t go back on what I said, but I suppose I shouldn’t drop my pessimistic philosophy on a complete stranger, even if it’s true. I just came from a rather unfortunate meeting, and it’s affected my mood somewhat.”
“Ah a meeting. So you admit that some business is done in Boston.”
“Nope. This wasn’t for work. My younger brother goes to a boarding school in the city. I was meeting with the headmaster.”
I pull a face. “That sounds… unpleasant.”
“Welcome to my world. Jack has been kicked out of pretty much every decent school in New York. I thought that maybe sending him out of the city would help things, but he’s up to the same bullshit in Boston.” He shakes his head.
“How old is he?”
“About to turn eighteen.”
“Rough age,” I say.
