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Not deterred by my super-specific reading, Hayden happily lays her hands on the table and the medium takes them.
“You’ve begun a new path recently,” the woman says, closing her eyes again. “But you don’t feel like you’re where you belong?”
I stare at Hayden. Is she having trouble adjusting to college?
Hayden blushes and averts her eyes.
“You worked hard to get there,” the woman continues. “And even though it’s a sacrifice for your parents, you are worthy, Hayden.”
The medium opens her eyes. “That’ll be twenty dollars, each.”
I pry open my wallet and peer into the almost empty cash slot. “You should’ve gotten the money upfront,” I joke, handing over a twenty.
She winks at me. “I knew you were good for it.”
Hayden pays her and we both hurry away from the table. At the tent flaps we stop and share a look.
“We never speak of this,” she says.
“Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Griff
Molly spent the night at Hayden’s after the carnival. Did she always plan to stay there or was it to avoid me? Whatever the reason, I left a surprise on her bed. I’m hoping she sees it before she leaves.
I keep busy raking leaves, taking care of the pre-winter yard maintenance Remy won’t have time to get around to. The dull aches in my shoulder and knee keep reminding me not to get carried away.
Around one o’clock, Molly’s car pulls into the driveway.
I glance over as she steps out wearing a hot-pink, velvet tracksuit with a red sequined heart on the front and pink flip-flops so small, her toes hang over the front.
Our eyes meet and I bite my lip, trying to hide my laughter.
“Don’t you dare say anything,” she warns, her voice carrying through the backyard.
“What in the early 2000s Legally Blonde are you wearing?” I manage between chuckles.
“Shut it!” Ignoring my amusement, she pulls a bag out of her back seat, then rips off the flip-flops and tosses them inside.
I rest my rake against a tree and hurry to help her.
“Want me to take that?” I lift the heavy bag out of her hands and catch a glimpse of her balled-up black velvet dress and boots inside.
“My beloved boots betrayed me last night.” She lifts one foot, showing me the large Band-Aid across her heel.
I wince in sympathy. “Ouch. You all right?”
“I’ll live.”
I follow her into the house.
In the kitchen, she takes the bag from me. “I need to sort this stuff and then pack to go back to campus.”
“Already?” I can’t hide my disappointment. I thought she’d at least stick around for dinner. Is she leaving because of me? Am I making her uncomfortable in her own house?
“I have some stuff to do to prepare for tomorrow,” she explains.
