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“Clean up from last night, maybe a little Photo-Chop.” She stopped walking and looked at me. Her eyes widened along with her mouth, and she treated me to a glimpse of chewed-up bread. “Look at you, all sexy first thing in the morning. Where are you going? How did the party go?”
I mentally debated telling her about Michael. There was no way I really could without giving her the whole story, and Lily was mostly in the dark about my … visions.
“Nowhere really. And you didn’t miss a thing.” Except a jazz trio, some broken glass, and the most gorgeous guy who ever drew a breath. “Go. We’ll talk later.”
Lily raised the hand that was holding the muffin to look at her watch. She hated being late, but I could see the desire to interrogate me in her expression. I hoped manners would beat out curiosity.
“You’d better,” she said over her shoulder as she ducked down the side street that led to the photography studio.
Close one.
Pausing in front of the coffeehouse, I placed my palm to my stomach, trying to quiet the butterflies fluttering inside. I couldn’t decide if I was anxious because of the upcoming discussion or whom I was about to see. I pushed through the front door, setting the bell attached to the doorframe jingling, breathing deeply to inhale the rich scent of brewing coffee. And to calm my nerves.
Michael sat near the back, reading a paper in something that looked like Spanish. After I ordered I joined him, tucking my backpack under the table and pulling out a chair. He had a day’s worth of stubble and was dressed almost exactly like me in a black T-shirt with a well-worn pair of jeans. I took a moment to appreciate the snug fit of both. The boy’s muscles had muscles.
“Are you really reading that, or are you just trying to show off?” I asked, lowering myself into the seat.
He looked over the paper, opened his mouth, and a torrent of foreign words flew out.
“Okay, sorry, just asking. Wait, how many of those were curse words?”
Michael laughed, flashing white, even teeth. It was a good sound, comfortable, like he did it a lot. I wished I could laugh like that. His smile distracted me just as much as it had the night before.
“What language was that?”
“Italian.”
“How did you learn Italian?”
“My grandmother.” Michael put the paper down and leaned across the table toward me, unexpectedly intense. “What do you want?”
“I already ordered an espresso,” I answered, reflexively leaning back.
“No, I mean what do you want from life?”
“Good morning to you, too. Isn’t it a little early for philosophy?” I pushed a stray strand of hair back from my face and shifted in my chair.
“Why does the question make you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t go around discussing my deepest desires with strangers.” The waitress brought my drink and empanada to the table. When she walked away, I continued. “Technically, you might not be a stranger, but still, I just met you yesterday.”
“I’m not so strange.” Another distracting flash of white teeth. “Let’s start with something simpler than what you want from life. What do you want from today?”
I wrapped my hands around the cup I held to blow on the contents, feeling the steam rise to my face. Maybe he would think I was just … warm … instead of blushing.
Michael looked at me as if he had all the time in the world to listen, so genuine he threw me off balance. The butterflies in my stomach stirred. I wasn’t ready to be completely honest with him. Maybe I never would be. I wasn’t a very good liar. But avoidance?
o;Let’s just say my mom thought I had a lot of imaginary friends.”
I tilted my chin up to get a better look at him. “So it’s been happening since you were little?”
Michael nodded. “You?”
“Four years.” The bells stopped after ten chimes, and the air felt eerily quiet. Time for a subject change. Distract and divert. “I really am sorry I hit you.”
“You’re forgiven.” He winked. “I think I can handle a tiny little thing like you.”
I bit my tongue. So we would work on the male chauvinism.
