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I pre-heat the oven and we slide the round pans in.
“Now for the icing.” I turn a slow circle, trying to think of where I put my big bag of sugar. “Sugar, sugar… Laundry room.” I hold a finger up, but Barrett moves past me.
“I’ve got it,” he says quietly.
I’m holding my breath as he opens the door.
I watch as he stops in the doorway. He turns to me.
“Gwenna.” His voice is very soft. He turns back to the laundry room.
“I moved them into the garage. No biggie.”
He looks back at me, and he reminds me of these horses from the stables where I rode when I was younger. His eyes are kind of wide and leery, like he might buck and run. I move slowly over to him.
I take his wrists in my hands. Turn his palms over. I trace his fingers and his palms and look into his pretty eyes.
“Have you ever had your palm read?”
He smiles, small and slightly pained. “In Hindi.”
“Sit down.”
He does, and I sit in the chair beside his. I take one of his hands and trace my fingers gently over his palm. “You have big hands.”
I look up to find him smirking.
I smile and roll my eyes. “Pervert.”
His brows arch. He chuckles. “I’m the pervert?”
My face flushes. “Yes. You were thinking something like that.”
“Something like what?” His hand squeezes mine as he gives me a small, dimpled smile.
“I’m not going to spell it out.”
“I don’t even know what you would spell.” He makes this little “o” with his mouth and arches his brows, looking like a surprised owl.
“Shut up.” I smack his hand gently. “You let me do my thing now.” I trace a fingertip over his warm palm. “Glad to say, your lines look pretty good. Your life line is nice and long. Looks like your health’s not perfect, but it doesn’t suck. Maybe kind of what I’d think. Couple bumps in the road. Probably most of the stuff already happened. And this one…” I trace the children lines and give him what I hope is not a sad smile. “Two kids.”
His brows draw downward. “Not sure about that.”
He turns my hand over. “What do your lines say?”
“Mine suck.”
His sharp brows scrunch as he strokes my palm. “Why’s that?”
“Short life, no kids, meh health.”
His eyes widen. I note the way he draws my hand a faction closer to his chest as he murmurs, “That’s not true.”
I smile and shrug. He doesn’t know how true it is—and I don’t want him to.
“Gwenna…” He gives me a funny little smirk, which morphs into a Cheshire Cat grin. “I wanted you to give a reading for me, but now I have to let you know, you’re doing it all wrong. Trust me—I learned palmistry in India.”
He taps the long, vertical line that starts at the side of my palm, above my thumb, and arcs down toward my wrist. “You’re right that this is the life line, but I don’t see an early death. Just a lot of chaos and disruption.” He raises his brows. “And a lot of what they call vigor.” His face lights up with silly humor.
