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“More coffee?”
The waitress hovered dual coffee pots over the edge of our table, one brown, one orange. I nodded toward the ‘regular’ and she refilled my mug for the third time.
It was a place I’d never have chosen; small, and nondescript, especially from the street. Inside though, it was deceptively bigger. Brighter. Filled with the most delicious smells in the world, and the Eggs Benedict I’d just devoured had been top notch.
Right now I settled back in the booth, munching happily on my last strip of bacon. Erik’s hand was clasped in mine, draped casually across my thigh. His touch was simple but intimate, and already throwing off sparks.
“Why do you ask, anyway?” I teased, bumping Erik with my leg. I took my hand back temporarily, to tear the top off a pair of sugar packets. “Were you looking to get your palm… read?”
“Maybe,” Erik allowed.
God, he smelled fantastic! Or was that Zane? It was hard to tell. The two of them were freshly shaved and showered, their smooth, handsome faces and big bright smiles all for me. And Zane kept throwing me that secret, knowing grin, too. The one that said ‘I just saw you naked a few hours ago.’ Every time he did it, it gave my stomach a schoolgirl flutter.
“Because I could do it right now,” I challenged him coyly. “Or at the shop. Or anywhere, really.” I closed my hand over his. “I’m the kind of girl who’s always ready.”
I got it to happen: Erik actually blushed. He looked away shyly as I squeezed his hand. Zane laughed, stuffing another square of waffle in his mouth.
“You know I worked in a place like this,” I said, showing some mercy.
“You did?”
“Yup. Back where I used to live. Small town diner. Busy as hell, though.”
Zane washed down his waffle with a mouthful of coffee. “You waitressed?”
“Uh huh. Better part of two years.”
“Before you did the…” Erik paused, grasping for the words. “Psychic thing?”
“I’m not a psychic,” I corrected them. “Or a medium. Or any of that stuff.”
“And why not?”
“Because I don’t have the ability,” I shrugged. “Never did.”
“You could pretend though,” Erik offered. “I mean, half of that stuff they do is just observation. Reading people and reacting to their answers. Telling them what they want to hear.”
“True,” I said. “But I’m not out to deceive anyone. Palm reading, tarot cards, even throwing runes once in a while — those things are all quantifiable. They take skill and finesse, sorta like a magician, but no actual ‘gift’.”
“So they’re not magical,” Zane pointed his fork at me. “Or mystical. Or whatever.”
“No. There’s really no trick to them. The person’s palm or the cards or the runes tell the whole story. I just relate it. But pretending to read people’s minds, or speak with their dead relatives? That’s deception. Unless you can actually do it, of course. In which case—”
“Ever know anyone who could do that?” Zane interjected.
I hesitated for a moment. My mind was already looking to pivot, to change the subject. But my heart…
“Yes. My grandmother.”
“The one who raised you,” Zane acknowledged. “For a little while, anyway.”
I nodded, stirring my coffee around just a little too long. A familiar knot had formed in my stomach. Eventually I looked up at them.
“My grandmother had a type of gift,” I said. “Most of the time I was with her, I was too young to realize the extent of it. But as I grew up… well, the more I watched, the more I realized she knew things
.”
The guys were very serious all of a sudden. Hanging on my every word.
