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I flipped the card over, hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious madam. But there was nothing but flourish. Like someone had been given a hundred images associated with the ‘paranormal’, and had gone shit-wild in Photoshop.
“Soothsayer, huh?”
“That’s right,” the man who’d broken my window said. “Also—”
“And where exactly is Madam Zingara located?”
I looked around, fairly confident I’d scoured the avenue before. But the man tapped a small, overly-fancy font at the back of the card. “The address is right here. A little more than a mile away. Walking distance for—”
“It’s residential?” I asked, squinting to make out the street name. Of course it was. Now it all made sense.
“Well, yes,” the man confirmed. “Madam Zingara enjoys a more direct connection with the other side, when made from the comfort of—”
“What time?”
The man’s face broke into the triumphant grin of having scored another customer. “Doors open at six.”
“I’ll be there,” I smiled.
I walked the rest of the way to my shop with the same shit-eating grin. Already I was forgetting the dream. Remembering I had a new life, a new business. Three astoundingly hot love interests vying for my attention… or rather, not exactly vying, but willing to share.
And now I even had the asshole who was threatening my shop. I could take care of things tonight, before they escalated. Before the whole ‘locals only’ thing got out of hand, and Madam Zingara nailed a bloody chicken to my door, or something equally ridiculous.
I donned my bullshit gypsy gear, and opened immediately. It was a good day. The best day. And I was ready to make the most of it. But first…
Pulling out my phone, I shot Roman a quick text-message. During our walk yesterday, I’d had him solve the whole “mystery hunk” debacle in my contact list, by entering names to go with the numbers.
Sorry about this morning.
Next time breakfast’s on me.
He wrote back before I’d even put the phone down:
Roman: Don’t fly out of here so fast next
time, and you can *be* breakfast. :)
A prickly heat washed over me, just remembering last night. Recalling how it felt to grind so hard against Roman’s perfect face, I’d nearly blacked out.
Not to mention other places, where I was still pleasantly sore.
Well, thanks for taking care of me.
In more ways than one.
His reply was as sweet as he was:
Roman: I’m just glad you’re okay.
My door opened. The bells rang. I greeted my first customers of the day with a warm smile, and the last ones with an equal if not exhausted amount of enthusiasm. In between, I pulled off a record number of readings. A Saturday even crazier than I came to expect, even with a rapidly-approaching Halloween.
It was just after seven when the door swung open and Zane strolled in. He brought an instant excitement. Enthusiasm. And of course, his trademark, rogue-like grin.
Perfect.
“I uh, thought we might grab something quick to eat,” he began, “before—”
“Great,” I interrupted him, gathering my stuff. I took his hand as I swept past him, pulling him right back out the door with me with a surprised look.
