Hourglass

“You want to get out of here, go to your place?”

Chapter 8

It took a few seconds before I remembered to blink.

He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “So you can show me the lofts?”

“Oh, right, yes, lofts. Good. Lofts. You ready to go?” I stood, knowing my cheeks sported a ridiculous shade of red.

We walked through the restaurant to the bar area, and his hand accidentally brushed the small of my back, the heat so focused where he touched me that the rest of my body felt chilled. I looked up at him from the corner of my eye. He put his hand in his pocket.

Behind the bar, Dru counted bottles of red wine while the bartender loaded them into a teakwood rack. “Dru? Michael wants to see the lofts. Can I use the master?”

“Sure.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and removed one from the ring, giving it to me. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two of us as her face registered surprise, or maybe concern.

I was sure she noticed her flawless makeup application was smudged.

We walked through the town square in silence. My emotions were ridiculously close to the surface, as if my insides were flipped to the outside, but the feeling of vulnerability didn’t scare me. As I showed him the two lofts, the energy still hummed between us, keeping all my senses on overdrive. Even though the mood was intense, I was experiencing an unknown. For the first time in a long time, I felt … safe.

We stepped into the hall, and I locked the door to the last loft before turning to face him.

“I like both spaces. Thomas and Dru can put me wherever they want.” Michael rocked back on his heels. He stared into my eyes for a few seconds, those seconds stretching into what felt like hours as he reached out until his fingertips were an inch from mine.

“Are you sure?” I asked in a low whisper.

“It’s not going to go away,” he whispered back. “Might as well get used to it.”

Bracing myself for the jolt of energy, I gave him my hand.

It was better than I remembered.

I was grateful that the hallway lights were more ambient than bright. I didn’t know where to look when they flickered.

Michael seemed to be fighting some sort of internal battle, his face full of indecision. I started to tremble. The jolt settled into a low hum; even so, with all the sparks we were throwing off, we could possibly light the Southern Hemisphere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, full of regret. His hand felt warm and solid in mine.

“For what? It’s definitely different, but I’m fine.” Basically. Getting a full-body buzz with a guy I’d just met was as weird as seeing dead people. But much more enjoyable.

“Not the … touching thing. The ripple thing. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of it by yourself.”

“Thanks, but alone is kind of how I work.” Carefully extracting my hand, I stepped back slowly to make sure my knees were working and that my legs would hold me up.

“Just remember I’m here to help.” Michael dropped his hand down by his side. “I plan on sticking around until you tell me to leave.”

Or until my brother stopped paying him.

“Well, I should probably”—I gestured toward my door—“go. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I watched him walk away and held on to the doorknob, trying to keep myself upright, feeling the connection between us stretch down the hall and all the way out the front door.

I used the master key to get into the loft, laying it on the cold marble counter in the kitchen.

Intending only to take a quick shower to wash the powder from my arms and chest, the warm spray and the quiet seduced me. My skin was pink and pruned by the time I emerged and slipped on my pajamas. I pulled back the down comforter and ran my hand over the snow-white sheets, appreciating the concept of high thread counts.

The family pictures on my bedside table caught my eye. One was of Thomas and Dru—tan and smiling—and the other was of me. Mine was hollow, empty. It was from some vacation taken in an attempt to distract me after my parents died. From Disney to the Bahamas, none of them had.

Another was of my parents, from their last Christmas. I picked up the heavy silver frame and looked into the familiar faces I would never see again, unless my parents appeared to me as rips. I didn’t know if I feared that or desired it.

Tonight’s conversation about my past had opened a wound. The wide hole my parents’ deaths left had been sutured by time, but talking with Michael loosened the threads. Seeing the picture tore them open.

I’d never been as honest with anyone as I’d been with Michael. He made me feel safe, like I could be real—shattered and fragmented and wholly imperfect—even though he was the polar opposite. Intact, complete, fully perfect.

And totally off-limits.

I looked back at the picture, tracing the outline of my mother’s face, thinking that if she were still alive I would go to her room, curl up on her bed, ask her for advice.

Instead, I lay down, turning off the bedside lamp and holding the picture close to my heart.

Just before I drifted off, I sensed someone, but I was too close to sleep to tell if it was a dream or reality. I couldn’t think of any reason why a long-dead man from the past would be worried about me.

But Jack appeared to be sitting on the foot of my bed, a look of intense concern on his face.

I blinked, and he was gone.

Chapter 9

I woke up the next morning feeling raw, like my usual armor was missing. My comfortable layer of protective sarcasm had slipped. I needed it back to be able to deal with everything I’d learned. More sparring with Thomas was just the ticket. He always brought out my A game. Between a good argument with him and my Chucks, I should be able to get my life back on track.

He sat at the table in the kitchen with his silk tie thrown over his shoulder, comfortably eating the same breakfast he’d eaten every morning since I could remember: Fruity Pebbles. The smell of sugar and fruit flavoring permeated the air around him, food coloring and preservatives beginning the embalming process where he sat. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

“It’s so encouraging to see an entrepreneur such as yourself starting the day with a healthy breakfast.” I walked behind him, intending to flip his tie into his bowl. “The economic future of our little town hinges on whether or not your blood sugar drops before your morning snack of Ho Hos and a Yoo-hoo.”

Thomas snaked a hand up and grabbed my wrist before I could get to his tie. “Good morning, little sister. I hope we aren’t grumpy because we didn’t get a good-night kiss?”

I ran my free hand through his perfectly groomed blond hair just to piss him off. “How do you know whether or not I got a good-night kiss?”

“Excellent security in these buildings. Security guards, security systems, security cameras.” He pulled me around to face him. “That way I won’t have to worry about anything inappropriate happening. Since it is strictly a professional relationship.”

“You were spying on us? Are you trying to start a fight?” I asked, jerking my arm away. The bowl of Fruity Pebbles hovered dangerously close to becoming an accessory. “What does it matter if we run off to Vegas and get married—all you want him to do is help me be ‘normal,’ right?”