Ren’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands up, backing away.
The doorbell dings again as someone enters the shop.
“Whatever you say, Ms. Grumpy Pants,” he mutters as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Grabbing my coat, I walk out the back door to get some air. The small garden in the back is pretty minuscule, but the gorgeous flowers do wonders for lifting my spirits. The array of colors are pretty awesome, too. I love how my landlord Sebastian didn’t go with a single color choice, but instead opted for as many as he could stand. He’s a good guy.
Pacing the garden like a labyrinth, my mind circles the conversation with Blake.
Was I too hard on him? Should I have said yes? What would come of it? What’s the worst that could happen?
I cringe.
I know all too well the worst—I could become attached. Ultimately, that leads to having to let him go. Who in their right mind would want to be with someone who never ages and lives…well, as far as I know…forever?
It’s not often I think about my immortality anymore. It’s best left to the side, ignored. But it certainly pops up from time to time—days like this. If only I knew why…maybe then I’d be able to counteract it. Or understand it. But every time I try, the results are disastrous. Like, land people in the hospital, disastrous.
“Your next client is here. Want me to tell them you need a minute?” Ren asks, poking his head outside.
“No, why would you say that?”
“Because you’re doing that walking thing you do,” Ren says, circling his finger around.
“I’m thinking,” I say, heading back.
“Oh really?” he says, grinning. “Did something I say resonate?”
I shove him aside as I step in.
“Give me five minutes to prep, then send them in, would you?”
“Knew it,” he grins triumphantly.
“Just do it,” I say, spinning him around and pushing him out of the reading room.
My god, his ego would explode if I told him I actually was mulling it over.
Taking a few moments to center myself, I breathe deep and close my eyes. I inhale the scents of frankincense and myrrh, allowing them to transport me into a calmer mental space. One where I can be more present for my clients, and less focused on myself.
I flip the switch on my desk, signaling Renaldo I’m ready. I dim the lights and relight the candles around the room. After a couple of moments, a small, meager man walks in. His timid stature is immediately disarming, but he’s hiding something—or trying to conceal it, anyway. His name is Lenny and he steals from his boss. He then uses the money to go to the strip club on Fridays.
“Please, have a seat,” I say, pointing to the chair opposite my reading table.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, grabbing the chair and taking a seat.
I take my position opposite him, quietly setting out the table before use. I place my Tarot to one side, a couple of crystals to the other. His eyes widen, but he says nothing.
“There’s a lot we need to cover,” I begin, “so I’m going to get straight to it. I wouldn’t worry so much about your boss and instead, start worrying about the coworker who’s been watching you.”
Lenny’s eyes widen, and he bites the side of his cheek.
“But that’s not why you’re really here,” I say, staring deeply into his green eyes. They’d be pretty if he weren’t so mousy looking and unkept. His dishwater blonde hair has been over-combed across the top of his head, and his outfit is disheveled. Almost as if he’d been roughed up in the parking lot—but I already know it’s because he doesn’t pay attention to such things. The concept of dressing nicely is pretty much lost on him. It’s part of why his addiction continues to circle around.
Lenny shakes his head.
“No, I—er—I don’t know what to do. It’s sorta been a—”
A man with short, curly red hair flashes into my mind. His smile is infectious—as is his boisterous laugh. There’s something special about the man, and Lenny knows it. That’s why he’s fallen in love with him.
“Oh, right,” I say, nodding.
Doesn’t happen often in this small town, but with Ren in my circle, it happens more than you might think.
“So you’re wondering if he’s noticed you, too?” I say.
Lenny’s green eyes go as round as saucers, but he bites his lip and nods.
Part of him is ashamed. He doesn’t understand how the feelings were aroused for this man—he’s always been heterosexual, or at least he thought he was. But now—it’s thrown everything he’s known into chaos. He can’t sleep; he’s tied up in knots as he tries to reconcile his feelings.
“The first thing I need you to do is find someone safe you can talk to. Being attracted to another man—there’s nothing wrong with it and I’m guessing you have years of programming you’ll need to unlearn before those knots in your stomach unclench. Do you have anyone you could turn to?” I ask.
“D-do you count?” he asks, making a face.
I shake my head, “No, and yes. I mean you need to get into depth with someone. Perhaps a therapist to help you work through your feelings. This anxiety isn’t doing you any good.”
“But, how do I get him to notice me? Or—how would I even know if he’s interested?” he asks, his voice reduced to a hushed whisper.
“You’ll know, Lenny. Trust me,” I say holding out my hands, palm side up.
He reaches out tentatively, placing his hands in mine. I close my eyes, trying to get a better feel for the orange-haired man. He’s about the same age as Lenny, but much more outgoing. He’s spent time with Lenny—yet the situations are odd. Like it’s a weird cross between a work relationship and something more. There’s a definite energy pull, but the other man’s confused, too. He’s not sure whether or not to try to reach out to Lenny. He’s noticed how he’s gone downhill lately, and it’s concerning him. He—Andrew—his name is Andrew—he doesn’t want to see anything bad happen to Lenny.
“I’m not sure where his feelings are for you right now, but he certainly knows you exist. I’m picking up on a lot of platonic love and friendship, but at the present time, that’s all,” I say, opening my eyes.
Lenny smiles, tears on the verge of welling over.
“He knows I exist?”
“Yes, he really does,” I say nodding.
“Thank you, Diana—thank you. Thats really all I needed,” he says, smiling. Creases form in the corners of his eyes, brightening his face.
“Now, if you can kick the… eh-hem… bad habit at work, you’ll be in a better place. I feel if you continue down that path, you’ll lose your chance with Andrew. And for sure your job.”
His eyes widen.
“Whoa. You picked up on his name? Please—please don’t tell the police,” he says.
“Everything here is confidential. I wouldn’t dream of intervening for something like this. It’s not my job,” I say, trying to reassure him.
“But you’re—you’re the one who helped find that little girl recently, right?” he says.
“I am, but that was a different type of situation. I was pulled in on the case. And your situation hardly requires me to step in for police interaction,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, “even if it’s totally not cool.”
Lenny nods vigorously, “I’m—I’ll stop. I’m done. I want my shot with Andrew.”
He stands up, brushing off his legs as he gets up, trying to decrease the wrinkles. It doesn’t help.
“Great. You’ll come back and keep me posted, right?” I say.
“Sure—sure, I’d love to,” he says, reaching for my hand again.
I take it, placing my other hand over his.
Instantly, a much happier future for him opens up. As if the pathway he was on was leading him down the destructive path to heartache, but in the past instant, he’s made a new decision—a life-altering decision. These are the types of interactions that are the reason I continue to do th
is. When you can see a life shift from destruction, to something far more pleasant.
It’s so strange how simple—and how difficult that is. Choice.
We’re always one choice away from a completely different life.
Smiling at him, I let go of his hand, and walk him out of the reading room and into the main part of the shop.
Renaldo looks up from the gossip magazine he was reading and feigns surprise—it’s written all over his face. He’s surprised I left my reading room “cave” to enter the real world of the store. When I can help it, I generally avoid the front because you never know who might see me and want to attempt to weasel their way into a free reading.
I roll my eyes and smirk.
“Okay, Lenny—Renaldo here will get you all squared away,” I say.
As soon as I look at Lenny, a cord of energy bursts from his chest, linking to Ren’s.
“You know what,” I say, looking between them, “Ren, I think you may be a good person to talk to Lenny. He doesn’t have many people he can turn to, but for some reason, I get a good vibe about you two.”
Renaldo looks surprised at first—his eyebrows flick upward—but he’s known me long enough to know when I say something like that, to go with it.
“Hmmm, okay, I’m intrigued,” Ren says, putting his magazine down and walking to Lenny. His flamboyant attitude is so similar to Andrew’s—at least from what I can tell—and it instantly puts Lenny at ease.
“I’m Renaldo, Diana’s boss—” he says, shooting me a coy grin.
“You wish,” I say, chuckling and heading back toward my reading room.
I leave the two of them alone, allowing them some space to have the conversation they need to have. It’s so interesting how this universe works sometimes. It all takes place in whatever orchestra its meant to—like every string is so carefully pulled so the timing is perfect.
I stop walking, surprised at my own train of thought—as if all of this is happening not just for Lenny—but for me as well. The color green floods my entire perception and I know it’s true. I’ve hunted for so long for clues of my past, but this is a mixed message—like it’s made with invisible ink and if I look at it to long, it will all melt away.
But what exactly is meant to be?
Am I supposed to be making the choice to be happy? To help Blake on this case? To—ugh—give love a chance?
Again, green lights up. But not just for the last thought—for them all.
Dammit.
Fear unfurls from my stomach again—twisting and turning. Being hard is easy. Having a protective shell is pretty much my thing. But learning to let go of all that? Can I even handle it?
No—I’m not ready. Not yet.
As much as I want to move forward, there’s still so much from my past I need to have answered. I can’t let it go and become something new until I know what I was. Who I was. Why I’m here and stuck this way.
“Oh honey, I can totally help you with that,” Renaldo says to Lenny. His words pull me from my own thoughts.
“Really, you’d help me?” Lenny says, surprise painted in his tone.
“Are you kidding me? Taking on a project like you is a dream come true. We can go shopping—get this hair cut and—oh my God, a manicure. When was the last time you had you hands done?” Ren says, gasping.
I have to laugh to myself. If there’s one person who can whip Lenny into shape, it’s certainly Ren. And if he’s the one guiding him to Andrew—it’ll be perfect.
Sitting down at my desk, I reach for my phone.
Maybe I should call Blake. I don’t have to commit to anything but coffee, right?
I pick up the old-fashioned, corded receiver, then set it back down.
I don’t even have his number.
Placing my hand over my face, I chuckle to myself. What on earth was I thinking? It was like I was going to call him for the hundredth time—and I don’t even have his number.
Come on Diana, where is your head at?
“Thanks so much, Renaldo. I’ll definitely give you a call later tonight. I really do appreciate you being willing to teach me,” Lenny says.
“My pleasure, Len. You got this,” Renaldo says.
The doorbell to the shop dings as Lenny exits.
A moment later, Renaldo bounds into my reading room.
“What a beautiful soul,” he says, holding his hand to his chest.
“So, you decided to help him?” I say, already knowing the answer.
“Of course. Did you see him? He’s hopeless. Lord, if someone doesn’t show him the ropes, ain’t no one gonna notice how beautiful his eyes are,” he says, dropping into the chair across from me.
“Good, you both had a pretty strong cord. He’ll be around for a while. Maybe this is an answer to your prayers, too,” I say.
“What do you mean? I’m not leaving Brody for—”
I wave my hand dismissively, “No, not that. I mean, maybe once he and Andrew are together—if they continue on that trajectory—because it’s not certain yet, I could see you all hanging out together. It would lighten Brody’s load to keep you entertained.”
Renaldo gasps, “I’m not that much of a diva, Diana. What are you saying?”
“You know you're a piece of work, and damn lucky to have found Brody,” I laugh.
“Hmph,” he says, crossing his arms.
“But at least it looks like you'll be on the upswing,” I say, shrugging.
“Well, as long as someone lets me dress them, it's a start,” Ren says, his eyes distant as he no-doubt starts to mentally rearrange Lenny's wardrobe. “Now, what are we going to do with you?”
“Nothing. I'm going to go about my day as usual. In fact, when's my next client due?” I ask, glancing at my wrist.
Ren’s lips tug into a straight line, but he says, “Any minute, I suppose.”
“Good. I'm gonna go sit outside and enjoy the fresh air while I wait,” I say, standing up and heading once again to the back door.
“You can't survive on fresh air alone. Do you want me to call down to the cafe for lunch again?” he asks, making his way to the front.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I think I'll go out today, instead.”
Ren’s jaw slacks open, “Are you feeling okay? You haven’t been out since—”
“Good God, I'm fine. Now, go wait for the next client, would you?” I say, shooing him with my hands.
“You can run, Ms. Thang, but you can’t hide,” he says. “One of these days, all this running will catch up with you.”
“Yeah, yeah—going now,” I say slamming the door behind me.
Chapter 8
THE NEXT FEW DAYS drag by. I’m talking the pace a grandma snail would be proud of. My mind keeps toying with the idea of finding Blake—or maybe finding a way to call him. Of course, I always think better of it.
I mean, who am I kidding? Even if I went for coffee or offered to help on the case, having him around hinders my abilities anyway. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t capable on his own.
“Daydreaming again?” Renaldo says, breaking my concentration, and causing me to jump.
“Christ, don’t sneak up on a person like that,” I squeak.
“Ooooohhh, musta been a good one, too. Were you dreaming about tall, dark, and tight ass?” he says, rushing in.
“Would you drop it, Ren? I’m not even dating the man. He wanted help on a case,” I say, rubbing my cheeks.
“True, but as I recall, he also asked you out to coffee, did he not?”
“He did, but it was so he could try to talk me into helping him. Nothing more,” I say.
“And how do you know?”
The doorbell rings, and Ren holds up a finger, “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back. Should give you plenty of time to come up with something.”
I shake my head. Leave it to Ren to turn an acquaintance into a full-blown love interest.
But I have to admit, Blake’s a hard nut to crack. What is it that makes him
impossible to read? Could he be tied to me somehow? Or am I leaning on some bizarre wishful thinking? Possibly both?
Ren bounds back in, a spring in his step and a box in his hands.
“The box of Valentine’s goodies is here,” he says, a chipper tone in his voice. He’s always loved Valentine’s Day. It’s the one time of the year when he can pretty much guarantee the attention he generally hopes for from Brody.
“You know these items are meant for customers, right? Paying, customers,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“What exactly are you insinuating, Ms. Diana?” he says, feigning surprise.
“Exactly that. Unless you’re a paying customer, it stays here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of stealing from you. Though, if you paid me more, I’d be able to afford more…”
“A vicious cycle, I’m afraid,” I say, chuckling.
He pulls out a whip that looks more like a feather duster than something to spank with. His eyebrows practically bury themselves in his hairline.
“Mmmm. Roar,” he says. “I'm thinking you should take one of these.”
“Paying customers,” I reiterate. “Since I'm not paying, nor a customer —I think not,” I say, shaking my head. “Besides, what the hell would I do with it except whip my dust bunnies into shape?”
“You’re such a party pooper,” Ren says, frowning. “There's so many goodies in here.”
I shake my head and pick up the box. I place it squarely in his outstretched hands.
“Take this to the front and do your magic, please.”
Sighing heavily, he takes the box and turns on his heel—throwing a dramatic head spin in for good measure.
The doorbell dings again, and I take my spot at my reading table. The room is ready; candles lit and incense burning.
“Hey, got a sec?” Blake pops his head inside the room.
My mouth pops open, and I stand up, nearly knocking over the table.
“I—uh, no. I don’t actually. I have a client who’ll turn up any minute now,” I say, trying to overcome the surprise.
I scramble to keep my rose quartz crystal ball from rolling to the floor.
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