“He’s…” Heat crept up her neck as memories of their relationship danced through her mind. “It was a wild few months. I think what sealed the deal for me was that he just complimented the punch. He didn’t qualify it with ‘for a girl’ or even worse, ‘for a little Asian girl.’”
“He saw you for the strong, independent woman you are. So…why did it end? Was he a butt scratcher? Did he pick his nose in front of you?”
Sydney laughed. “No, he was…amazing…for a while. But then…” She shook her head.
“Well, spill the tea, girl. I’m intrigued.”
“I had a vision about him. Every time I start dating someone, I see how it’s going to end, and Blake was going to stand me up on the night of the Krewe of Horae masquerade ball. It was my induction ceremony. We had matching costumes and everything, but I saw myself sitting on my mom’s front porch in my ball gown, mascara streaks running down my cheeks because he never showed.”
Trish cringed. “Ouch. What was his excuse?”
Sydney leaned back in her chair and toyed with the plastic lid on her coffee. “I never gave him the chance to make one up. After the premonition, I dumped him via text and then blocked his number. I never spoke to him again.”
Her jaw went slack as she blinked. “You dumped him…via text?”
Sydney nodded, her ears burning.
“That’s low.” Trish set her coffee on a side table and crossed her arms. “As your friend, I feel like I can say this to you honestly… That was a bitch move.”
“I know. It was a cowardly thing to do, but I was hurt, and I was only nineteen. He’d just told me he was planning to move to New York for grad school anyway. It’s not like the relationship was going anywhere.”
“But a text, Sydney?” She grabbed her cup and took a long sip. “And he didn’t actually stand you up, did he? It was just a vision?”
“My visions are real. It was going to happen.”
“How do you know it wasn’t symbolic of something else, like you said the coffin could be?” She drummed her nails against the paper cup.
“I suppose I don’t, but it felt literal, and everything was in sharp focus, like the universe was certain it was going to happen. This coffin vision feels almost like it’s not fully formed. Like maybe the universe isn’t sure what’s going to happen yet. I don’t know.” She set her cup on a table and let out an exasperated sigh. Describing how to interpret her premonitions was like explaining string theory to a toddler…impossible because she didn’t understand it herself. “I apologized yesterday. It’s all good now.”
“Is it? Don’t you ever wonder if you could have stopped it from happening? If you had talked to him about it, maybe he would have shown up.” Trish shrugged.
“First off, he didn’t know about my visions. Besides you and Emily, the only other people who know are the guys at work and my mom…and don’t even get me started on her. Oh, and now Blake, thanks to Eric and Jason, which means Claire will know soon too.” She still needed to ream them out for spilling her secret so casually.
“And second, yes, I probably could have stopped him from standing me up. My visions show me what’s going to happen if things keep going down the path they’re on. I could have changed the path and created a different outcome…but I can’t change people. If he has it in him to disregard his girlfriend’s feelings and be a self-centered jerk, I can’t take it out of him. He would have hurt me later down the road. It was inevitable.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what happened with my dad. When I was fourteen, I fell down the rabbit hole and saw my dad cheating on my mom with a woman he was going to meet at a gala my mom wasn’t planning to attend. I told her about it; she went to the gala, and he didn’t cheat on her that night.”
She grabbed her coffee and toyed with the cardboard sleeve. “Then I had another vision. A new woman. A new situation. My mom stopped it from happening too, but the cycle repeated. She told me not to tell her if I saw it happen again—to keep my curse to myself—so the next time, I didn’t mention the vision, and sure enough, he cheated.”
“Oh, man.”
“I could change the situation, but I couldn’t change him. He’s a cheater. My mom wasn’t surprised when she found out, and she divorced him. So, when I see how a relationship is going to end, I take it seriously.”
Trish took the lid off her cup and swirled the remaining coffee before tipping her head back and finishing the drink. “That really sucks, but Blake’s not your dad.”
“It happened with two different guys I dated in high school too. I couldn’t stop the relationships from ending. All I could do was postpone the inevitable.”
“Blake’s not your high school boyfriend.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does. Don’t you want to find out his side of the story? Maybe he would have had a good reason for what he might have done. You’ll never know unless you ask.”
“I see your point.” Since when was Trish the rational one? She tossed her cup in the bin behind her. “I do have to work with the guy.” A pang of guilt stabbed her in the chest, and she sighed. Trish was right. The same thoughts had been running through Sydney’s mind since she talked to him, but they were easier to shove aside when no one had said them out loud.
“Yesterday, he asked me what he did wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I suppose he deserves the truth.” Now that Trish had vocalized Sydney’s idiocy, she had no choice but to make things right…really right…with Blake.
“And your eyes sparkle every time you talk about him, so…” Trish grinned.
She shook her head. “I’ll talk to him. Who knows? Maybe once we clear the air, my funeral vision will change to a party.”
“Or a wedding,” Trish sang.
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “You’re funny. Really funny.”
Chapter Six
Blake sat at his desk, chewing on the end of a ballpoint pen and staring blankly at his computer screen. Five full days had passed since he’d asked Sydney for an explanation. Five days for him to roll the demise of their relationship over and over in his mind.
Unless he was remembering it wrong, all he’d done was tell her he’d been accepted at grad school. That wasn’t a good reason for her to treat him the way she did.
Now, she’d been avoiding him for days, doing all her work at the old office or from home, not once stopping by the museum to see if she had any work to do there. Sure, they couldn’t do much with Sean on leave, but she could have at least made an effort.
Then again, he hadn’t made much of an effort to see her either. He could have tagged along on another tour or checked in at the old office. Hell, he was the boss; he could have called her and told her they had work to do, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her to answer the question dangling between them. He never should have asked it in the first place.
His phone vibrated on the desk, Sydney’s name lighting up the screen, and he tensed. The investigation was scheduled for tonight. Was she canceling that too? He swiped it to open the message: Do you mind if I stop by early? I’m ready to talk
No punctuation at the end. What was she ready to talk about? Their failed relationship? The new tour? The weather?
Three dots bounced on the screen as she finished the message, and Blake bit down on the pen, cracking the plastic and sending blue ink dribbling down his chin. “Shit.” He tossed it in the trash and wiped his face with a tissue before rushing to the bathroom to examine the damage.
A smear of blue stretched from his lower lip to his jaw, matching the stained tips of his fingers. “Goddammit.” He squirted hand soap onto a paper towel and scrubbed his face, thankfully removing the ink before it set.
Returning to his office, he found the rest of Sydney’s message on his phone: about the new tour
He blew out a hard breath and dropped into his chair. He had his answer. There would be nothing more than a work relationship between them, and that w
as probably for the better. Maybe they could pretend he never poured his heart out to her. Maybe, one day, the awkwardness would go away. He replied: Sure. What time?
Her response came instantly: 20 minutes?
“Seriously?” Did she expect him to drop everything because she was ready to talk? He typed ok and set his phone aside. That woman was his kryptonite.
At least they’d be moving forward with something. He opened his email to pass the time, deleting the junk as he scrolled. When his gaze landed on the name Carmen Stone, a brick of dread settled in his stomach. Why the hell was his former boss emailing him? She’d already destroyed his career. Wasn’t that enough?
He hovered the cursor over the trash can icon, but curiosity won, and he cursed himself as he opened the message.
Hi Blake. I hope this email finds you well.
Finds him well? She couldn’t be serious. He continued reading.
I wanted to apologize for everything that happened. What William and I did to you was wrong, but you have to understand that when he found out about our affair, I realized how much he really loves me, and I had to give our marriage another try.
Blake groaned. “You hadn’t lived with the man for a year. It wasn’t an affair.”
I tried and failed, and I left him a few days ago. I’d love to talk to you, to make sure you’re okay.
“Oh, hell no.” He hit delete and slammed his laptop shut. He wanted nothing more to do with that shit show. His life was here now, in New Orleans, and he would never do anything that stupid again.
Armed with a bag of beignets and two cups of café au lait, Sydney strode toward Blake’s museum with purpose. A nauseating swarm of angry wasps spiraled through her stomach, so she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, but Blake had a soft spot for the French doughnuts. Hopefully, they would make her real apology go down smoother.
She’d stewed on exactly what to say to the man for days…too many days. She’d left him hanging while she battled the beast of fear and worked up the courage to talk to him, but she wasn’t sure which scared her more: that he wouldn’t forgive her—because honestly, she didn’t deserve his absolution—or that he would, and she’d have to deal with all the old emotions bubbling to the surface, threatening to boil her alive.
The early evening sun had begun its descent behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the potholed pavement. The warm scent of patchouli incense danced in the air as she passed the Voodoo shop on the corner of Bourbon Street, and a crisp breeze kicked up, whipping her hair into her eyes.
She shook her head, using her forearm to brush the strands out of her field of vision as she hurried across the busy street. A cover band belted out a Jimmy Buffet song in the bar to her right, and she picked up her pace, rehearsing her apology in her mind as she trekked the final block toward her destination.
“Hey slot stealer.” Damon’s weaselly voice grated in her ears, and she turned as he crossed the street toward her. He wore his mousey brown hair gelled straight back and flat against his head, and the patchy scruff on his jaw made him look like an adolescent attempting to pass for an adult.
“Is that the best you can do, dumbass? Surely someone in your krewe can give you an Insults 101 lesson.”
He curled his hands into fists and stopped three feet away from her. “You stole our roll time. You’re a slot stealer.”
Sydney’s nostrils flared as she let out a slow breath. She didn’t have time for this; she had an apology to make before she chickened out. “When the spot opened, they held a lottery, dimwit. Horae won. No theft was involved.” Damon and his sorry excuse for a Mardi Gras krewe had been pissy ever since they lost the coveted two p.m. parade slot, and their hostility grew as the date approached.
Why Sydney had been singled out to take the brunt of their threats, she had no clue, but she was done with his juvenile nonsense. “Maybe if you worry less about us and more about taking care of your own krewe, you’ll be awarded a decent roll time next year.” She plastered on a smile. “Have a good day, darling.” Turning on her heel, she marched away.
“You better watch your back, slot stealer,” he shouted.
“Bite me,” she called without turning around. The museum sat three yards away, and she refused to break her stride until she got there. Balancing the cardboard cup holder in her right hand, she reached for the door, but it swung open before she made contact.
“Hey, Sydney. Come on in.” Blake stood to the side, his posture stiff, and motioned for her to enter. The wasps in her stomach flitted up to her throat. He wore dark jeans with a light-blue T-shirt that made his eyes pop, and as she stepped past him, she caught a whiff of his aftershave, a deep, musky scent with a hint of pine.
It was the same delicious scent she’d wanted to wrap herself up in eight years ago. A memory of snuggling against his bare chest, falling asleep in his arms, flashed in her mind, and her body warmed at the image.
“Let me help you with that.” He locked the door and smiled as he took the drink tray from her hand, but his eyes were tight, guarded. “What’s all this?”
“A peace offering. I owe you a better apology.” Her pulse thrummed. “And an explanation.”
His smile slipped, a look of surprise flashing in his eyes. “I thought you wanted to talk about the tour.”
“I…lied.” She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her quivering insides.
He nodded toward the back of the room. “Let’s head to your new office and talk.”
“My office?” She followed him through a doorway and down a dimly lit hall.
“I know you all shared one at your old building, but we’ve got a lot of room here. I figured since you do so much behind the scenes, you deserve your own space.” He disappeared through a doorway and flipped a switch.
Yellow light spilled out of the opening, and she swallowed the dryness from her mouth before following him inside. A dark wood desk took up nearly half the room, and a high-backed, ergonomic office chair stood behind it, with two more chairs facing it on the opposite side. A brass cup filled with pens and pencils occupied one corner of the desk, along with a stapler and a box of paperclips.
“Nice.” She set the bag of beignets on the surface and sank into the chair, her breath catching as she took in the wall opposite the desk.
A framed picture of the white rabbit from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland hung in the center of the wall. The drawing, done in a style reminiscent of the original book illustrations, was filled in with vibrant, saturated colors, making the scene seem almost lifelike. The rabbit wore a blue vest, and an oversized pocket watch hung from a thick chain, dragging the ground as the animal darted across the grass.
Blake took the coffees out of the tray and set them on the desk before dragging a chair around to sit cattycorner from her. “I was planning to let you decorate however you want, but when I saw that at a shop on Royal the other day, I couldn’t pass it up. I assume you’re still into Wonderland stuff, since you got the tattoo.”
She drew in a breath to reply, but what could she say? The gesture was so sweet, so typically Blake, her throat thickened. He’d always found little ways to show her he was thinking about her. She hadn’t had a single doubt about their relationship in the past, until he told her he was moving away and she had the vision. What had happened for it to have to end that way?
When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I’ve wondered why you loved a rabbit who’s always late when you are perpetually early for everything, but I’m guessing the time aspect has something to do with your visions?”
She looked into his eyes, and his gaze held her, a mysterious magnetism drawing the breath from her lungs as her body involuntarily drifted toward him. He’d given her a gift, and a thank you was in order, but her hormones seemed to think the best way to express her gratitude was to lean in and taste those full, kissable lips.
He grinned and cleared his throat.
Oh, crap. She was staring at his mouth. She lifted her gaze to his eyes
, and damn it if he wasn’t staring at her mouth too. This is bad. Very, very bad, Syd. Snap out of it. Grabbing a cup from the desk, she leaned back in the chair and took a sip. “When I was a kid, I always associated my premonitions with Wonderland, because when one would come on unexpectedly, I felt the sensation of falling down a rabbit hole. Tunneled vision, blue and gold sparkles in my peripheral…Wonderland.” She shrugged and took another sip.
“That’s fascinating.” He picked up the other cup and popped off the lid before lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply. Pausing, he tilted his head and flicked his gaze to hers. “Is there cinnamon in this?”
“Yes. Do you not take it that way anymore? We can switch if you want. Mine’s plain.”
“This is great. It’s…” He looked at the cup and chuckled. “Thank you.” Taking a beignet from the bag, he bit into it, and sugar rained from the pastry, covering the desk in white powder. “I forgot how messy these things are. It’s been a while.”
She wiped a napkin across the mess, trying her best to ignore the flakes of sugar-coating his lips. He slipped out his tongue, swiping it away, and her hands trembled as she tossed the napkin in the trash. Clutching her coffee in both hands, she took another sip, but all she could taste was the imaginary sweetness of his kiss. She would need a cold shower after this meeting ended. Sheesh.
“Tell me more about your visions. Do they always come on suddenly with the rabbit hole effect, or can you focus them?” He popped the rest of the beignet into his mouth and brushed his hands on his jeans.
“Both. Sometimes they come from nowhere, drag me under for a few seconds, and when I come up, I’ve experienced a half-hour glimpse of the future.” She set her cup down and drummed her fingers on the desk. “If I meditate on it, sometimes I can get back into the vision. Occasionally, I can expand them, find out more.”
“Wow. Why are you giving tours instead of telling fortunes in Jackson Square? Seems like you could make bank with that kind of power.” He sipped his coffee and leaned an elbow on the desk.
Love & Omens Page 6
