Megan’s eyes flicked right, left, down, as if it were too painful to look at her and see whatever it was she saw in her eyes. “It’s the best explanation.”
Well, hell. It would take some getting used to, but she didn’t feel like she was losing her mind. She’d always wondered about that dream—wondered why it felt so real, so much more vivid than any other dream she’d ever had.
It wasn’t a dream.
And on the bright side…it looked like Megan really was her soul mate.
***
Megan perched on a stool in Kira’s kitchen and watched her slice a banana over a bowl. She loved fruit salad for breakfast. Kira had also promised French toast, and if it was anywhere near as good as dinner was last night… Megan opened her mouth and Kira fed her a slice of banana. She could get used to this.
Kira peeled an apple, starting near the stem and rotating the apple in her hand. When she reached the bottom, she held up the intact spiral of apple peel between her thumb and forefinger and stared at it as if there was something worrisome about it. “Do you know what this is?”
Apparently Kira wasn’t completely functional after a night of almost no sleep. “A weird party trick?”
“Never mind.”
“You’re not going to tell me? What is it? A garnish?”
Kira lowered the peel to the countertop, guiding it into some semblance of its original shape. “When you were a kid,” she said carefully, focusing on her task, “did you ever do that thing where you throw an apple peel over your shoulder to predict who you’re going to marry?”
“Like a bride throwing her bouquet? You hit the lucky boy with an apple peel?”
“That, I would have enjoyed. But no.”
Megan fished a slice of banana out of the bowl. Mmm—not too green and not too ripe. “Never heard of it.”
“I can see that.”
“So how does it work?”
“You stand at the top of the stairs with your back turned and you throw the peel over your shoulder. Then you race down the stairs and see what letter it made.”
“Which is the initial of the person you’re going to marry,” Megan concluded.
Kira nodded. “It’s right up your alley.”
“Never tried it.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Spreading the apple peel on the countertop, Kira arranged the breaking loops into a string of notched humps. “You’d think a curly thing like an apple peel would be incapable of forming anything but the letter C. Maybe a J or a G. I remember telling myself that—that the whole thing was bogus, that even if I tried a million times and it finally made a J, it was only coincidence, even though I really did want it to make a J because I had a crush on Jackie Jurgens at the time.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine, I think.”
So even when she was nine years old, Kira was trying to talk herself out of believing in magic. And also kept tossing those apple peels over her shoulder and barreling down the stairs to discover whether the alluring Jackie was meant to be.
“The peel kept folding back on itself at the creases and making these damn letter M’s.” Kira pushed at the apple peel, fine-tuning the shape of her M. “Maybe it was a sign.”
“You don’t believe in signs.” Kira didn’t believe in ley lines, she didn’t believe in angels, but she did believe in fortune-telling fruit?
Her eyes downcast, Kira gathered up the parings she’d been so interested in and walked them to the trash. Megan instantly regretted opening her mouth.
“I didn’t mean—”
Kira cut her off, her voice full of resignation. “Now you’re going to decide we can’t be together, right? Because you have to cheat fate?”
Megan snapped her head in her direction. “Wait a minute. This is why you think we should be together? Because of an apple peel when you were nine?”
A faint smile played across Kira’s lips. “Not exactly.”
“Then why?”
Kira’s eyes filled with warmth. “Because I love you.” She shrugged, as if it should be obvious. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
Megan’s heart squeezed. It was hard to stay logical when Kira said things like that. But that was fate’s blueprint tugging at her heartstrings, and she believed in free will. Kira didn’t know what she was saying.
“You think it’s fate,” Megan said accusingly.
“Yes, I think it’s fate.” Exasperation crept into Kira’s voice. “Why are you so determined to avoid anyone you’ve lived a past life with? How can you be so sure it would be a bad idea?”
“Amelia,” Megan admitted. “That didn’t work out too well.” She’d given their relationship a second chance—and a third and a fourth chance—because she was sure there was a reason they were meant to be together again. She’d never found one.
“Amelia—” Kira choked on the name and tried again. “Amelia was in a past life with you?” She whacked a lemon in half and crushed it over the cut fruit. “That explains a lot. No wonder you… I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Were you even lovers in your past life? Maybe she was your no-good neighbor. Or your abusive husband. She clearly wasn’t your soul mate.”
“Easy to say in hindsight,” Megan grumbled. Did everyone think she was blind for trying to see the good in Amelia?
“So give me a chance,” Kira suggested. “And a year from now you can look back and see if I was right about us or not.”
Her logic was tempting.
“You don’t know for certain that I was a mistake,” Kira insisted.
“I’m sorry I said that earlier. I didn’t mean you were a mistake. I mean, I did, but…”
Kira laughed good-naturedly. “I see you’re not going to quit while you’re ahead.”
“What I meant was, you don’t feel like a mistake, but it’s so hard to know, and I want to be sure.” Megan reached into the bowl to pick out the lemon pits. She couldn’t look at her. She didn’t want to look at her and see she was hurting her.
“Don’t look so worried.” Kira intercepted her hand over the bowl and intertwined their lemony fingers. “You believe in reincarnation. You’ll get another shot at it in your next life.”
Her grip felt perfect—and reminded her of her nightmares. “Another shot at making the same mistakes all over again.”
“Awesome. You can make it up to me the next time around.”
Megan smiled despite herself. Kira didn’t sound hurt—she sounded happy. “You’re willing to wait that long?”
“Hey, you said you always die young. It won’t be that long.”
Megan’s jaw dropped and laughter bubbled up. “Can you at least pretend to take me seriously?”
Kira grinned. “Nope. I’m too happy that you’re not breaking up with me.”
“We’re not together.”
“I think we kind of are.”
Yeah, okay, maybe. She squeezed their clasped hands and let herself imagine what it would be like to have a future with her—to forget her visions and just be happy. Could she do that? Would it be fair to either of them? Regretfully, Megan let go. “I wish I knew if it was the right thing to do. If I can be with you and still avoid my fate.”
Kira sighed. “Why are you trying so hard to avoid your fate?”
“Because it’s a painful, early death by fire, and I think this time I have a chance to change that.”
The lines around Kira’s eyes tightened. “Even if that’s true, I don’t see how being with me would affect that.”
“Because it’s all part of the pattern.” Especially now that she knew Kira was the woman in her old nightmare. “I’m tired of living it over and over again. If you are entangled in my destiny, I should avoid you. Which technically would include not sleeping with you.”
Kira’s mouth pressed into a hard line. She turned to the sink and washed her hands, then straightened the dish towel that hung from the oven door. “Is it even possible to change your fate?”
> She did wonder that sometimes. And now, when fate meant a woman who made her feel alive and safe, a woman she looked forward to seeing so much that she sometimes trembled with it—a woman she could barely face now because everything inside her was screaming at her to change her mind before she pushed her away for good—did it really matter how she died? What if she did escape her fate? She’d die some other way instead. She’d suffer some other form of pain.
But that felt like giving up, and she couldn’t give up, because she might never get this chance again. Yes, she’d have other lives, but she couldn’t be sure that next time she’d have the ability to remember her past lives and be able to learn from them.
“You can’t control everything that happens to you,” Kira said.
“I can try. I can make smart choices.”
“You can make all the right choices in the world and it doesn’t guarantee things won’t go wrong.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying.” She might have bent her no-dating-clients rule for Kira, and she might be on the verge of breaking her recent no-dating-women-I-recognize-from-past-lives rule, but she refused to say the hell with it and let some ancient karmic blueprint call the shots.
Kira leaned against the kitchen counter. “Maybe you’re trying so hard to avoid your pattern that you’re getting stuck there instead. Like the priests you said were stuck in their sexual energy because they won’t allow it to flow through. You’re obsessing about fire instead of letting go of it.”
She was trying to let go. But Kira was right—it wasn’t working. Apparently part of her thought letting go sounded too much like failure.
“I’m not telling you to give up,” Kira said. “Just…find a way to do it that doesn’t involve pushing me away.”
She wished she could, but it didn’t seem possible, it didn’t seem… Megan bit her lip. She really was stuck, wasn’t she?
If you can’t change the dream… Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. If you’re trying and it’s not working… If you can’t change the dream then wake yourself up, Megan. Tell yourself it’s just a dream and wake yourself up. Her mother hadn’t been talking about jumping off the karmic wheel, she had been trying to talk her out of her nightmares. But maybe she hadn’t been as hopelessly unhelpful as Megan had always thought.
Because if you couldn’t change the dream, there was another way out. The only way out. To wake up. Which meant the only way out was not to change her karma, but to stop believing it could hurt her. To stop letting it scare her. To stop trying so hard to change things.
If you’re trying, and it’s not working…
It wasn’t free will if you only allowed yourself one choice.
Chapter Eighteen
“Found a buyer yet?” Kira’s dad folded his arms across his chest. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, his ropy forearms deeply tanned.
Kira shook her head in response to his favorite question and led him into the hotel’s west wing, where she was converting most of the ground level into her new spa. “Haven’t even finished renovating it yet.”
Her crew was busy knocking down walls and tearing up the floor to create a spacious sunken lounge as well as several soundproofed treatment rooms and a couple of private changing rooms. She was excited about how well it was all coming along, as well as her solution to where to put the swimming pool—the architect was finalizing the design for a gorgeous rooftop hangout.
“What do you think?” she asked as they reached the site of her future lounge. She knew her dad liked watching the rip-it-apart stage—the finished product was boring to him—so this was where she’d taken him, to the area that was currently under the most construction. Unfortunately, it didn’t distract him from his obsession over how soon she could sell.
“Never too early to plan ahead,” he said. “I told you there wasn’t a market for this sort of thing. Spas are luxury destinations. People who want the spa experience want to stay at a classy resort, not a dime-a-dozen roadside hotel.”
“An affordable, yet fun and classy, hotel,” Kira corrected him.
He patted her on the back with a well-meaning fatherly gesture that made her feel ten years old. “That’s my girl. Always had a knack with the PR. I’ll see if any of my contacts know anyone interested in taking it off your hands. We’ll get your deal made.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to handle this myself.”
“You get the place finished, honey. I’ll find you a buyer.” His posture radiated confidence as he surveyed the exposed walls.
Kira bristled. “No need.”
“Tell you what. I’ll hold off a couple months, you see what you can do, then we’ll talk.”
“Really, Dad. It’s sweet of you to want to help. But I’m perfectly capable of finding a buyer on my own.”
Or deciding not to sell. Her whole life, she’d been doing what he expected of her. She’d gone to work for him at sixteen, starting businesses and selling them. She was good at it. She’d never stopped to think about whether it was what she really wanted to do.
Buying this hotel had started as an investment—just another business to set up and then get rid of. But now she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave Piper Beach once this baby was up and running. It might be fun to stick around and try her hand at keeping a business for once. Her priorities were starting to shift, and she wasn’t even sure when that had happened. But Megan probably had something to do with it. Megan was making her rethink a lot of things.
“Maybe if you put in some tennis courts…” Her dad still had that calculating look in his eye, damn him.
Kira’s jaw tightened. How could he possibly think this looked like a boring place to stay? It was well on its way to being the most beautiful building she’d ever worked on. “I think women will like it just the way it is,” she ground out.
“I almost forgot about your women-only plan.”
“Why am I not surprised?” She’d known all along that her father thought a lesbian hotel was an unprofitable idea, but she didn’t work for him anymore and he couldn’t stop her from investing in projects she cared about.
“Be reasonable. You’re going to be managing the hotel for six months, tops. What do you care who the customers are? Whoever takes this property off your hands is going to do whatever the hell they want with it anyway. You want to offer a turnkey operation, make it a normal hotel. Besides, you know as well as I do there are laws against discrimination in public accommodations.”
He was as stubborn as she was. It wasn’t even worth arguing about, not if he was just going to lecture her. Kira changed the subject and showed him the gorgeous new ductwork instead. He might not like her spa idea, but Megan did. And Megan’s opinion mattered more.
***
“Ever had a mud bath?” Kira asked the awkward-looking job applicant who stood stiffly in her dress-to-impress interview suit while Kira hunted through her office for her list of spa treatments. She’d cleaned off her desk for this interview, and now she couldn’t find anything, including this poor thing’s résumé. What was her name again? Trish something?
“I love mud baths,” Trish-something said.
She looked sincere. And why not? According to Kira’s research, mud baths were popular. Even though she personally had not been impressed. She spotted her list—and Trish’s résumé—on top of a file cabinet. Trish Martin—that was it.
“Here are the services we plan to offer.” She handed her the printout. “As you can see, it’s heavy on the massage options.”
“Does the staff get free spa treatments?”
“Half-price. Or negotiate on your own with the other staff.” Kira gave her a few minutes to look over the list while she reviewed her résumé. “Are you familiar with what all these things are?”
“Of course.”
That was a good sign. And she seemed enthusiastic, too. The staff and the guests would like her.
“If a guest showed up at the desk and had never had a massag
e before, what type of massage would you recommend she sign up for?”
“Gentle Swedish,” Trish answered without hesitation.
Megan would have wanted to know more specifics about the guest before she fired off a recommendation, wouldn’t she? She’d want to know what the guest was looking for, and tailor it to her tastes.
So, newsflash, she wasn’t Megan.
Who had assured her that the professional grapevine said Trish Martin was a decent massage therapist, and anyone who could put up with a boss like chiropractor Dan Bristow would be able to handle difficult hotel guests. She needed to give her a chance.
“If a guest had a sunburn, what would you steer her toward?”
Trish studied the list. “When I get a sunburn I don’t want anyone to touch me, so I’d suggest Reiki.”
Okay, so she didn’t pick the hydrating aloe wrap, which Megan insisted was a must for any reputable seaside spa. Kira watched herself twist her pen between her thumb and fingers. Was this her way of giving Trish a chance? There was nothing wrong with her answer. A year ago Kira wouldn’t even have known there were different types of massage, and here she was, trying to trip up someone who knew way more about all this than she did. It made her feel like her father, ferreting out posers and bullshitters for sport.
She looked up and saw Trish’s doe eyes filled with panic, aware that her potential boss wasn’t happy with her answer. Kira swore under her breath. Trish couldn’t be that bad if she had that kind of ability to read body language.
She hadn’t interviewed a promising candidate in weeks, and holding out for the perfect candidate was getting her nowhere. Trish was certainly better than the waitress who had insisted that although she didn’t have the requested national certification and had no formal training, all her friends said she gave great massages. So why was she feeling so reluctant about her?
Maybe because part of her was holding out for Megan. Because deep down, she hoped that if she couldn’t find a spa manager, her favorite massage therapist would step in and take the job. And that wasn’t fair to Megan, who’d already given her a ton of advice and hours of her time. Besides, Megan had made it clear she had no intention of officially working for her, ever.
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