“You’re upset. I can help you, Annalise.”
She scoffed and started walking, but not fast enough to lose him. “Really? How? You got a horse around back?”
“Very funny. Give me your hands.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Why?”
Rather than answer, he stepped closer and held out his hands, palms up. Then he waited for her. Letting out a frustrated breath, she dropped her hands in his.
“Close your eyes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why?”
“Just close them. Trust me.”
“I don’t know you,” she grumbled but closed her eyes anyway, the entire time berating herself for being so reckless and allowing a stranger to get so close.
“Imagine somewhere peaceful. Go there in your mind.”
None of this made sense. She had the patience of a saint when it came to Kyle. Where was her willpower with this guy?
“Anna, you’re not focusing.”
She huffed. “That’s because I’m not myself right now.”
“You can trust me.”
“Sounds like something Ted Bundy would say...”
“I don’t care about this Ted and neither should you. Humor me for a few seconds. Please.”
She huffed and pursed her lips. Her mind cleared and an image of tall, green grass filled her mind. In the distance, beneath an old tree, lay a patchwork quilt. She rested on the quilt, her back flat to the earth as the sun warmed her face. A cool breeze teased her skin, as if blowing over her now, and her pulse slowed.
“Your heart rate’s slowing down. You’ve been there before. It’s familiar.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
She drew in a slow breath. “In a meadow, under a tree. It’s an hour before sunset and the sky is bursting with pink.”
“I see you there. Do you see me?”
In her mind, she opened her eyes and searched the horizon. “No. I’m alone.”
“Look again.”
In the vision, where insects buzzed low to the ground and the sky wavered against the heat of her earth, a dark form took shape. At first it was only a smear against the golden sky, but then it stretched into the silhouette of a man.
She squinted as the form took long, purposeful steps up the hill and the wide brim of a felt hat came into view. Then his torso and arms. The smudge of black against the fading sun washed away and Adam’s face was there.
She yanked her hands free. “How did you do that?”
“You have no reason to fear me.”
“I saw you. Just now. You got in my head, but...” It was like a visitor more than an implored thought. “Are you a hypnotist or something?”
“I’m Amish.”
She glanced at his clothes. No jeans today. The Amish garb lent an honest implication, but they probably sold that stuff on Amazon nowadays. Anyone could dress like that and call themselves Amish. If she bought a pointed hat, did that make her a witch?
“Why don’t you have a beard? And why are you hanging out at a bar?”
“I’m on a mission.”
“From God?” That sounded very Blues Brothers.
He smiled. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I was being serious.”
Right. “Well, I gotta get moving. I have a bus to catch.”
He glanced over her shoulder. “You like coffee?”
“I’d be dead without it.”
“May I buy you a cup of coffee then?”
She hesitated and eyed him from head to toe. He didn’t seem to be hiding any weapons. How dangerous could an Amish guy be? “Don’t you have your mission to get back to?”
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“I guess I could stay a little longer.”
“Good.”
He slid her hand over the crook of his arm—so very Victorian of him—and led her into the coffee shop. She was grabbing coffee with an Amish stranger on a mission from God. Totally normal.
The café was a monopoly knock off, hardly capturing the ambiance of Central Perk, but they served a damn good cup of jo. The barista worked the machine as a guy waited in front of them in line. She glanced at Adam, who watched her, and she smiled nervously.
There was an Amish market in Bristol. They made amazing pies. “Are you friends with the Amish in Bristol?”
“Bristol?”
“It’s a town a few exits down.”
“No. Our order is very old and private.”
Harrison Ford hung out on an Amish farm in the movie Witness. That painted a pretty clear image in her head, but Adam’s farm probably wasn’t as Hollywood.
There had been that big underground cocaine bust in Amish country a few years back. Maybe he was a part of the Amish mob. A kingpin on a mission to do a drug deal. “What does your farm grow?”
“Everything needed to sustain our way of life. Our agriculture is basic. And we have livestock.”
“Dairy?”
“Yes, but we aren’t a dairy farm. We do not harvest for profit. Only for sustenance.”
She twisted her lips. No mention of cocaine or crime. “So, you live completely off the land?”
“You’re suspicious of my background.”
“I just don’t know many Amish people.” And if they didn’t farm for money how could he afford a hundred-dollar tip?
“It’s a much simpler way of life where I’m from.” He stepped to the counter and ordered two cups of coffee. When he reached in his satchel to pay, her eyes widened at the flash of money tucked within an envelope.
She followed him to a table. “What do you do on the farm?”
“Work from dusk to dawn. Sometimes longer, depending on the season.”
She slid into a chair and studied him. “Are there women on the farm?”
“Of course, though they work in the home.”
How archaic. “What do you guys do for fun?”
“We play games. I like checkers and Scrabble. If the weather’s nice, we play yard games or fish or explore.”
“Oh.” His words were thick and accented, his voice smooth as heated honey. When he spoke, he lulled her into a calm state. He could read the phone book and make it sound sexy.
“What do you do for fun, Annalise?”
She chuckled. “Sleep. Between school and work, I don’t have much of a social life.”
She cupped her hands around the paper cup holding her coffee. The air conditioning was working overtime and the heat of her beverage felt nice. The quiet of the café calmed her and she could finally think.
“Why did you play that song?”
“You have lovely hands,” he said at the same time she asked about the song.
Her attention jumped to his face. He stared as if he were trying to tell her something. His expression appeared gentle, but there was something hard about his focus, a sort of resolute, unbreakable concentration.
She frowned. “What?”
“I was just noticing your hands. They’re lovely. Delicate.”
She glanced at her fingers. Was that an actual compliment? Or was it like, Hello, you have nice hands. I’d like to keep them in a jar of formaldehyde next to my pickled pig's feet and ball of human hair...?
“Um ... thanks?”
“Do men not often compliment you?”
She got them all the time, but normal ones. “You’re sort of weird,” she told him in the kindest way possible.
His smile disappeared. “This place is weird for me.”
She instantly regretted teasing him. “You’re the first man to ever compliment my hands. Thank you.”
Golden lashes lifted, revealing eyes as blue as the glaciers. They reminded her of ice, yet his stare filled her with warmth as he smiled at her. “I played that song because I knew it was your favorite.”
“But how did you know that?”
He straightened his shoulders. He hadn’t sipped his coffee yet. She was halfway thro
ugh hers.
“Do you believe in God, Annalise?”
“I believe in science.”
“Science?”
“Yeah, the study of the physical and natural world through experiments and proof. If a religion can accompany science without interfering, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“I didn’t ask if you believed in religion. I asked if you believed in God, a higher power.”
“You mean, do I think there is something connecting us to the universe, greater purpose, like destiny?”
“Yes.”
The hair on her arms lifted. She’d been playing with those ideas lately, searching for some sort of explanation for her sorrow. She wished she could explain away the hurt of losing her mom and find some sort of vindication in life’s cruelty, but nothing stuck. She wished finding faith was as simple as reading about it, but it wasn’t. Not for her.
Mary was just a woman in need of a place to have a baby, and Buddha was just a little round philosopher. No matter the deity, creation always came back to the foolproof but complicated explanation of expanding matter under high-density temperature. Her brain only worked in terms of science, because other explanations left her wondering why she deserved to have her only family ripped away from her before she even had a full grasp on adulthood.
She didn’t want there to be a God because she didn’t want to think she might have done something deserving of the losses she’d suffered. And if she believed in one part of destiny, she had to believe in all of it.
What sort of screwed up God permits the cruelty of this world to carry on, but involved Himself in matchmaking of mere mortals? No way was some Supreme Being up there assisting this guy with his game. She smelled bullshit.
But she didn’t want to crush the guy. Amish people were known to be God fearing. “I guess I believe in some of it.”
“Do you believe in signs?”
She shrugged. “I’m not superstitious, but I also wouldn’t purposely break a mirror or walk under a ladder.” Maybe she was a little superstitious. The thought of shoes on a table made her twitchy.
“You know me from your dreams. That’s why I’m familiar and that’s how I knew The Red Album was your favorite. You sang that song to me.”
She stilled. “Shut the front door.”
He glanced at the entrance of the café and frowned. “I know, if you clear your mind of distraction, you’ll remember the dream.”
She didn’t have to clear her mind. She could see it as if they were there, on the field, his fingers twirling in her hair. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Such an ugly word from such a beautiful mouth.”
She scowled at him. “Tell me where we were then. If you know my dreams tell me what we were doing.”
“Lazing on a quilt.”
“Where?”
“In a field. The quilt had a blue hex symbol on it. Your head filled my lap and my fingers combed through your hair. You played with a red string and a gray barn cat chased it. And when you laughed, my soul caught fire and I knew I needed to find you. You see, Annalise, my heart’s been burning ever sense.”
“That’s impossible.” When she pushed her coffee away her hand shook so violently, she nearly knocked it over. Adam steadied the half empty cup and reached for her hand.
She pulled her hands into her lap and he said, “It only seems impossible because of what you know. Think of all the things you still don’t know.”
Her gaze dropped to her trembling fingers. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure with school and finals.”
“Why did you choose to study medicine?”
Her body pressed back in her chair. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’ve told me.”
“When? She remembered singing in the field, but never any conversation about her schooling.” Her frown deepened. He screwed up. She knew she didn’t tell him what she went to school for—in person or in a dream. “You’re lying.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Annalise. I’ve seen your dreams. Sometimes you’re listening to heartbeats or examining patients.”
She had a dream the other night like that. It didn’t have the feel of her other dreams. Just a regular old, boring dream. How could he possibly know about those things? People couldn’t share dreams. And if they could and he was eavesdropping on all of hers...
“Are you causing the nightmares?”
“Nightmares?”
“Wooded forests crawling with screaming bugs, dark ponds full of bloodsucking fish, and then there were the butterflies that tried to eat me alive. Were you there for them?”
His brow creased. “I’ve had no such dreams.”
“But I felt ... someone else present.”
His frown deepened. “It wasn’t me. How long ago did you have this nightmare?”
“Nightmares. And I have one or two a night. It’s why I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“I don’t understand. If you had a dream I’d know.”
“And why is that?” There was normal crazy and then a whole new level of bat shit crazy where people actually believed they were magic.
His gaze cut to hers, his eyes sharp and shrewd as he studied her. “Do not fear me.”
She glanced at the barista who had her nose buried in her phone. She was going to have to go back to the bar and ask someone to drive her home, because she wasn’t chancing this guy following her.
“I’m done my coffee,” she announced.
“But we’re not finished our conversation.”
“Aren’t we? It feels finished.” She pushed her chair back from the table, and he caught her hand.
“Tell me about the nightmares.”
“Let go of my hand.”
“Tell me.”
He wasn’t hurting her, but if she pulled away, she sensed he could. “It doesn’t matter. They’re just dreams.”
“It matters.”
She rolled her eyes. This was exactly why girls shouldn’t grab coffee with men they meet in dark parking lots. “There’s nothing to tell. They just had a feeling. And they were scary. Someone was there, but I never saw him.”
“You’re certain it was a male?”
For the love of God. “Yes. I heard him.”
“He spoke to you?”
“Only once. I was trying to wake up and struggling. He said, I like watching you grex and rootsh, whatever that means.”
“The voice spoke Deutsch?”
“I guess. It sounded just like...” The blood rushed from her face. “You.”
His nostrils flared. “I would never say such a thing.”
But five minutes ago he claimed to know all sorts of things about her dreams. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe any of this. Maybe I ate some bad shrimp. Or maybe I’m dehydrated. It could be a bunch of things waking me up at night. But I’m pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with you.” It couldn’t, because anything else would be crazy.
“I need you to know I’d never take pleasure in watching you struggle. I would never say those words to you, Annalise.”
“Why? Because we’re dream buddies?” She stood and he released her hand without a fight. Just the thought of those nightmares gave her chills. “I gotta go. Good luck with your mission.”
As she walked to the door, he watched her. The concentrated sharpness of his stare had turned to something else. He almost looked ... shocked. Either way, she was glad he didn’t follow her.
She pushed out the door and went straight to Jimbo’s a few doors down. She sensed him watching her and refused to look through the glass storefront. But at the last second, she glanced back and sucked in a breath.
Nothing but empty tables filled the café. The barista still had her face in her phone. Annalise’s head jerked, scanning the parking lot. No one was out there.
Shaken, as if she’d just spent the last thirty minutes having coffee with a ghost, she rushed into Jimbo’s. The smoke and music hit her like a bucket of water, thrusting her
back into the familiar reality she loathed and loved.
She approached the bar. “I need a shot.”
Kyle frowned. “I thought you went home.”
“My car won’t start.”
He grabbed a clear bottle and filled a small glass. “Lemon?”
“No thanks.” She tossed it back and winced at the burn.
“I can take a look at your car, missy,” Gus offered, overhearing her.
“I doubt it’s fixable, but if you don’t mind taking a peek—”
“Say no more.” He stood, a little off balance, and waved a hand. “Lead the way.”
In the parking lot, Gus poked around under the hood instructing her when to turn the key and when to pump the pedals. He couldn’t find anything wrong, but after a good twenty minutes of sweet talking the Steaming Turd and some gentle petting on Gus’s end, they coaxed the old girl back to life.
Gus appeared as surprised as she was. “I ain’t never seen a car do that before.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe I should head home, too.”
“Are you all right to drive?”
“Huh?” He glanced back at her, his feet already carrying him back to the bar. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. You be careful getting home, now, missy. And do yourself a favor and back in when you park. I could have sworn it was the battery, but what the hell do I know?”
“Thanks, Gus. I will.”
The Steaming Turd rumbled onto the road and she couldn’t help but smile. She stroked the dusty dashboard. “See, you’re not dead yet. I knew we’d save you.”
She backed in, just as Gus had suggested. That way, if she needed a jump in the morning, it would be easy to get under the hood. After a long shower that she hoped removed any lingering unpleasant scents, she took a hefty dose of nighttime cold medicine.
She was determined to get a sound night’s sleep. And by the time her head hit the pillow her eyes were already closing.
Chapter Fourteen
Adam stayed outside of Annalise’s apartment waiting for her to drift off to sleep. With so many under one roof, it was difficult sifting through the emotions to locate hers, but having her blood still in his system from the night before aided him greatly. However, the emotions he found were sluggish and not working on the usual frequency he’d come to consider hers.
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