Authors: H. P. Mallory
What is wrong with me?
I thought and dropped my head into my hands, a sob tearing at my throat. “Stop talking!” I yelled at myself, begging the voice to recede, even as I wondered how my brain had concocted something so real, so believably British.
There’s nothing wrong with you, Jolie. This is just a dream. Close your eyes and go back to sleep and when you wake in the morning, you won’t remember any of it
.
Something funny happened then. I felt my eyelids go heavy, as if the voice had issued a command that my body couldn’t help but obey. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to lie down, to lose myself to sleep.
Who are you?
I said the words in my head, even as I
closed my eyes and felt the satin of the pillowcase beneath my cheek.
Sleep, Jolie, and forget this ever happened
.
At the end of the following Monday, I managed to locate a real estate agent, and by the middle of the week, the agent and I had narrowed down the list of housing possibilities for Sinjin to two houses and a condo, all of which seemed promising. All three properties were maybe five minutes from my house, which had been entirely by chance rather than design … no, seriously, I mean it.
I was exhausted after viewing so many places but also pretty excited about the remaining three choices. I had to imagine that Sinjin would be too. Speaking of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious, I hadn’t seen him since Saturday. And now that a few days had passed, I found myself wondering what he was doing, when I was going to see him again. He called me every day, mostly to say that he’d been overwhelmed with work, which was completely understandable. I had my own business to tend to, even though I wouldn’t exactly say that I felt overwhelmed by it. Unfortunately for me, the job of a psychic resembled a roller coaster—some days I had as many as seven clients and other days, not even one.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, bringing with it only two walk-in appointments, I was more than ready to go home and plan the evening’s festivities because Sinjin was coming over—I had invited him for dinner.
And no, I hadn’t changed my mind—no way were we going to get hot and heavy and possibly even have sex. I just wanted to show him printouts of the properties I’d selected for him. Sex didn’t figure into the equation at all … no, seriously, I mean it.
As I stood in my kitchen and stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce so it wouldn’t boil, I found it difficult to focus on anything but Sinjin. I just felt so incredibly alive lately—well,
ever since Sinjin had entered my life. It was as if he’d filled a void that I didn’t even know existed, like he was my proverbial prince and he’d kissed me back to consciousness. And really, our little break over the last few days had been good for me. I’d needed space to think about the fact that it seemed I was headed into a—dare I say it?—relationship. No, Sinjin and I had never discussed anything close to the possibility that we might be embarking on that path, but I couldn’t imagine what else it could be. I mean, we talked to each other every day and I was helping him find a place to live, for God’s sake!
But while I was incredibly excited and happy to have Sinjin in my life, my feelings weren’t all smiling cherubs. In fact, I’d been feeling a niggling sense of doubt ever since Sinjin had first asked me for a date. It just didn’t make sense that Sinjin wanted to be with me. Leaving looks outside of it, Sinjin was cultured, well traveled, refined. I was an ordinary girl who hadn’t really gone anywhere, other than moving to California from Spokane, Washington. I was just a simple woman with ESP, which was hardly enough to separate me from the masses.
God, Jolie, how did you get to be like this?
a voice inside me inquired, a voice that originated from the depths of my soul.
Why can’t you just accept this situation for what it is? Why can’t you just be happy, knowing that Sinjin likes you as much as you like him? Why do you always have to overanalyze everything into the ground? Just let it be!
There was a knock on the door that precluded further mental debate, which was probably just as well because the optimistic side of me wouldn’t like hearing what the cynical side of me had to say.
I started for the door, surprised by the fact that Sinjin was early. I thought I’d told him eight and, according to the clock on my living room wall, it was only seven
thirty. But the sun had already set, making it feel much later.
My cat meowed and interlaced herself between my legs, making it difficult for me to get to the door without stepping/tripping over her. “What’s with you, Plum?” I asked as I glanced down at her. “I already fed you.”
“Meow” was her unsatisfying answer.
I unlocked the door and opened it, remembering too late that I was still wearing my apron. And there was Sinjin, dressed to the nines in a black suit. “Wow, nice suit,” I commented mindlessly.
“Poppet,” Sinjin said with that devilish smile as he took me in from top to bottom. “I am coming from work and had a business meeting,” he answered in response to the fact that he was definitely overdressed for a house call.
I didn’t have the chance to respond because the cat suddenly completely lost her mind and leapt away from him, arching her back, every hair on her body standing on end. Her ears drew back, and a low gurgling sound erupted from within her, becoming an all-out hiss after a few seconds. With her claws extended, she took a few steps toward him, only to lash out and hiss again.
“Plum!” I yelled, gently nudging her away from slashing Sinjin’s slacks with my foot.
“It appears your cat does not approve of me,” he said with a smile, narrowing his eyes at her.
Plum continued to hiss at him, her ears flat on top of her head. I picked her up and took her to the back door, where I deposited her at the top of the stairs, outside. “Go find something to do, rude cat,” I scolded, giving her a little shove with my toe.
Heading back into the kitchen, I noticed that the front door was still open and Sinjin hadn’t yet stepped inside. “Come in,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He nodded and flashed me a handsome smile before
stepping inside my house. I found myself watching him as he inspected my humble abode, no doubt taking in the Pottery Barn furnishings and the earth tones of the walls that, when paired with the warm oak floors, gave the whole place a comfy sort of coziness.
“Very impressive,” he said finally.
“Well, it isn’t much, but it’s mine,” I answered with a smile before remembering the spaghetti sauce, which was now boiling. “Oh, shoot!”
Sinjin chuckled and turned to watch me run full-bore for the kitchen. “Have you burned our supper?”
I grasped the spoon and thrust it into the pot, stirring like I’ve never stirred before, only then realizing that I should probably just turn down the burner. “Well, if I have, it would be your fault,” I said with a smile.
“My fault?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, because of you, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Sinjin smiled as if he was absolutely unconcerned about the spaghetti. He strode into the kitchen, his steps purposeful. He’d apparently seen enough of my house.
“Have you missed me?” he asked with a boyish grin.
Before I could respond, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face into the nape of my neck. I felt myself recoil from the coldness of his embrace, but a few seconds later the feeling of iciness disappeared; suddenly he was just a man and I was just a woman. The thought made me shiver.
“Mmm,” Sinjin moaned as he inhaled the scent of my hair. “I have missed you, my little poppet.”
I closed my eyes and forced myself to go with the moment, to try to accept the fact that Sinjin wanted me as much as I wanted him. “I’ve missed you too,” I whispered.
And that must have been enough for him because he whirled me around to face him, and there was
something in his eyes—something dark and passionate. I wasn’t sure why, but the urgency of his expression frightened me.
“Let me kiss you,” he breathed.
“Sinjin,” I started, doubt creeping into my voice as my body went stiff. I couldn’t drop my defenses long enough to let him in. I just wasn’t totally comfortable around him. And that was when it was plainly obvious to me that, for whatever reason, this was not going to work.
Well, it had been fun while it lasted. I pulled away from him and wrapped my arms around myself.
“What is the matter?”
I couldn’t hold his gaze—his eyes were too demanding and their intensity seemed to strip me, piece by piece, until I felt as if I were standing naked at the moment of judgment. “I just … I just …” I couldn’t even get the words out.
“You just what?”
“I just don’t understand how this can work,” I managed finally.
“How what can work?”
I sighed, not anxious to say the words. It was so … humiliating. “You and me, us, this.”
“What is there to work or not to work?”
Why were men such simple creatures? Why did they only deal in black and white when, for me, there were about five million shades of gray? “You and I are from completely different worlds, Sinjin,” I started.
He looked surprised—like I’d unwittingly figured out some deep dark secret. “Elucidate, please.”
“That’s just it,” I said with a half smile that wasn’t really a smile at all because it was sad. “You use words like
elucidate
. I don’t. You drive a Ferrari and you have houses in three countries. I have a cat that doesn’t like you, I drive a Jetta, and I’m nowhere near getting my mortgage paid off.”
“These are mere trivialities that do not concern me. I am quite a bit older than you and, therefore, have had many more years to build my empire.”
I frowned, shaking my head at how he described his business as an “empire.” But what baffled me more was that he couldn’t have been a day over thirty-five. Where was he getting off saying he was so much older than I was? “Sinjin, you’re what … thirty-four?”
“Close enough.”
“You’re barely older than me.”
“Than I,” he corrected me with a little smile.
“Ugh,” I grunted and shook my head at his cocked eyebrow. “Age isn’t what matters anyway.”
“Was not that the point you were just attempting to make?”
“Well, now I’ve changed my way of thinking,” I said in an irritated voice.
“Then what does matter, poppet?” Sinjin asked, his tone trying to hide the fact that he found this whole thing extremely entertaining. Well, it was good that he was trying to mask it, because I found it anything but.
“This is never going to work, that’s my point,” I finally said. “You and I are just too different and as I said before, I’m not looking for casual sex.”
He studied me in a detached sort of way for a couple of seconds, then took a few steps away before turning to face me again. His lips were tight, his jaw even tighter. Gone was that look of amusement. “Insecurity does not suit you.”
“Suit me?” I repeated, surprised. Yes, I guess I must have been at the end of the line when God was handing out self-confidence, but insecurity not suiting me? I had no idea where that came from.
He narrowed his eyes as he studied me, crossing his arms against his great expanse of chest. “It does not suit you because it is not who you are.”
Why was it that Sinjin sometimes did or said things that made me feel like he knew me—that I knew him? That we’d known each other forever? “As if you know the first thing about who I am.” I started stirring the spaghetti sauce again, needing something to focus on other than the fact that I was definitely destroying whatever there was between us. I’d come this far, though, and I couldn’t back down now. Not when he was professing to know me better than I knew myself. I mean, that was ludicrous!
“I know you better than you might imagine.”
“And how the hell is that possible?” I demanded in a small but angry voice. I stopped stirring and glared up at him. “You’ve known me for all of a week!”
“Time is a mere insignificant detail where you and I are concerned,” he retorted, and when I made the mistake of looking at him again, I noticed that his eyes were hard, determined. They were the eyes of someone who rarely lost an argument, someone who had gotten his own way for a very long time.
“Is that so?” I started, wondering how we’d gotten into an argument so quickly. He hadn’t even been here for five minutes! Was this really how our relationship, for lack of a better word, was going to end? Was this really how it was going to go down (to paraphrase Justin Timberlake)?
“Yes, that is so,” Sinjin said in a serpentine sort of way. I could feel him right behind me. Refusing to turn around, I started cutting up the sausage to go in the spaghetti sauce.
“I know you are capable of many astounding things,” he whispered into my ear, and I felt my heart stop. He was so close that the iciness of his breath fanned across my neck. And suddenly I urgently needed to turn around and kiss him. My desire was almost suffocating.
“And how the hell do you know that?” I repeated, my
tone increasing in anger—I mean, anger toward my traitorous body, which wanted nothing more than to feel him pressed against me. Meanwhile, my brain still reeled at his familiarity, at the feeling that he was right, that we were more to each other than we had any right to be. I still refused to even glance at his hands, which were now on either side of me, resting on my hips.
“Let us call it an uncanny ability to simply know things.”
“You said you weren’t psychic.”
He turned me around so that I was facing him and then stared down at me with eyes that dared me to argue with him. I swallowed … hard.
“I am not.”
“So this is just a pep talk?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, and then a broad smile brightened his beautiful face. “Ah, there is the poppet I know so well.” He paused for a second or two, then tipped my chin up when I tried to look away. “May I make a request of you?”
“What?”
“Can we have another do-over?”
I felt a smile pulling at my lips and allowed it to take over my face. I shook my head and gazed up at him in admiration. “I bet you could sell a bicycle to a fish.”