I gaze at him, noting how he hasn’t so much as flinched, though something in those deep green eyes hints at the truth.

“He tried to visit a few times. Wanting to apologize for what he did, but even though you sensed him, you blocked it. Sick of being teased by your classmates and scolded by the nuns—not to mention your foster dad who—” I shake my head, not wanting to continue, but knowing I must. “You just wanted to be normal.” I shrug. “Treated like everyone else.” I trace my fingers over the tablecloth, throat beginning to tighten, knowing exactly how it feels to long to fit in, all the while knowing you never truly can. “But after you ran away and met Lina, who, by the way, is not your real grandmother—your real grandparents are dead.” I look at him again, wondering if he’s surprised that I knew that but he gives nothing away. “Anyway, she took you in, fed you, clothed you, she—”

“She saved my life.” He sighs, leaning back in his seat, long tanned fingers rubbing at his eyes. “In more ways than one. I was so lost and she—”

“Accepted you for who you really are.” I nod, seeing the whole story before me, as though I’m right there.

“And who’s that?” he asks, hands splayed on his knees, gazing at me. “Who am I really?”

I look at him, not even pausing when I say, “A guy so smart you finished high school in tenth grade. A guy with such amazing mediumistic abilities you’ve helped hundreds of people and asked very little in exchange. And yet, despite all of that, you’re also a guy who’s so—” I look at him, lips lifting at the corners. “Well I was going to say lazy—but since I really do want this job I’ll say laid-back instead.” I laugh, relieved when he laughs along with me. “And given the choice you’d never work another day. You’d spend the rest of eternity just searching for that one perfect wave.”

“Is that a metaphor?” he asks, a crooked smile on his face.

“Not in your case.” I shrug. “In your case, it’s a fact.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair, gazing at me in a way that makes my stomach dance. Dropping forward again, feet flat on the floor when he says, “Guilty.” Eyes wistful, searching mine. “And now, since there are no secrets left, since you’ve peered right into the core of my soul—I have to ask, any insights into my future—a certain blonde perhaps?”

I shift in my seat, preparing to speak when he cuts me right off.

“And I’m talking the immediate future, as in this Friday night. Will Stacia ever agree to go out with me?”

“Stacia?” My voice cracks as my eyes practically pop out of my head. So much for the poker face I was bragging about.

Watching as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, those long, golden dreadlocks contrasting so nicely with his gorgeous dark skin. “Anastasia Pappas, aka Stacia,” he says, unaware of my sigh of relief, thrilled to know it’s some other horrible Stacia and not the one I know.

Tuning in to the energy surrounding her name and knowing right away that it’s never gonna happen—at least not in the way that he thinks. “You really want to know?” I ask, knowing I could save him a lot of wasted effort by telling him now, but doubting he really wants to hear the truth as much as he claims. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather just wait and see how it plays?” I look at him, hoping he’ll agree.

“Is that what you’re going to say to your clients?” he asks, back to business again.

I shake my head, looking right at him. “Hey, if they’re fool enough to ask, then I’m fool enough to tell.” I smile. “So I guess the question is, how big of a fool are you?”

He pauses, hesitates for so long that I worry that I took it too far. But then he smiles, right hand extended as he rises from his seat. “Fool enough to hire you. Now I know why you wouldn’t shake hands the first time around.” He nods, squeezing my hand for a few seconds too long. “That’s one of the most amazing readings I’ve ever had.”

“One of?” I lift my brow in mock offense as I reach for my bag and walk alongside him.

He laughs, heading for the door and glancing at me when he says, “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow morning, say around ten?”

I pause, knowing there’s no way I can possibly do that.

“What? You prefer to sleep in? Join the club.” He shrugs. “But believe me, if I can do it, you can too.”

“It’s not that.” I pause, wondering why I’m so reluctant to tell him. I mean, now that I’ve got the job what do I care what he thinks?

He looks at me, waiting, gaze adding up the seconds.

“It’s just—I have class.” I shrug, thinking how class sounds so much older than school, like I’m in college or something.

He squints, looking me over again. “Where?”

“Um, over at Bay View,” I mumble, trying not to wince when I say it out loud.

“The high school?” His eyes narrow further, newly informed.

“Wow, you really are psychic.” I laugh, knowing I sound nervous, stupid, coming clean when I add, “I’m finishing up my junior year.”

He looks at me for a moment—too long a moment—then he turns and opens the door. “You seem older,” he says, the words so abstract I’m not sure if they were meant for me or for him. “Stop by when you can. I’ll show you how to work the register and a few other things around here.”