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him.
    “No.”
    “So there are other people who have … special … things they can do?”
    “More than you would think,” he answered, his gaze steady on my face.
    “Hmm.” I rolled that around in my brain while concentrating on my empanada. Michael gave me the space I needed, returning to his newspaper.
    The moment I started seeing things … ripples … I turned into a freak show. Then I became a freak show with no parents. When kids are orphaned—it happens—they might go under for a while, but they recover. I didn’t. I didn’t even resurface for air until I’d spent quality time in a private hospital with intensive therapy and nuclear-powered drugs.
    Now Michael sat across from me, as normal as next Tuesday, claiming he was like me. Claiming that there were other “special” people out there. The idea that others existed with abilities, people I could possibly form relationships with—the thought both overwhelmed and comforted me. I could already think of one I wouldn’t mind forming a relationship with—and he was sneaking looks at me from behind his paper. I could almost believe he was checking me out.
    But he was probably just waiting for me to go kooks and wanted to make sure he saw it coming.
    “Okay,” I broke the silence. “What do I need to do?”
    “It all goes back to my original question.” He folded his newspaper in half and placed it on the table. “What do you want?”
    “I want to be normal, but I know that’s not possible.”
    “Normal is overrated.” His grin was delicious.
    “Well …” I faltered, distracted by his mouth again. “If normal isn’t an option, I guess I just want to be able to understand as much as I can about the way I am.”
    “The way we are,” he corrected. “How about dinner tonight? You can take the rest of the day to think up more questions for me.”
    Dinner. Tonight. Oh my. Yes. “I’ll get us a reservation at the Phone Company. I have an in. Seven?”
    “It’s a date,” he said, smiling as he stood to leave. As quickly as his smile appeared, it faded away. “Um, not a date, exactly. The Hourglass doesn’t look too fondly on its employees mixing business with … pleasure.”
    I smiled back as he walked away, but all the lovely butterflies in my stomach landed one by one in a cold, dead heap.
    Of course they didn’t.

Chapter 6
    O n my way home I stopped by the Phone Company to make reservations. Thomas decided since everyone kept calling it the Phone Company, regardless of any name he tried to attach to it, he’d stick with it. He used the old logo and decorated with recycled hardware from the building. Very quaint, lots of shiny dark wood and polished metal. Nice, if you liked that kind of thing.
    Apparently, a lot of people did, because without my connections I couldn’t have gotten us a table. I wasn’t shy about using them either, practically forcing the hostess to write my name at the very top of the reservation list. No way would I miss out on this date … dinner. I almost let a nervous giggle escape, but I swallowed it. The hostess looked up at me from the corner of her eye. I knew I was just providing more fuel for the town gossip fire. Fire it up.
    Reservations in place, I walked across the square to the loft, willing myself to keep my eyes to the ground and go with the flow. I almost made it, but as I stepped up from the asphalt street onto the concrete sidewalk, I stepped through a 1970s hippie chick with love beads. She popped and disappeared in a tiny gust of air, just like ripples—at least I had a name for them now—always had.
    I considered closing my eyes and feeling my way up to the loft, but I didn’t want to cause myself any unnecessary injuries before dinner. Silence greeted me when I opened the front door, and I was grateful for the chance to decompress and be alone.
    Dru had decorated my room right before I came back to town, and it reflected my personality down to the last detail. Deep brown walls, a few