She eyed the $59 price tag. Are you sure? It’s expensive.
Verna glanced at the customer, now at the opposite end of the store, before whispering, “I got a good deal. I didn’t pay anything close to that. Take it.”
She grinned. All right. Thank you.
After stowing her treasure in her locker, she began arranging the new inventory.
Emboldened by Verna’s earlier praise of her merchandising skills, she made an executive decision to swap out the dining scene in the window overlooking Main Street. After removing the china, crystal, silver, and candelabra, she turned the claw-footed oak table into a desk by adding the swivel-arm lap, black rotary-dial telephone, and the typewriter. She loaded a cherry sliding book rack with old hardbacks, including yellowed copies of the Gregg Shorthand Manual and the Complete Secretary’s Handbook.
Verna rang up the customer’s purchase, a set of silver-plated flatware.
“Bye, Cassie!” the woman shouted as she left the store.
Verna rolled her eyes and muttered, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
Cassie laughed and dragged an antique shelving unit to the front then stocked it with miscellaneous eye-catching bric-a-brac. A vintage standing globe completed the office scene.
“Looks good!” Her boss flashed thumbs-up.
How it looks from the outside is what matters, she wanted to say, but of course, she couldn’t. Casual moments like these frustrated her the most—to communicate, she’d have to stop working to write a note. Saying nothing was easier but left her feeling disconnected, disabled, and showed, no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t normal. She was something other.
She envied free-and-easy communication. People could toss a comment over their shoulder, yell from another room, call on the telephone, and whisper a comment at the movies. She couldn’t do any of those things and had no choice but to accept her condition and live with it.
Shaking off the bout of self-pity, she returned her attention to the display and let out a squeak of alarm, surprised to see a man peering into the window. He seemed to be staring at her, although she couldn’t be sure because of his sunglasses. On the shorter side of six feet, he had a wiry physique and was dressed for summer in gray cargo shorts, a tan T-shirt, and flip-flops. Thick near-black hair swept back from a widow’s peak, making her aware of the straggles from her French braid clinging to her perspiring cheeks. She brushed at them, certain she looked a mess.
He removed his sunglasses to reveal brown irises so large and dark, his eyes resembled two solid orbs. Her heart sped up, and her head swam with dizziness, but instead of experiencing that odd familiarity of a vision, she was pulled into his gaze, as if she’d plunged into a fathomless pool. A tornado of emotions churned. He’s…beautiful. Not just handsome, beautiful.
He stepped away, vanishing from sight. Her knees wobbled, and she felt like crying for no good reason. And then the bell over the door jangled, and he entered.
“What’s your name?” His voice hit about mid-range, masculine yet melodious. Smooth, so smooth. And those eyes! Piercing and gentle. Mysterious yet calm.
“Gaaah, gaaaah.” A rusty, metal-on-metal grunt erupted from her mouth. Horror and humiliation burned from neck to hairline, and her throat felt like it would close up. How could she have forgotten she couldn’t speak?
“Her name is Cassie,” she heard Verna say. “She’s unable to talk, but she uses a notebook. I’ll be in the rear if you need me.”
Don’t leave! What was Verna doing? She couldn’t talk to this guy, this gorgeous man with the voice of an opera tenor.
“Cassie, I’m Psy,” he said.
Chapter Two
Psy didn’t have to be a mind-reading Verital to sense Cassie’s embarrassment and humiliation. He hadn’t encountered another being with emotions as open as hers.
She tossed out a panicked glance at the boss lady marching toward the rear of the store, before fumbling with a notebook. Frantically, she flipped the pages. When she found what she was looking for, she thrust out the pad. Hello, I’m Cassie. I can’t speak, but I can hear, and I can write. How can I help you today?
“I spotted you dressing the window, and I wanted to meet you,” he said.
She scribbled. Why?
Because he couldn’t help it—he’d been pulled toward her, but that kind of honesty would be misunderstood rather than appreciated. Even he didn’t understand it.
Strolling through Argent, as he’d neared Timeless Treasures, a wave of isolation and loneliness had surged through him so strongly, he’d almost mistaken the emotions for his own. Certainly, they had echoed his feelings.
Other ’Topians avoided, even ostracized Veritals because of their telepathic abilities. Although his fellow castaways had become his surrogate family, some of them had distrusted him at first.
Mind reading was no gift. People hid their vices for a reason. Uncovering the corruption, hatred, and malice buried in a person’s psyche left an indelible impression. He could wipe someone else’s memory but not his own, and the taint remained. If he inadvertently intercepted another’s thoughts, he blocked them. When called upon to assist someone, he secured the individual’s permission first. The Verital Code of Honor forbade sneaking into another person’s mind without their consent.
Cassie was a strong emotional emitter. Her feelings had washed over him, but rather than scare him off, they’d beckoned him. Observing her work from across the street, he’d marveled at how she’d transformed a bunch of primitive tools and objects into a pleasing array. He had no idea what half the items were—yet the way she arranged them looked nice.
However, it was less her talent, and more the woman herself who’d intrigued him. He’d watched until an elderly gentleman emerged from the bait and tackle shop to inquire if he was lost. In many ways, he was, but now he sensed the map to find his bearings might be located across the street at Timeless Treasures.
He’d thanked the man for his concern and crossed the road. Up close, the woman took his breath away. She moved with graceful precision. Her white teeth nibbled her full lower lip as she concentrated. Her expressive green eyes lit up when she found satisfaction with the placement of an object and flashed with annoyance when something fell short of her expectations. Her braided hair hung in a long, gleaming rope over her shoulder.
He had to meet her. Had to speak to her. He’d charged inside the store.
That she couldn’t talk stunned him for a moment, but he quickly recovered, realizing it didn’t matter. Then she’d shown him the pre-written message, and he wrestled with disappointment, wishing the note had been written for him alone.
The question still needed to be answered. Cassie waited, an attractive blush creeping up to her hairline.
“I liked what you did with the display,” he said, struggling to make sense of his riotous feelings. He’d just met this woman.
She flipped to another preprinted message. Can I help you find something? Are you shopping for something specific?
“No.” He found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. His gaze scrambled across the window display before landing on a wood and glass object. “What is this? What does it do?”
An hourglass. Not a long response but one written just for him. The energy drawing him to her coiled tighter, tugging him closer. She upended the hourglass, and the grains in the top chamber trickled into the lower one. When all the sand falls to the bottom, an hour has passed.