“I’m pretty odd. Sandwich time, woman. Mush, mush.”
Asher rolls her eyes before waving the money in my face. “I’m keeping the change.”
“You do that, after you buy me a juice.”
“You won’t have enough for a juice and a sandwich.”
“Really?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Well, blow me.” I pass her another five-dollar bill. “There you go, princess.”
Asher laughs with an evil tone. “A ten would have covered it, but thanks for the extra.” She winks.
Asher is my type of awesome.
“Lunch is served,” she announces a few minutes later, placing our orders onto the table.
We are not even halfway through probably the best egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I’ve ever eaten, when her mobile starts playing Justin Bieber’s “Baby”.
“Really? Bieber?” I snort while trying hard not to piss myself with laughter.
“What?” Her face glows red.
“I’m so sad for you.”
“Shut up.” She swipes her hand at me.
“Quick, you’d better answer it. It could be Justin calling,” I urge before making kissy faces.
Asher scowls but answers. “Yes. Right now? I’m on my way,” she says before throwing her phone into her bag. “Sorry, I have to return to the office. I’m needed.”
I give my best sad face.
“Tomorrow we’ll do lunch again, okay?”
“Definitely.”
“I think I’m going to like having you around.” Scooping up the remainder of her sandwich from the table, she places her bag over her shoulder. “See you back in there. Try not to be late.”
“I’ll try … but I can’t make any promises,” I call after her as she waves.
Enjoying a moment of solitude, I proceed to scope out the interior of the quaint sandwich shop, one that would probably seat about forty people. It seems quite pleasant so far. The sandwich I’m eating is beyond amazing. The juice is ice-cold, and the décor is elegantly done. There are cream trimmings and dark chocolate walls, and large gold pots with ferns add privacy to different areas. I think I’m going to like lunch at Leyton’s.
The sound of a ringing bell commands my attention. I hadn’t noticed it on my own entry, but the sheer volume of the noise causes my head to twist in an attempt to get a better look at the door.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, sliding down as low as possible in the seat. It’s him.
I chew what’s in my mouth with speed. There’s something about Marcus that makes places on my body tingle. Places I don’t need, nor do I want, to tingle. My mind is set on staying clear of him for now. Well, unless I have photocopying to do. Yes, he’s adorable eye candy. Yes, the tasty melt-in-your-mouth kind. But he’s also bad news for someone like me, the hexed.
Slumped down like a sack of potatoes and hiding like a criminal on the run, I hope he doesn’t spot me. I’m not ashamed of these actions. My encounter with Marcus this morning was more than enough. If I’d known I’d have such a moment today, such a reaction to his minty breath and his overall presence, I would’ve packed a spare pair of underwear, as mine ended up soaked through. There is something about this man that tells me to run away and that’s what I intend to do.
Suddenly, I hear him clearing his throat.
“Are you comfortable eating like that, or are you looking to see if there’s gum under the table?”
“I’ll take option B, the gum.” I sit upright. Eyes that call out “Never look away” connect to mine. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
The corner of his lip rises. “Always good news first.”
“There is no gum under this table.”
He smiles, no doubt amused he found me slouched under here. “What’s the bad news?”
“This table will be getting gummed.”
He forcefully laughs.
Oh, good God! Don’t do that. My thighs squeeze together as tight as a boa constrictor’s death hold.
“Want some company?” Marcus asks, casually.
It’s now that I notice a wrapped sandwich and can of drink in his hand. “Um … well, no, actually. I’m about to go back to the office.”
His eyes light with curiosity. “I think you do want my company.”
“Really? Can you predict the future, Mr Magician?”
“Actually, I can. Let me show you.” He cocks his head to the side.
“You have my attention.” I fold my hands over each other, placing them on the table as he slides into the bench seat in front of me. Instantly, my heart changes to a more frantic beat, then it’s as if a flock of birds flap their wings in unison and take flight in the pit of my stomach.
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he concentrates on the tissue paper covering his lunch. As he peels it away, I see a solid gold ring beside his pinkie finger. I’m immediately disappointed. He’s married. Of course, he is.
Blurting out, “How long have you been married?” causes his eyes to lock with mine and his lips to curve upwards. Oh God. Why did I say that? “Sorry, that’s none of my business. I don’t know why I asked.”
He glances down at the ring and then back at me before he clears his throat. “Miss McMillian, I’m—”
“Abigail. Just call me Abigail. Or Abi. My friends call me that.”
“Abigail, I’m not married. This is my right hand. I think customarily a wedding ring is located on the left ring finger.”
Dumb. How bloody dumb. My cheeks warm.
“Is it hot in here, Abigail?” He points to his cheek.
“No,” I mumble.
“Good to know.” He smiles, revealing again his perfectly whitened teeth.
Someone help me; I’m drowning here.
I try so ridiculously hard not to watch Marcus devour his food. I’m unsuccessful. Each bite makes me swoon. I hate swooning women. I hate me right now.
“Are you enjoying the show?” His tone is cocky.
“If you mean watching you hoover your food … then no.”
He half-laughs. “Such sass, Miss McMillian.”
“Abi. Just Abi.”
Wiping his hands together, he relaxes back into the chair. “Now, I believe I promised to show you my skills?”
My legs cross without consent. The birds are now homed in my belly, flying freely once again, and as I swallow a mouthful of juice, it takes a wrong turn. I cough and splutter. My watery eyes cloud my vision.
“Now, now … we drink our liquids, we don’t inhale them. Are you okay?”
“Perfectly fine.” My voice strains on the words. We sit silently until my breathing returns to normal and the coughing ceases.
“Welcome back.”
I flip him the bird.
He shakes his head. “Very charming. How about you give me that hand of yours?”
With no hesitation, I do. What am I doing?
Marcus rolls my hand over until my palm is upright. His long fingers gently trace along the lines. Goosebumps fill my skin.
“I thought you were a mind reader, not a palm reader.” I’m suddenly breathless.
He grins, his dark eyes searching me—twinkling. “I am.”