As Darcy said goodbye, Ayla shifted her attention to Theo. Still holding Clementine’s head in two hands, she pinned her dark chocolate gaze on Theo.
“I can tell you think I’m a fake.”
Oh, so she could read people’s minds, too.
“No, no. I think you’re…” Maybe he better not think the truth. “Intriguing,” he said, which was definitely not a lie.
A shadow of a smile pulled at her lips, drawing his attention to how full and natural they were, but not slick and glossy like the lips of so many women in the state he’d just left. And she sure hadn’t bothered with makeup. But then, she didn’t need to.
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “I struggle with it myself, and I’m the one experiencing it.”
“Because you think you might be imagining what you’re…hearing?” Except, if she was hearing things, then she would be a certifiable, if gorgeous, lunatic.
“I don’t hear anything. I see pictures in my head.”
He looked at her, fighting a smile.
“And you think I need to see a professional,” she joked. “I get that.”
Slowly, he dropped down to the ground next to her, captivated even though he didn’t want to be. “What I think isn’t important.”
“It is to Clementine,” she said.
He looked down at the dog, who instantly dropped her chin on his thigh, where that head had spent every waking moment, when she wasn’t eating, on the drive from Arkansas.
“Because this dog?” She lifted her brows and smiled. “Is head over heels in love with you.”
Something about the way she said it made his whole gut tighten. “How do you know?”
“You’re almost all she thinks about.”
He laughed softly. “Okay, full disclosure, Ayla.” He liked her name, the way it sounded when he said it and how it matched how uniquely attractive she was. “I don’t buy into any of this, sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
“I know how you do it,” he said confidently. “You can say that she’s into me because you know I picked the dog up last night on the road, fed her everything that wasn’t nailed down, and got her cleaned up and tended to. Of course she likes me.”
“Her feelings have gone a little bit past like, but…” She finally let go of Clementine. “This isn’t easy for me, Theo. I haven’t been, uh, practicing for very long. So, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not…” She searched for a word, then sighed. “I’d rather not communicate with a dog if her owner is doubting what I’m saying.”
She started to push up, but he put a hand on her arm, not sure why. Not sure of anything but that he didn’t want her to disappear yet.
“Sorry,” he said, adding a smile. “Tell me what she’s thinking. And me, too, if you can do that trick.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Because you know I doubt you.”
“Because I read body language and can hear the tone of your voice, and I can smell a skeptic a mile away.”
His smile grew. “That’s the oatmeal and lilac shampoo Darcy used on the dog.”
She almost laughed. Almost. And he was a little surprised by how much he wanted to hear that sound again.
“I don’t mean to belittle what you’re doing,” he said. “I know Gramma Finnie and Darcy are enamored, but hey, they’re Irish. This big extended family has Greeks, too, and we’re a rational people.”
“The culture that gave us mythology and the evil eye?” she challenged.
“Point taken,” he conceded with a laugh. His hand suddenly ached a little, like it needed to reach out and cup her tantalizing jaw so he could see if her skin felt as smooth as it looked. Instead, he stroked Clementine’s head, her chin still glued to his thigh. “So, what’s this girl thinking?”
After a moment, she put her hand on Clementine’s head, too, and her thumb brushed his, the contact warm. “All I can do is pick up the images in her brain.”
She closed her eyes, and her lips parted slightly, and Theo…was glad she couldn’t see the images in his head.
To erase the thought of kissing her, he dropped his gaze down to the body he couldn’t quite get a read on in the Waterford Farm T-shirt, but that didn’t stop his imagination from—
“She’s thinking about somewhere dark. Like a closet.” She frowned a little. “And she’s looking at…an orange?”
He jerked back. What the hell?
But then he remembered she’d talked to his grandmother, who no doubt had heard the story of how he got Clementine and how she got her name. His mother had obviously talked to Yiayia on the phone before she rushed over here to see him, so this woman was just…playing her parlor game.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he said without challenging her tactic. “Anything else?”
She started to talk, then closed her mouth and shook her head. “Nope.” She opened her eyes, and their gazes locked. “That’s all I got,” she said quickly, pushing up.
Because that’s all she knew about Clementine, so she couldn’t act like she was psychic-ing anymore.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She bit back a laugh. “You don’t believe me, remember?”
Not for a second. But he had to be careful because she had some kind of power. Nothing psychic, though. More of the feminine kind of power…the really dangerous kind.
Chapter Five
“Do you smell that, my friend?” Finnie sniffed noisily.
Agnes picked up her iced tea and sniffed. “You didn’t spike me with Jameson’s, did you? It’s early, even for you, Finn.”
Finnie smiled, unbuttoning the top button of her lavender cardigan. “’Tis the smell of love in the air.” She practically sang the words, settling into the rocking chair next to Yiayia, where they always enjoyed the panoramic view from Waterford’s wraparound porch.
But Agnes wasn’t looking at the mountains right now. She was staring at her phone, re-reading Aldo’s text that said, I miss you today.
Oh dear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to miss her. You don’t miss companions, right? And that’s all they were.
Except…last night, Aldo said the D word. At their age, that should mean…dementia. Not dating.
She slipped the phone into her sweater pocket and followed Finnie’s gaze to where Theo stood talking to the crazy girl who’d shown up with Marie.
“What did you say, Finnie?” she asked, bringing herself back to earth.
“That girl and Theo. Look at them!”
“Oh, I tried to warn him that she’s one of those fake psychics like you see on TV.”
“She’s not fake! She knew immediately what Pyggie’s favorite napping spot looks like.”
Agnes shot a brow up. “As if a woman who looks like you wouldn’t have a flowered sofa.”
“But ’tis Pyggie’s favorite place to sleep in the sunshine. And she knew that without being told. You don’t believe her?”
“Please, please tell me you’re not that naïve, Finola Kilcannon.”