Page 12 of Ghosted
She shakes her head and goes back to rifling through theclothing display near the front of the store. I decide to leave her be and start reorganizing all the things she misplaced. I’m straightening the display of artisan-made journals when she taps me on the shoulder. I jump about a mile.
People are definitely scarier than ghosts.
“What?” I snap, clutching my thundering heart. I turn to see her off-put expression and say, “Sorry, you just startled me. I was in my own little world. What can I do for you?” I set down the leather journals I was holding and lean against the display hutch.
“Do you have anything to help someone fall in love with you?” she blurts, quickly reddening from the tips of her ears all the way down her neck.
“Um—” I start.
“Never mind,” she mumbles, before trying to rush past me.
“Hey, wait,” I say, grabbing her arm before she can dart out. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. I have at least one or two people a week coming in looking for the same thing.”
“Really?” she hedges, looking optimistic.
“Yeah, really. I don’t want to get your hopes up, though. I don’t have anything that can manufacture something as strong as love.”
“Oh,” she whispers, looking down at her scuffed shoes.
“Sorry. Trust me, if I could brew up a love potion, I would. It’s just not something that can be done, and anyone who says it can is swindling you. But to be honest, would you really want someone to love you because you tricked them into thinking they did?”
“I guess not,” she grumbles.
“If you want, I can point you to some of our books on manifestation. That’s more about calling out to the universe andletting it know what you’re looking for. What comes to you may not be exactly what you expect, but the universe always delivers.” She nods, and I lead her over to our book section, making sure she’s mindful of the low-hanging chandelier.
Once she has a book on manifestation, a new journal, and some tarot cards, she’s out the door. I don’t have Wren’s Gift, but even I can see that she’s lighter than when she first came in. Now, to finish rearranging everything she touched.
Despite my best efforts, I check my phone for the thousandth time today. I tell myself I’m definitelynotwaiting for a text from Dean, but I know deep down that’s a lie. I haven’t heard from him since our date a few nights ago. I’m trying not to let it bruise my ego, but I can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t reached out. I know he said he would be busy with work. He just seemed really into me. Andthat kiss.I mean, come on. It was a pretty good kiss. Good enough to warrant a follow-up in my opinion.
I know it’s childish, but I didn’t want to be the first to reach out. For one, he told me his week was going to be intense with work, so I didn’t want to bug him. But also, it’s been a while since I’ve been chased, and it feels nice to play coy. Even if it isn’t getting me anywhere. I make a growling sound in my throat that scarily reminds me of Wren and shoot off a text.
Rae:
Hey! I know you said you’d have a busy week, so I just wanted to check in and say that I hope it goes well for you. I’m excited to hear all about it.
There.
I gave him a gentle nudge toward figuring out our nextdate without sounding too desperate. I hope. After a minute or two of no reply, I grudgingly go about my tasks and try to put my phone—and its lack of buzzing—out of my mind.
“Canyoupleaseput your stupid phone away?” Wren hisses at me across her kitchen table.
I scoff and stow it under my leg. “That’s rich coming from you,” I say, before popping a bite of chicken in my mouth. I chew for a full three seconds before surreptitiously lifting my leg to see if I’ve miraculously gotten a new notification and haven’t felt it.
“I know I can be attached to my phone, but you’re getting straight up diagnosable. Put. It. Away,” she snarks.
“Okay, alright. Sorry,” I say. I stand up, walk a few paces to her counter, and deposit my phone there. If it’s not directly next to me, I can’t check it.
When I sit back down and take a sip of my water, I notice Wren squinting at me. “What?” I ask, looking down to see if I spilled anything on myself.
“Your anxiety is off the charts. You’re practically glowing orange.” Wren reads most emotions as a color. My parents first realized she had the Gift when she started saying that they turned pink when they looked at her or me. Pink is the color she reads as love and adoration. Damned cute if you ask me.
Of course, my whole “Mommy, there’s a man I don’t know who comes into my room at night and stares at me” thing was much less cute.
Yeah. It’s a wonder she’s the one who turned out to be the grumpy little weirdo and not me.
I grunt because I knew I couldn’t hide it from her. She knows my date with Dean went amazingly well, but if she knows I’m pining this bad already, she won’t let me live it down. “It’s nothing. Just a long day at the store,” I hedge, stuffing my mouth with chicken so I can’t be expected to answer any follow-up questions.
She narrows her eyes so much, they look closed. “You’re lying,” she says. I just tilt my head, chewing on my giant bite of chicken. She cuts into her own slice of tofu (she went vegetarian as a child as soon as she realized she could read animal’s auras) and eats a bite. After she swallows, she sighs and says, “Oh, just spit it out. You know it’ll make you feel better.”
