Page 58 of Midnight Valentine
I mutter, “Keep pestering me, you idiotic little voice, and I’ll take a drill to my skull to shut you up.”
Sounds like something a crazy person would do. Might as well test my theory if you’re already nuts anyway.
I curse and turn away from the window. Groaning in exasperation, I start to pace the length of the room, my hands clasped together on top of my head so they don’t pick up the nearest object and throw it at the wall.
“I won’t say his name again. I won’t.”
Chicken.
“Fuck you, voice. Just fuck you. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. This is real life, not fantasyland.”
So prove it and say his name again. Prove he took a step at the exact moment you said his name due purely to chance. Let’s see how that theory tests out for you.
“I’m talking to myself!” I shout at nothing in particular. “It’s finally happened! I’ve lost my mind! Might as well go adopt a few dozen cats and start wearing my underwear over my clothes!”
Or you could just go to the window, say his name, and deal with whatever happens next.
“No.”
Maybe he was being literal when he wrote “I’ll always be here?” Maybe he’s done with wandering all through the town at night and has decided to camp out on the beach in front of the Buttercup? And by the way, wasn’t it interesting how when you called Craters and Freighters to find out why Cass’s paintings were delivered so early, they claimed their paperwork had yesterday’s delivery date on it all along? That YOU gave them that date when you signed the contract?
Are you seriously telling me you think THAT was another random coinkydink?
I grab fistfuls of my hair and make a noise like I’ve been punched in the stomach. “Coincidences don’t mean anything! They’re just coincidental!”
Go to the window and prove it.
I let loose a string of expletives that would have my mother’s hair curling. Then I stalk over to the window and glare out the glass.
He’s still standing right where he was.
“Theo,” I say flatly.
He takes another step forward.
I scream like I’ve seen a ghost and stumble back, almost falling in my haste.
Rationalize that, Megan. No amount of logic in the world can explain your connection with Theo Valentine.
“We don’t have a connection,” I whisper, hyperventilating and starting to sweat. “We’re complete strangers. He’s just a guy I hired to work on my house.”
Who’s standing outside at midnight, taking one step toward you every time you say his name. Denial isn’t a good color on you. Stop being such a coward and deal with it.
Racked with tremors, I walk slowly back to the glass. He waits, motionless, staring up at the window, his features obscured in the shadows. I open the glass door, step out onto the patio, and grip the wood railing. The night wind catches my hair and swirls it all around my face. With my heart throbbing and my legs shaking, I stare right at him, focusing all my attention on the word I form in my mind.
Theo.
He bows his head. He starts to shake it back and forth, covering his ears with his hands. Then he turns and runs off down the beach. In a few moments, he’s swallowed by darkness.
My legs like rubber, I sink to my knees on the balcony and stare down the beach at the place he disappeared until my vision is so blurred, I can no longer see.
16
When I can stand again, I go inside, my limbs numb with shock. I can’t sleep, so I pace the floors of the Buttercup, spending long hours in a dark place inside my head.
By the time the sun rises, my brain is spaghetti.
I shower and dress, eat a muffin for breakfast, make myself a cup of coffee, and read the paper. I do all that on autopilot, with minimal awareness. All the other parts of my operating system are tied up in thoughts of a man who makes no sense to me, and the improbability of the situation I’ve found myself in.
