Chapter 1 #2
I called on a whim the first time. I’d just been to a friend’s wedding and was feeling down about it—not because I begrudged his happiness, but more from a bittersweet sense of longing I’d never admit to anyone.
I was aimlessly scrolling through social media when I saw the advertisement for a phone psychic company based in Virginia.
And before I could talk myself out of it, I called, more out of curiosity than anything else.
Did I expect an accurate psychic reading? Of course not. But I was intrigued by what the quote unquote psychic would come up with. Would they predict a long life? An unexpected windfall? Ten kids?
But of all the things I imagined, finding a true friend wasn’t one of them.
“I’m always happy talking to you, too,” Paige replies. There’s a soft, rustling sound in the background. “Sorry. Just getting more comfortable. When I talk to clients, I sit at the dining room table. But when I talk to you, I like to sit on the couch.”
A beat later, she adds hurriedly, “I mean. You’re a client. But it feels different with you.”
“It does,” I agree.
And isn’t that the crux of it? The feelings I have for Paige? When we talk, I don’t feel like a client. I feel like a man talking to a woman he cares about.
Paige hesitates long enough to make me wonder if I said something wrong. But then she asks in a cheerful tone, “How was your day? How was your weekend? Did you end up going on that hike?”
“I did.” And my knee hasn’t stopped reminding me since. “I went out to Wahrani Nature Park and did a few loops of the trail there. The weather was good, and it wasn’t too crowded, so it was nice.”
“A few loops?” Paige laughs. “Of course you did.”
“Each loop was only a little over three miles,” I reply.
“That’s barely a workout.” Back in my Army days, I would have done ten times that.
But with my screwed-up knee, I can’t do nearly as much as I used to.
I still try to keep in good shape though—going on weekly hikes and spending an hour in the gym nearly every day.
Do I have to for my current job? No. But it’s too ingrained in me not to.
“Is your knee holding up okay?” Paige asks. Concern laces her voice. And unlike when other people ask me about my limp, I don’t mind it.
“A little sore. But nothing that won’t go away in a couple days.”
She laughs again. “You mean in time for you to go on another hike?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Pretty much.” I pause. “Wait. You can’t see into the future to tell me?”
Paige is the first to admit she’s not really a psychic.
Not to her other clients, I’m sure. But she came right out and said it during our first phone call.
“I needed some extra money after I started the business,” she explained to me.
“And this seemed perfect. No experience needed, work from home… And even though I can’t predict the future, I’ve always been good at talking to people. Making them feel understood.”
She’s right. Paige has this way about her, like you could tell her anything without fear of judgment.
“I predict you’re going to go hiking next weekend,” Paige answers. Then she giggles. “But I don’t think I need psychic skills for that prediction.”
“Probably not.” I bend my knee a few times, flexing the sore muscles. “So. How was your weekend? Any crazy stories from work?”
“When is there not a crazy story?” Through the line, I hear the faint clink of ice cubes in a glass.
“One of my clients just got a new puppy. A Golden Retriever. He’s just the cutest thing.
But he got overexcited on our walk and wound his leash around my legs and the older dog’s.
So we were all tangled together. And then a squirrel ran by… ”
I laugh. “Oh, no. Not a squirrel.”
“Yup. The two of them tried to take off after it, and we all ended up in a pile on the sidewalk.”
A sliver of worry niggles in. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
Her voice warms. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” I roll my neck. “How are you holding up? With Ghost…”
A soft sigh escapes before she says, “It’s hard. I miss him. Even though everyone says he lived a long life… It doesn’t help. Not really.”
“Paige.” Suddenly I’m seized with the urge to make the forty-minute drive to her house—wherever it is—and give her a hug. To rub her back and look at photos of Ghost and anything else I can do to make her feel better. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, it’s okay. We’re friends. That’s what friends do. Check on each other when they’re concerned.” She stops. “Is that presumptuous? Saying we’re friends? I feel like we are.”
“Of course we are.” It’s quick. Adamant. “I absolutely think of you as a friend.”
And sometimes—a lot of times, really—I wish we were more.
But I keep holding back from pursuing anything beyond our phone calls.
Partly because I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable about it; this guy who calls a psychic hotline asking her to meet up.
And partly—the cowardly part—I’m afraid she’ll see my scars and be disappointed.
If I told any of my old Army buddies about my worries, they’d encourage me to take the chance, anyway. Niall, Hawk, Xavier, Rhiannon, Knox—they all faced their fears of rejection and came away better for it. All happily married, they’d insist the risk is worth taking.
I know they’re right. It’s just…
“Good.” Paige’s voice softens. “I’m glad.” A few seconds pass. “Cillian?” It’s almost uncertain. “Can I ask you something?”
I sit up straight. “Anything.”
“Well.” She hesitates again. “I’m not supposed to ask this. But…”
Alarm surges through me. My muscles tense. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just… We’ve been talking for six months now. And I don’t feel right taking your money for it. Well. Only forty percent of it, really. But still—”
“Forty percent? You only get forty percent?” I’ve never minded paying for the calls, and it made me feel good, honestly, that I was helping Paige in some small way to get her new dog walking business off the ground.
But forty percent of one dollar is only forty cents a minute, which works out to twenty-four dollars an hour…
It’s not bad, by any means. But it’s not what I thought she got, either.
“Yeah. After a year, it goes up to fifty,” she replies. “But it’s okay. It’s just to help with marketing expenses, really. And insurance…”
Swallowing back my annoyance, I force my mind back to the topic at hand. Or rather, the unspoken question at hand. “What did you want to ask?”
“Right.” She laughs nervously. “So… I don’t want to keep taking your money.”
Alarm shoots through me. “Do you want me to stop calling?”
“No!” It bursts out; louder than I expected. More softly, she adds, “No. I was just thinking, maybe I could give you my actual number? And we could talk that way instead? Unless you’d feel weird about it. I understand if you do. In fact, forget I said—”
All at once, I’m filled with a fizzy, hopeful sort of joy. “I would really like that, Paige. As long as you’re sure.”
She exhales. “I’m sure.” After a moment, she adds, “Maybe we could text, too. You could send me photos of your next hike, if you feel comfortable.”
I’m well aware texting photos of nature isn’t far from sending photos of myself, which opens a whole new can of worms, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “That sounds great, Paige. And maybe you could send me pictures of the backsplash you just installed. Or a photo of Ghost. I’d really like to see him. ”
“Cillian.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No, I would love to.” Her tone brightens. “How about if you give me your number? And I’ll call you now?”
I’m grinning like a damn loon as I say, “That sounds perfect.”
Less than a minute later, Paige’s real number appears on my phone. I commit it to memory; not that I won’t add her to my contacts the instant we end the call, but I always like to memorize the phone numbers of the people I care about. My parents. My teammates. And now, Paige.
Feeling more cheerful than I have in months? years? I answer, “Hey, you.”
“Hey, you.” There’s a lightness to her voice that wasn’t there before. “So. We’re talking for real, now.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t real before?”
“No… But this is different. Not that I didn’t love talking to you before, but… I don’t know. It just feels… better.”
She’s right. It does. It feels like we’re on the cusp of something special.
“You’re right,” I agree. “It does. Although—will it mess things up, not getting paid?”
“No,” Paige answers quickly. “I’ve been thinking about cutting back to two days a week since I’ve been getting more dog walking customers recently. And anyway, talking to you is more important.”
Is it crazy to feel so much for someone I’ve never seen?
I know the basics about Paige’s appearance—curly brown hair the color of walnut, blue eyes, five foot five, more freckles than she’d like—but it’s nothing like actually seeing her.
Finding out just how many freckles she has.
Discovering if her eyes are a bright sky blue or deep sapphire.
If her hair falls in long, loose, curls, or springy spiral ones.
But one thing at a time.
Pushing up from the couch, I make a quick circuit around the living room, pausing to look out at the now-dark sky outside. The crescent moon casts a soft glow on the dewy grass. Crickets chirp in a chorus. The cooling evening brings a welcome breeze through the open window.
“What are you doing right now?” Paige asks.
“Looking outside,” I reply. “Listening to the crickets. Talking to you. What are you doing?”
“I just went into the bedroom. I’m going to change—” She stops so abruptly, I can hear her teeth clack. “Sorry. That was too much information.”
My pants go tight. Desire throbs. No, I’ve never seen Paige. But somehow, I want her, just the same. “It’s not too much information.”
“I’m just putting on sleep shorts,” she says. “Nothing exciting. They’re actually pretty terrible, if you saw them. I’ve had these shorts for at least ten years, and there’s a hole—”
An aggrieved sound follows. “Why am I telling you about my old, holey shorts?”
I laugh. “Because we’re talking. And I don’t mind hearing about them.”
“Cillian.” Her smile is audible again. “Did I ever tell—” She stops. Sucks in a sharp breath.
It’s a small sound. A potentially innocent sound. But my gut tells me it isn’t.
“Paige.” My voice dips, going rough and urgent. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I thought I heard something.”
“Something? Like a sound outside?”
“Maybe.”
A few seconds go by.
Then she lets out a tiny yip of fear.
My heart leaps to my throat. “Paige. What is it?”
Her breathing is much louder. Faster. More uneven. “I think… Cillian. I think there might be someone in the house.”
Shit.
Shit.
Forcing a calm I’m not feeling, I say, “Okay. You need to get to a safe place. Then call the police. Now.”
“It might not be…” Fear strains Paige’s voice. “Maybe it’s the pipes. Or…”
“Lock the door,” I order. “Now.”
“Okay. Okay.” I can hear her moving; her footsteps quick and light on a wooden floor. “I’m going. This door doesn’t lock. I don’t have an attached bathroom, so I’ll have to go—”
“No. Don’t leave the bedroom. Block the door. You can use a wedge. Find some fabric. Cardboard. A book.”
“Cillian—” Her voice cuts off with a yelp.
She cries out, but it’s quickly muffled.
A clatter sounds in my ear.
Then the call cuts off.
Fuck.
FUCK.
“Paige!” I yell uselessly into the phone. “Paige!”