Wherever She Goes (Psychic Seasons, ReGina Welling [novels to improve english TXT] 📗

humble Paul who would have been mortified to hear the things his aunt was saying. The woman should have had a career in infomercials. Before the appetizers hit the table, Kat knew more about Paul than he did about himself, including how incredibly early he had mastered the art of potty training.

Too. Much. Information.

The others—a third cousin, a grandfather and two uncles just wanted her to assure their families they were happy in the afterlife—and a little yellow ball of fur circled the group, yipping incessantly.

At least dealing with his spirit entourage had given her something to concentrate on besides the nervous flutter just under her breastbone.

Kat pressed fingers to the bridge of her nose hoping to stave off the headache that threatened to rage into full throb. It had been easier to tune spirit out when she only had to deal with one of her senses. Now that she could see them, it was harder to ignore their voices.

“…the London office.” She pulled her attention back to the conversation. With no idea what Paul had been talking about, she nodded and hoped her response was appropriate.

When Gertrude mentioned how his “tushy” looked when he was a baby, Kat choked on her drink and abruptly excused herself to the ladies room surreptitiously motioning for Gertrude to follow her. Once in the relative privacy, she rounded on the spirit.

“Stop, you have to stop.” She softened, her voice, “Look, I can tell that you care about him and want him to be happy but you have to know he wouldn’t appreciate you telling me all the intimate details of his life. Give us both some privacy and take the rest of the family with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Gertrude said. “He’s such a nice boy. Please give him another chance.”

Kat grinned. “Get that dog away from me and you’ve got a deal.”

She returned to the table determined to enjoy the rest of her dinner.

Paul looked up as she approached the table, a pleasant smile on his face. He was attractive enough, she supposed. Crisply curling dark hair, even white teeth flashed above a square chin. Maybe his top lip was a little thin, but he was the kind of cute any woman would give a second look.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as she sat down, “I’ve been rambling on about my job this whole time when what I really want is to learn more about you. Tell me, what do you do?”

And there it was—the dreaded question. Kat searched his face looking for some clue that would give her an idea how he might react. This was an unexpected aspect of dating. Since she had already decided against a second date—even if Gertrude toned it down a notch, this guy had way too much baggage in the spirit department—Kat took a deep breath and brazened it out.

“I’m a psychic medium.”

Paul’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline and suddenly the look on his face was no longer cute.

“What did you say?”

Stomach now dropping toward her shoes, Kat maintained an even tone, “I said I am a psychic medium,” then she pinned him with a look that just dared him to make a big deal of it. Would he turn out to be a skeptic or use this chance to try and finagle a reading out of her?

Instead, he swallowed heavily and changed the subject. Given the choice behind finding his attitude mortifying or amusing, Kat chose the latter.

She even managed to keep her smirk on the inside when she caught him surreptitiously glancing at his watch while she was checking the clock on the wall behind him. Would this disaster of a date ever end?

Clearly, this dating thing was going to be a lot more complicated than she had expected. Kat drank a private toast to hoping the next one would be less awkward while she listened to his nervous attempt to ignore the elephant in the room—not too easy when said elephant was twirling a flaming baton and dancing while wearing a hot pink tutu.

When he dropped her back at Hayward House, his feet barely touched the porch before he hotfooted it back to his car. Kat waggled her fingers at his taillights as they disappeared from view.

Next time she and her friends got together to dish about their experiences, she finally had a story to tell. That alone made the entire evening worthwhile. Kat threw her head back and laughed out loud before turning to walk through the door.

Chapter 7

Fifteen steps from the bathroom door to the corner where she kept her fitness equipment. Kat counted them as she walked; it was a habit she no longer needed. Half an hour on the treadmill—or dreadmill—as she preferred to call it, was on her list for the morning. She had just settled into her running stride when the doorbell pealed twice followed by frantic knocking on her front door.

“Give me a minute,” she muttered while the knocking and ringing continued. Kat felt for the braille label pasted over the on/off switch and paced herself as the belt slowed to a stop. How long, she wondered, would it take before she got used to looking for the switch with her eyes instead of using her fingertips.

“Who is it?” She called out before she remembered she could have just looked through the peephole. So many changes. A little frisson of nervous energy settled in her belly. Spontaneous visitors were not a rarity in her line of business but this wasn’t business, she knew, when her senses went on alert anyway.

“Kat, it’s Zack. I need your help. Please, open the door. Hurry.”

Since her depth perception was still a work in progress, Kat slammed her hip on the hall table as she made her way to the door. She winced as the sharp point bruised her tender flesh. Stumbling and dashing away tears of pain, she pulled open the door to let him in. “What is it? What happened? Is it…”

“No, sorry.” He should have realized her