Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1), Carissa Andrews [read my book .txt] 📗

Ren’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands up, backing away.

The doorbell dings again as someone enters the shop.

“Whatever you say, Ms. Grumpy Pants,” he mutters as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Grabbing my coat, I walk out the back door to get some air. The small garden in the back is pretty minuscule, but the gorgeous flowers do wonders for lifting my spirits. The array of colors are pretty awesome, too. I love how my landlord Sebastian didn’t go with a single color choice, but instead opted for as many as he could stand. He’s a good guy.

Pacing the garden like a labyrinth, my mind circles the conversation with Blake.

Was I too hard on him? Should I have said yes? What would come of it? What’s the worst that could happen?

I cringe.

I know all too well the worst—I could become attached. Ultimately, that leads to having to let him go. Who in their right mind would want to be with someone who never ages and lives…well, as far as I know…forever?

It’s not often I think about my immortality anymore. It’s best left to the side, ignored. But it certainly pops up from time to time—days like this. If only I knew why…maybe then I’d be able to counteract it. Or understand it. But every time I try, the results are disastrous. Like, land people in the hospital, disastrous.

“Your next client is here. Want me to tell them you need a minute?” Ren asks, poking his head outside.

“No, why would you say that?”

“Because you’re doing that walking thing you do,” Ren says, circling his finger around.

“I’m thinking,” I say, heading back.

“Oh really?” he says, grinning. “Did something I say resonate?”

I shove him aside as I step in.

“Give me five minutes to prep, then send them in, would you?”

“Knew it,” he grins triumphantly.

“Just do it,” I say, spinning him around and pushing him out of the reading room.

My god, his ego would explode if I told him I actually was mulling it over.

Taking a few moments to center myself, I breathe deep and close my eyes. I inhale the scents of frankincense and myrrh, allowing them to transport me into a calmer mental space. One where I can be more present for my clients, and less focused on myself.

I flip the switch on my desk, signaling Renaldo I’m ready. I dim the lights and relight the candles around the room. After a couple of moments, a small, meager man walks in. His timid stature is immediately disarming, but he’s hiding something—or trying to conceal it, anyway. His name is Lenny and he steals from his boss. He then uses the money to go to the strip club on Fridays.

“Please, have a seat,” I say, pointing to the chair opposite my reading table.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, grabbing the chair and taking a seat.

I take my position opposite him, quietly setting out the table before use. I place my Tarot to one side, a couple of crystals to the other. His eyes widen, but he says nothing.

“There’s a lot we need to cover,” I begin, “so I’m going to get straight to it. I wouldn’t worry so much about your boss and instead, start worrying about the coworker who’s been watching you.”

Lenny’s eyes widen, and he bites the side of his cheek.

“But that’s not why you’re really here,” I say, staring deeply into his green eyes. They’d be pretty if he weren’t so mousy looking and unkept. His dishwater blonde hair has been over-combed across the top of his head, and his outfit is disheveled. Almost as if he’d been roughed up in the parking lot—but I already know it’s because he doesn’t pay attention to such things. The concept of dressing nicely is pretty much lost on him. It’s part of why his addiction continues to circle around.

Lenny shakes his head.

“No, I—er—I don’t know what to do. It’s sorta been a—”

A man with short, curly red hair flashes into my mind. His smile is infectious—as is his boisterous laugh. There’s something special about the man, and Lenny knows it. That’s why he’s fallen in love with him.

“Oh, right,” I say, nodding.

Doesn’t happen often in this small town, but with Ren in my circle, it happens more than you might think.

“So you’re wondering if he’s noticed you, too?” I say.

Lenny’s green eyes go as round as saucers, but he bites his lip and nods.

Part of him is ashamed. He doesn’t understand how the feelings were aroused for this man—he’s always been heterosexual, or at least he thought he was. But now—it’s thrown everything he’s known into chaos. He can’t sleep; he’s tied up in knots as he tries to reconcile his feelings.

“The first thing I need you to do is find someone safe you can talk to. Being attracted to another man—there’s nothing wrong with it and I’m guessing you have years of programming you’ll need to unlearn before those knots in your stomach unclench. Do you have anyone you could turn to?” I ask.

“D-do you count?” he asks, making a face.

I shake my head, “No, and yes. I mean you need to get into depth with someone. Perhaps a therapist to help you work through your feelings. This anxiety isn’t doing you any good.”

“But, how do I get him to notice me? Or—how would I even know if he’s interested?” he asks, his voice reduced to a hushed whisper.

“You’ll know, Lenny. Trust me,” I say holding out my hands, palm side up.

He reaches out tentatively, placing his hands in mine. I close my eyes, trying to get a better feel for the orange-haired man. He’s about the same age as Lenny, but much more outgoing. He’s spent time with Lenny—yet the situations are odd. Like it’s a weird cross between a work relationship and something more. There’s a definite energy pull, but the other man’s confused, too. He’s not sure whether or not to try to reach out to Lenny.