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

Whatever I said was clearly what she was looking for.

I lean back in my seat.

It’s so strange the way humans love—even after a loss. We’re all so willing to run headlong into it—at least, the first few times. But after a while, losing those you’re close to wears on you. It makes you bitter. I should know.

It’s not often I’m asked about the afterlife—or reincarnation. But it always makes me pause when it does. The universe is a good many things, but an open book is certainly not one of them.

When I hear the ding of the doorbell, I pop my head into the storefront.

“I’m gonna head down to the coffee shop. Want anything?” I ask.

“Ooooh, you’re a lifesaver. I’m dying for a mint mocha latte. A splash of skim milk, no whip. Heavy on the mint,” Ren says, his eyes lighting up.

“Got it,” I say, knowing he’ll be lucky if I even remember the mint part.

I grab my jacket and head out the front door, hands in pockets, and hood up.

The midday sun hangs slightly lower than it does during summer—casting deep shadows across the pavement as I walk the concrete sidewalk toward the coffee shop up the road—Ruby Moon. I’m not sure where the name came from, but I’ve always loved it. It’s a fitting nomenclature for the type of place I’d like to gift my money to.

Besides, they make a helluva good cup of coffee.

I listen to the birds in the trees flitting around, chirping and trilling away—and can’t help but smile. It’s not quite spring yet, but twitterpation is certainly in the air.

Walking up the front steps, I swing the door open and waltz to the counter. The owner, Maxwell, is stationed behind the register, and a young barista leans against the counter, picking at her nails. Only one other customer graces their presence, as he rests—belly up to the bar.

“Hey Diana, the usual?” Max asks.

“That’d be—” I begin, glancing at the man at the counter beside me.

I double take.

“Ah, right on time,” Blake says, twisting on his pedestal seat and facing me. “Told ya I’d get you to have coffee with me one way or another.”

9

MY MOUTH DROPS OPEN, and I’m at a loss for something to say. I’ve been to this coffee shop hundreds—scratch that—thousands of times, and I’ve never, not once seen him here.

“What are you doing here?” I ask indignantly, unable to help myself.

“Having…coffee,” he says, cocking his head. “You?”

“I uh—” I step back, glancing from Maxwell to Blake, then the barista—who looks as bored now as she was before. “Getting coffee for Renaldo,” I finally decide on.

“Isn’t that sorta his job?” Blake says, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, to get coffee for you?”

It’s true, ordinarily, he’d be the one doing the running—but I wanted the fresh air for a change. Especially after everything going on.

“That’s kinda sexist,” I blurt out.

“Has nothing to do with sex,” Blake says, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

A shudder races up my spine at the way he says it. Like he’s deliberately taunting me and he wants me to know it.

Turning from Blake, I square up to Max, “Yes, the usual for me, please. And a mocha latte thingy for Ren.”

“His usual?” Max asks, grabbing a paper cup and writing something along its side.

“Possibly?” I say, dropping my chin and shaking my head uncertainly. It’s never occurred to me to pay attention to what Ren’s usual is. How terrible is that?

“See, you don’t even know what the hell he’s meant to drink,” Blake laughs.

“I do, too. It’s a long, complicated order,” I scoff.

“Shouldn’t a psychic be able to pick up on what it was without a notepad to remind her?” Blake taunts.

Maxwell’s eyebrows skirt up to his hairline, but he doesn’t say a word. He passes the order on to his barista who sets to work, her expression never changing. The only thing that could make her more cliche is if she were snapping gum—but she’s not.

“We’ve been over this, Blake. It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “I’m still human.”

Granted, if I really wanted to, I could probably pull up a mental recall…

He sets down his drink.

“Hmmm, seems I have something to learn about you and being psychic. Care to join me at a booth? Chat with me a bit?” he grins, pointing at the booth near the window. “I’ve got some time to kill and I could use a lesson.”

“I can’t. I have to bring Ren’s coffee back to him, remember?” I say, shaking my head and pointing to the coffee being made.

“I can have Amy bring it down to him, if you’d like Diana,” Max says, a smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing—a sure sign he wants me to take him up on the offer. Seems like everyone is trying to hook me up.

“See?” Blake says nodding and pointing at Amy. “Amy will do your bidding. So, it’s a date, then?”

“It’s soooo not a date,” I say, trying to control the drumming of my pulse. It kinda feels like a date. An impromptu—‘where the hell did this come’ from date. But a date nonetheless.

“It could be if you wanted, though. Right?” he says. “It’s all about mindset.”

His dimples deepen beside his goatee, and I sigh. His smile just about rivals his physique.

Would it be so bad to sit down for a cup of coffee?

“Fine,” I say, grabbing my cup of coffee from the bored barista. “I’ll sit with you for a minute—but it’s not a date.”

Blake throws up his hands, “Whatever you say.”

Turning to the nearest booth along the bank of windows, I slide into my seat and take a deep sip of my coffee. The foam on top makes my lip tickle, and I set the cup down. Sliding into the spot right beside me, he forces me to shift over and effectively locks me between him and the window.

“You know, there’s another seat