Traveler (Traveler #1)(4)

“I—”

I look over at the wall, where my mystery guy had been standing, and he’s gone. I blink hard, and stare even harder, like I’m trying to will him to be there.

“You with me, St. Clair?”

“Huh?” I look back at him. “Yeah, I guess I can give you ten more minutes.”

“You did just finally get the chair warm,” he points out. He cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, following my gaze.

“What are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just … it was nothing,” I finish lamely. I reach for the little metal box we’re keeping the money in, and hand Red Shirt Guy three Giant Pixy Stix. The next several minutes pass in a flurry of candy and money changing hands until the crowd thins out.

Did I imagine him? I look back over my shoulder once more. He’s not there.

But he could have gone into the store. Maybe he’s shopping.

“What time is it?” I ask Ben as I reach for my bag again.

He looks over at me as he rummages through a pile of licorice.

“It’s almost five thirty.”

“Crap!” I jump to my feet. My mom will be here any minute. “I have to go, Ben. I’m sorry—I know you’re swamped but I can’t stay. I’ll make it up to you!”

Ben raises a hand that’s clutching a half dozen Twizzlers. “You owe me big!” he calls out before he turns back to the table.

I don’t have long to try to find him before my mom shows up to whisk me away. It’s doubtful that he’s still around. I could look in the store. It’s worth a try.

I head through the doors into the store, glancing around but not seeing him. I finally decide to start at one end and just methodically—and hopefully not too obviously—glance down the aisles. I start down in lumber and am almost at the other end of the store with the lawn and garden stuff when a voice calls my name.

“Jessa.” The voice comes again. “Over here.”

I look in the direction of the voice, and there he is—dream guy—only this time he’s leaning against the wall back by the entrance to the outdoor stuff, and he’s motioning to me.

I stand frozen in the middle of the aisle, and my mind tries to make sense out of this, because this can’t be happening. I had half convinced myself that I’d been seeing things, maybe just some wishful thinking, since I had the dream running around in my head. I had expected to possibly see some guy who might just potentially bear a passing resemblance to the man of my dreams. To have him fit the mold perfectly, two dozen feet away and calling me by name, is freaking me out in a serious way.

I wet my lips nervously and then I glance around. After all, some guy I saw in a dream—who somehow knows my name—is motioning me to walk over to a dim corner with him. This has classic-horror-movie scenario written all over it. The attractive stranger who turns out to be a serial killer or something. I don’t even know him, really.

Except, I do. Or at least I feel like I do. I know the way he stands, the shift of his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for me to answer. I know that if he smiles, he’ll have a dimple on one side. I know just how far my arms need to reach to circle his neck.

I take a deep breath, and then walk over to stand in front of him.

“Do I know you?” I ask. He’s still staring at me, straight on, like he’s trying to absorb every detail. It makes a shiver run down my spine.

“Sort of,” he says finally.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is. It’s just not one you like.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. Is he nervous?

“So…”

“So…?” He says it like the ball is in my court, but he’s the one who’s playing the game. He’s starting to irritate me now.

“You called me over, remember?”

“Yes, I did.” He takes an audible breath. “My name’s Finn.”

Something in me shifts and clicks, like gears that were put into motion and then locked into place. Finn. His name is Finn and my only thought is, Yes, that’s right.

“Seriously, how do I know you?” I ask him. “I know we’ve met before, but I don’t think you go to my school.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. But he doesn’t expand on that, and I’m starting to get tired of being the only one having a conversation here.

“So how do you know my name?” I narrow my eyes when I ask, so he knows I don’t think this is funny. It has zero effect, because apparently, he disagrees with me. The corner of his mouth lifts.

“We’ve met, but you probably don’t remember where.” He’s looking at me in a way that seems really familiar, but he isn’t giving me any more details.

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

I look over my shoulder at the sound of beeping behind me. There’s a worker driving one of those tiny forklifts, getting something off a shelf nearby. I turn back to Finn, and I try to seem like I’m in control, when in reality, I am still trying to wrap my head around this. He’s got me off balance, and I don’t like it at all.

Finn must finally realize how he’s coming across, because his voice softens.

“I was wondering if you wanted to … go get coffee or something. Then we can talk a little more. Get to know each other.”