Again, But Better(71)

It’s definitely her. I can’t believe this. Has she been a spirit guide this entire time?

“Go sit back at your table. I’ll be there in a moment,” she says.

“How can we trust that’s true?” I exclaim.

“Shane,” Pilot urges.

“Dear, there’s no need to be rude. I’ll be there in a moment,” she repeats.

Pilot takes my wrist and starts slowly pulling me toward our table. I walk backward, afraid to lose visual. I’ve watched too many movies to make that kind of idiotic mistake. She’s talking to the old couple again, taking down their burger orders.

“Shane, what are you doing?” Pilot whispers from over my shoulder when we get farther away.

“Pilot, that’s her. That’s our spirit guide!”

“What?” His eyes snap back to her. “Why would you think that?”

“That’s the woman from the café! She served us our tea; she told us to have fun when we were leaving. And now she’s here. That’s her! And I’ve seen her before, just in random places. She was in Paris back when we were there. I thought I was going crazy!”

“Wha—?” Pilot breathes. We’re now standing in front of our table, staring at the woman in the back of the room. She suddenly pivots to look at us.

I rip my gaze away. “Oh my god, she’s looking. Sit down.”

“Why does it matter that she’s looking?”

I scramble back into my seat. “Sit down!”

“She’s coming over.”

“Sit down, Pilot. She said to sit down.” Pilot gracefully slides back into his seat as she approaches.

My heart thrashes around. What’s she going to say? What’s she going to do? She comes to a stop in front of our table and smiles.

“Having fun?” she asks sweetly.

Pilot and I share a look.

“What did you do to us?” he asks in a shaky voice.

She answers swiftly, “This is what you wanted.”

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “Are you a wizard?”

Pilot’s gaze whips over to me. He looks angry again. Why is he angry at me?

“Rewrite your past,” says the woman.

“What do you mean? Are you saying this is real? We’re in two thousand fucking eleven?” Pilot demands.

“Deathly Hallows Part Two hasn’t been released yet,” I add.

“You had no right to do that!” Pilot yells.

“There’s a reset option if you so desire.” She smiles at him.

“What?” He juts his head forward toward her for emphasis.

Airplane Lady/Starbucks barista/waitress/spirit guide continues calmly, “If in three days you don’t want to continue down this path, a reset button can be found during your Rome venture.”

“And Miley Cyrus hasn’t released ‘Wrecking Ball,’” I say.

“What do you mean, a reset button?” Pilot inquires skeptically.

She folds her hands together. “A portable button. If you choose to push it, you’ll go back to the elevator. This opportunity will be lost and forgotten.”

I swallow hard. “That sounds awfully magical. Is this magic or is this science?”

“It is what you make it.” She smiles again.

“Where will the button be?” Pilot demands.

“It will be placed in Rome this weekend.”

“But where?”

“You’ll have to find it.”

“Like a treasure hunt?” I sound like a curious seven-year-old asking her parents a question.

“We’ll have to find it? Are you kidding? What is this, a game to you?”

“Have fun on your journey.” She leans over to pick up our check and some cash that Pilot must have thrown on the table when I went running after her.

I catch her hand, placing my own over it. “Wait, will you be here to talk when we need you? Are you going to disappear in a minute? Are you technically our spirit guide?”

She heaves a great breath and looks me straight in the eyes. “Child, this isn’t a film; this is reality.”

Chills run down my spine. She pulls her hand out from under mine and walks away.

“That’s not an answer at all!” I yell after her. I make to jump from my seat, but I can’t get up. It’s like I’m glued down. My ass is stuck. The chair won’t move. I’m stuck. I yank and squirm.

Pilot tries to leap from his own seat, but it would appear he’s found himself in a similar situation.

“What the hell?” he blurts.

We watch helplessly as she disappears into what I can only assume is the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. And then I fall sideways from my chair onto the cold tile floor, and Pilot flies up to his feet.

He breezes by me toward the kitchen. I scramble off the floor, my knees burning from the impact of the tile, and hurry after him. The whole restaurant gapes at us.

Pilot charges through the kitchen door, and I’m in there with him a second later.

Burgers sizzle on a giant grill a few feet away and a dark-haired man in his thirties stands behind it. A few other people bustle about chopping vegetables and preparing salads. Our spirit guide is nowhere to be seen.

“This is exactly what would happen in a film. What a load of bullshit,” I growl.