Dream On(27)

“It looks like the rain stopped.” Devin holds the door open for me as we finally exit the restaurant. It’s nighttime now—way past nine judging by the bruise-purple shade of the sky. We must have been talking for well over two hours. Huh. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so thoroughly in someone’s company. Not that basking in Devin’s attention is a chore.

Stepping onto the brick sidewalk, I avoid the numerous puddles shimmering in the streetlights. I’m surprisingly steady, despite my three gin and tonics. “Thank God. I don’t need another shower.” I chuckle. My hair is mostly dry, but my shirt still holds a hint of dampness.

Pausing on the sidewalk, I shift my bag higher on my shoulder, careful not to crush my bouquet of lilies sticking out. “Thanks for meeting with me tonight. And for the drinks.”

Grinning, he shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “My pleasure. Too bad we’re no closer to cracking the Case of the Mysterious Memories than we were before.”

“Right.” Too bad, indeed. If anything, I have more questions than ever. Like why do I know certain random details about Devin, but other big, important aspects of his life are a blank? Maybe the universe gets a kick out of scattering bread crumbs instead of serving up a whole meal.

Devin saunters closer until only a foot of space separates us. “What do you say we keep the investigation going?”

I blink up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the night’s still young, and there’s still lots to talk about. How about we continue comparing notes somewhere more fun?”

I swallow, but I can’t prevent my voice from going hoarse. “What did you have in mind?”

“Hmmm.” He taps his chin. “We could take a walk along the river. Check out an art gallery—wait.” He snaps. “I got it. Do you like pinball, by chance?”

My ears perked up at “art gallery”—I haven’t been to one in ages—but “pinball” has me intrigued. “I’ve played a time or two.”

“I’ve got the perfect place. It’s not far. Only a few blocks away.”

I grin. “You’re on.”

His phone trills from his pocket. “One sec.” His eyes flick across the screen and he taps out what I assume is a text before stashing his cell away. “Shall we?” He proffers his elbow and I slip my fingers around the corded muscles of his forearm. His delicious scent fills my nose, and I inhale deeply, reveling in the solid presence at my side.

We stroll at a slow, meandering pace, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of West Twenty-Fifth Street, the beating heart of Ohio City. We watch as people dip into bars, dine on patios, and laugh as they meander down the street. The scent of hops and pizza floats on the balmy air, and we chat about our favorite Cleveland restaurants. The next block up, we pause to peer through a store window, admiring the diverse knickknacks and wares for sale.

I catch our reflection in the window and my neck tingles. A vision of us walking arm in arm down a different, less crowded, city street flashes in my mind before it dissipates like the mist rising from the sidewalk.

Why can’t the life in my memories be my real life? I’ve busted my ass for as long as I can remember. I didn’t party in college so I could land a scholarship to law school. Then three years of nose-to-the-grindstone studying while constantly striving to live up to my mother’s expectations and become the self-sufficient, successful woman she wants me to be. Maybe Devin showing up is karma… the universe throwing me a bone for once.

Maybe it’s too much to hope for. But maybe hoping is everything.

“You’re frowning.” Devin’s warm breath tickles my ear and I jolt.

My fingers flex automatically, tightening around his forearm. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

I inhale deeply. “What if…?” I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“What if you’re psychic?” he ventures.

I let out a bark of laughter. “You think I’m psychic?”

“It’d be one way to explain what’s going on. I’m thinking of a number between zero and one hundred.”

“No way.”

“Come on, what number am I thinking of?”

“Seventy-three?”

“Close. Twelve.”

I giggle.

“Okay, maybe you’re not psychic. But what if you have superpowers?”

I roll my eyes. “I do not have superpowers.”

“No, hear me out. What if you can manifest your deepest desires?”

“That’s ludicrous. And assuming a lot. Who says you’re my deepest desire?”

“Hey, you’re the one who woke up remembering me. Come on, just try it.”

“Fine.” Slipping my arm out of his, I move to the edge of the sidewalk. I roll my neck and shimmy my shoulders. “Okay, now what?”

“What is it you most desire? Picture it in your mind.”

Grinning, I close my eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Cheesecake.” I lift my palms expectantly. After three heartbeats, I peel open one eye. “Did it work?”

“You tell me.”

Behind him, a streetlight illuminates a crisp, black-and-white sign: Pullman’s Bakery.