Serious Moonlight(15)

Without thinking, I jumped back and hid behind the fortune-teller machine. Why, oh why, had I made the mistake of walking over here?

Don’t panic, I told myself. He probably didn’t recognize you.

So why were people suddenly exiting the store? Was the magic demonstration over?

What were my options here? I could run, but I’d already done that once with him, and look where it got me: working in the same hotel. I considered taking refuge in the bookstore, but they’d shut off their lights already and were flipping over the closed sign.

Crap! Daniel was exiting the magic shop, looking around. No time to escape. How could I look . . . less obvious? Maybe I should get my fortune told by the animatronic machine? Yes. Okay. That was a good reason to be standing here. I rummaged around the bottom of my purse for coins. Oh God, he’s coming over here. . . .

“Is this a stakeout?”

I glanced up from my purse and tried to act surprised. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders like it had when I’d first met him in the diner. Since when was I into guys with long hair? Since when did I know any guys with long hair? The only one I could think of was Chippy Jones, the old bearded hippie who owned the kite store on Bainbridge Island and rode a two-person bike everywhere. Daniel was no old hippie.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said, sounding a little touched in the head.

“Hello, Birdie.”

I started to reply, but my tongue felt thick in my mouth. A sickly sweat broke over my skin, as if I’d contracted the flu. Or food poisoning. Maybe the dropsy or some sort of milk fever—one of those vague, old-timey conditions.

“I made the joke about stakeouts because of your mystery-book obsession,” he explained. “Detectives. Sleuthing. Stakeouts.”

He remembered what I’d told him in the diner. Wait. Did he think I was stalking him?

“Not here for a stakeout.” I removed my hand from my purse to show him . . . three pennies and some fuzzy lint, which stuck to my palm when I tried to let go of it. “I’m looking for quarters. For this . . . thing,” I said, shifting my eyes to the machine.

“Really.” He didn’t sound convinced. Amused, but not convinced.

“I’m wasting time before the staff meeting. I was in there”—I used my lint-covered, sweaty hand to gesture toward the mystery bookstore—“only they’re closing, and I decided . . . I didn’t know you were here. I mean, I know you do magic, but I wasn’t stalking you. I’m just here for the Great Swami.”

“Oh, he’s not great. He’s just Swami.”

“Whatever. I’m not stalking you.”

He squinted. “You said that already.”

“GD,” I swore under my breath.

“GD?”

“Goddammit.”

He arched a brow.

“There was a no-swearing rule in my house,” I explained, thoroughly embarrassed. “It’s just an old habit.”

“Ah.

“And I have a perfectly logical reason for being here.”

“Me too,” he said. “I know the magic store’s owners, and they let me do tricks for customers. Sometimes I perform outside the market entrance, next to Rachel the Piggy Bank.”

Now I had to look out for Daniel whenever I wanted to come down here to buy a book? Terrific.

“I’m good with misdirection.”

“Excuse me?”

“In my street magic. Misdirection,” he repeated, holding out a hand and showing me his open palm. “You’re looking here, which is why you don’t see me taking this.” He held up a ring of keys on one finger.

My house keys.

“Hey!” I glanced down at my purse. The front pocket gaped open. “How . . . ?”

“Misdirection,” he said with a satisfied smile, offering me my keys back, which I carefully took, not touching his finger.

“Are you a pickpocket or a magician?” I asked.

“A skill is a skill,” he said, mouth quirking up on one side. “I like to keep my options open.”

I laughed nervously.

“Anyway, I need to practice with bigger groups. That’s why I like performing outside the market. My mom would kill me if she knew, so let’s keep that our little secret,” he said before rethinking his words. “Or, I guess, add it to our ongoing list of secrets.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and the air seemed to crackle between us. My chest grew hot. Surely he wouldn’t bring up what happened between us here, in public.

I dropped my keys back into my purse and tried to think of a way to escape without looking like a coward. Maybe I could say I was sick. Not a total lie. I sure felt sick at the moment.

“You’re shedding,” Daniel said.

Was this another misdirection? I quickly glanced down at the black slacks I had to wear for work and was startled to feel Daniel’s fingers on my hair. His touch sent tingles across my scalp. Then his hand moved back, and he showed me what he’d captured on his palm. “You lost a petal.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed, touching the lily in my hair.

He tilted his hand, and the petal floated to the floor, only to be trampled by a passing blind man and his guide dog.

After an awkward moment, Daniel tapped the glass of the machine. “So, you’re in the market for a fortune, are you? Honestly, this guy kind of sucks and is bordering on offensive. Definitely an insult to actual religious gurus. If you want a penny fortune, the Elvis machine inside is way better. Come on. They’ll let us in before they close.”