She laid a hand on his massive bicep. “Gabe, buddy. Ice cream isn’t straying from your journey. It’s a pit stop. Everyone loves a pit stop.”
“Not Elanora. She is right. I must recommit myself to being pure in mind and body.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means no more ice cream. And no other distractions.”
Uh-oh.Her nose twitched and a vision of her sister, Wander, floated into her head. She suddenly had a very good idea of what “other distractions” had concerned her grandmother.
“Desires of the flesh stunt your spiritual growth.”
Elanora Basil was a mean old lady.
“I’ll talk to her,” she promised. “She spends too much time in the Guild and forgets that there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be experienced.”
“Elanora said experiences are for those with small minds.”
“Yeah? Well, she also says that summer vacations are for stupid children worried about burning out their brains with year-round education. So I wouldn’t take her too seriously. We’ll figure out why she’s in town and when we can look forward to her leaving.”
“She is disappointed in the spiritual guidance I have offered you. That is why she is here. To take over your training.”
Riley shuddered. Gabe had been nothing but a muscle-y, sweet, guiding light since showing up unannounced at the mansion and presenting himself as her official teacher of psychic things. His gentle guidance had helped her tiptoe into the realm of a semi-functioning psychic.
She reached into one of the shopping totes and handed him a carton of Moose Tracks ice cream. “I got this for you to enjoy because you’ve been a good friend and a great teacher. Don’t let one crabby medium ruin that.”
His grateful smile was blinding. “I will always be your friend, Riley Thorn.”
“Good. Now eat your ice cream.”
“I will help you carry your bags upstairs, and then I will return to enjoy my special treat.”
“That sounds fair.”
He left her outside her door on the third floor and practically sprinted down the stairs to get back to his beloved ice cream.
Riley let herself in and stopped in her tracks.
“What in the—”
Nick Santiago was cooking.
And it smelledgood. He looked up from the stove and flashed her a dimpled smirk. “Good timing,” he said, pulling the pan off the tiny, two-burner stove top.
“What is that?” she asked, floating toward the smell of garlic and sizzling onions.
“Chicken fajitas,” he said and tilted the cast iron skillet so she could see. His forearm and bicep flexed indecently. She liked when they did that. “It’s my specialty.”
“You have a specialty?” she asked. “I mean, outside the bedroom.”
He shot her one of his patented underwear-combusting looks. She dumped the bags on the floor and took the beer he offered her.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked.
His broad shoulders rose and fell carelessly. “Just felt like making my girl dinner. Consider it a date night.”
On their first “date night,” Nick had accidentally seen her naked and then bribed his way into her apartment with pizza just so he could stake out her neighbor’s place.
“You’re acting weird,” she decided.
