I perk an eyebrow. “His own or anyone’s?”
Yimin nods. I assume that means all of the above.
“Why do you say that?”
“A feeling.”
After a few seconds of attempting to get my own “feeling” about Yimin’s intuition, I narrow my eyes and lean forward. “How well do you know Nolan? Have you met his parents?”
“I know them very well. Nolan is special. He has a heightened awareness.”
“Yes. He told me. Do you believe it?”
Yimin slides my carrot juice closer to me. I take the hint and chew another swig.
“I do,” he replies.
My conscience shakes off the uneasy feeling and the whole weird vibe that lingers around us. “Tell me about his parents.”
“The Moores have been through a lot.”
“You don’t say.” I bite my lips together. That thought wasn’t meant for actual words.
Yimin’s brow draws tight, slaying the curiosity beast inside of me. I stand. I’ve overstepped a boundary, and now I feel uncomfortable.
“Thank you for the tea and juice.” Really just the juice. “I have a few jobs to do.”
“Again, tomorrow.”
“Oh, well…” My objection is weak because I don’t have any other plans for tomorrow or any day after that.
“Here.” He moves past me to the kitchen and retrieves a mason jar from the cupboard, and then he pours the rest of the carrot juice into it. “Drink today.”
“All of it?” My eyes widen a fraction at the filled liter jar.
“Yes.”
“Uh… okay, thank you.” I take the juice. Changing my diet is on my life-changing to-do list. I didn’t see it starting with a juice cleanse—especially since I’m so hungry.
“Tomorrow.” Yimin calls as a dusting of sand from the wooden walkway clings to my feet while I make my way to the beach.
“Tomorrow.”
*
A few beachgoersin bikinis and floppy hats have staked their claim with umbrellas in the sand as the sun spreads along the Atlantic. Cupping a hand over my eyes, I squint to see what’s moving along the water’s surface maybe twenty meters from the waves breaking into fizzing foam along the uneven shoreline.
At first I think it’s a dolphin or shark, but as the figure nears the shallow waters, it morphs into a human figure, like I’m witnessing a modern-day evolution.
It’s not. As the creature stands erect, fighting the last few waves, I notice he’s wearing trunks. He’s been human for a while. I gawk at his tight, black briefs that hide nothing. Who the hell swims that far out in the ocean in the early morning during prime shark-feeding time?
Long hair slicked back.
Tattoos.
Thor’s body.
Bloody hell! It’s Theodore Reed. Yimin was right—he has no regard for life.
