This is one weird-arse dream. I’ve never been anywhere this posh in my entire life, I can’t imagine what I’m doing here now. There’s a strange sort of prickling awareness skittering down my spine, followed by the curious sensation of being watched.
My gaze scans the room once more until it snags on a table by the wall. There’s a man sitting there, and he seems to be staring in my direction. I turn to glance behind me and then back to him. I point to my chest uncertainly and he smiles.
Holy crap, he’s gorgeous.
Before my brain can register what I’m doing, my feet are carrying me in his direction, sinking into the plush expensive carpet with each step. He’s wearing an expertly tailored suit of dark grey with a crisp white shirt open at the collar, exposing the line of his throat. His hair skims his shoulders, so black it almost has a bluish hue to it, and his eyes, when they meet mine, are a strange aqua colour, as pale as arctic ice.
“Tristan,” he says calmly as I reach his table, his voice deep and commanding. “We meet at last.”
“Huh?” I say rather obtusely.
This really is a very strange dream.
“Please.” He indicates the seat opposite him, and after a second’s hesitation, I slide down onto the padded cushion. “Would you care to sample anything from the menu?” he offers smoothly.
I shake my head as I note the logo on the menu.
“This is White’s of Mayfair.” I cast a quick glance around the restaurant again.
“Indeed.” He smiles as he lifts a glass of white wine that I swear hadn’t been there a moment ago, taking a sip as he watches me. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you?” His mouth twitches. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”
No sooner than the words leave his lips, I’m suddenly desperate for a cup of tea. I open my mouth but before I can utter a word, a delicate china cup filled with tea in just the right shade of caramel is set in front of me. I lift it to my lips and hum in satisfaction. Two sugars, just the way I like it. I take another polite sip and set the cup carefully back in its saucer, my gaze never leaving the stranger seated opposite me.
He studies me silently for several drawn-out moments, his long, elegantly tapered fingers tapping against the table linen in a thoughtful staccato. “You and I can no longer afford to ignore each other, Tristan,” he finally says.
“Ignore you? I have no idea who you are.” I blink. “How can I be ignoring you when we’ve never met before?”
“Maybe not formally as yet. We have crossed paths more than a time or two, but perhaps you don’t recognise me.” He grazes his thumb over his lush lower lip in consideration. “Maybe this will help.”
His form shifts into a hazy black smoke and suddenly I’m staring at a dark, deeply cowled reaper, his robe and hood rippling as if he’s floating underwater.
I gasp loudly and his form once again solidifies into the handsome suited stranger.
“You’re… you’re the one. I mean, the reaper I saw in the care home the night Mrs Abernathy died and then again at the community centre during Bingo Bonanza.”
“I was surprised you were able to see me in my true form.” He sets his elbows on the pristine tablecloth and steeples his fingers in front of him, his eyes flaring with interest. “Every other time we’ve crossed paths I’ve appeared in mortal form, as you see me now.”
“Are you sure you’re not confusing me with someone else?” I frown. “We’ve never met. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone who looks like you.”
“Hmm, perhaps a little help then.” Before I can ask what he’s doing or jerk back from the unexpected movement, he reaches across the table and presses those long, elegant fingers to my forehead. “Remember,” he whispers.
I stare at him as a fragment of a memory slowly trickles through my consciousness, followed by another, then another. “You were at my mother’s funeral,” I gasp with quiet realisation. “And Dusty’s funeral too. And… and… oh my god.” My breath leaves me in a rush. “You were there, that night in The Crown, the night I met Danny at Seamus’ leaving do. You were standing in the crowd, looking down at me as I came around from choking on that bloody ice cube.”
“Tristan,” he says simply. “I’m the one who sent you back.”
“What?” I suck in a breath so sharply I start choking on my own spit.
The handsome stranger simply hands me his water glass, watching as I try to sip, my eyes watering as the coughing fit subsides. He leans back in his seat, his intense gaze sweeping leisurely across the restaurant. “You humans are strange creatures.”
“Who are you? Are you God?” The words tumble from my lips before I note how ridiculous they sound.
He simply huffs in amusement. “I certainly wouldn’t presume to fill those shoes,” he scoffs. “Let’s just say, I was around long before he appeared, and I’ll be around long after he’s nothing but a memory.”
“I don’t understand.” My brows crease. “What’s going on here?”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Tristan,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact.
“You do realise how creepy that sounds, right? Not to mention slightly sinister,” I reply, my tone just as flat, and his mouth twitches again. “Is this the part where you kidnap me and cut me into pieces which you’ll then store in a freezer in your cellar?”
