The house was cozy and the cheerful sound of partygoers filled the rooms. I waved to a few people I’d met before as Meghan took us through to the kitchen. She knew I didn’t like crowds. Andrew stood near the food while Dad put trays of homemade mini tarts and quiches into the oven. The scent of tangy and sweet pastries filled the kitchen.
“Found her,” Meghan said. “She was hiding outside by the cars.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed Andrew, who handed her an orange drink with a purple umbrella. He wore his police uniform, though not the gun or badge—he was off duty. It was a long-running joke between them. He pretended Meghan had fallen in love with him because she loved how he looked in his uniform, but it was because he was one of the nicest men around and he adored her.
“She’s got stress-related laryngitis and a new… boyfriend.”
An unspoken “and some explaining to do” filled Meghan’s voice.
Andrew grinned and Christopher winked.
When Dad closed the oven and turned, I gave him the same too-big hug Meghan had received. Dad was tall and blonde and squished like a giant teddy bear. It had been too long. It was wrong that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged them. Two years? Three? A piece of my heart that I’d walled away tumbled free.
“Christopher,” he said, introducing himself.
He shook Andrew’s hand, then my father’s. His other hand rested on the bare part of my back, just above the waist of the red dress. His hand was warm, and I liked how it felt. I smiled up at him. We might be acting, but it felt natural and comfortable.
Meghan made tea, and I cradled the steaming mug as we circulated before returning to the quiet of the kitchen. My sister spread the word about my laryngitis, but there were few people I would have spoken to beyond a few words. I’d never been social. Part of me enjoyed this perfect excuse not to talk, even if it wasn’t a permanent solution. I would have to come clean before long. I wouldn’t be able to disclose everything—they’d never believe time travel, but I’d have to think of something more long-lasting. Perhaps an injury.
Andrew and Christopher hit it off. They talked a lot, and I lost track of the conversation, but in a comfortable way. It was nice to be included, and not have to try hard. Meghan circulated throughout the house but checked in several times.
“You should have told me about Brandon,” she said on her pass through the kitchen when Christopher was out of the room.
I nodded, blinking back the tears that rushed to my eyes at his name. We hadn’t figured out how to save him. He was going to die unless I changed something.
She grabbed my arms. “Don’t feel bad about the upgrade. It might be awkward for a bit, but Christopher’s great. He’s crazy about you. That’s a delightful change.”
A stab of guilt raced through me at the deception.
“He’s not exactly shy and retiring, is he?” she said.
His booming laugh filled the kitchen as he returned to my side. When I caught his eye, his smile lit up the room. My heart lurched. I didn’t want Christopher to be a rebound any more than Eric had been. I wasn’t looking for love or even lust. I was looking to save Brandon. I would keep telling myself any attraction to Christopher was because I’d been celibate too long. Not because he was perceptive, fun, and gorgeous.
Was this what Dr. Maeve meant by changing my reality? For years, I’d only seen Christopher’s negative qualities because I’d been angry. I’d failed to see all the good.
On that note, I excused myself and went upstairs where it was quiet and I ducked into my old bedroom to think. I sat on the bed. It looked the same as it had when I’d left for Columbia at eighteen, two lifetimes ago. My dad had left my bedroom alone, and I’d never reclaimed the treasures of my childhood or teen years that I’d once considered precious. I had a job in the city and had furnished my place with new stuff.
I picked up a framed photo of our family, the three of us one Christmas when I was fourteen and Meghan twelve. I blew the dust off, thinking of that day years ago, losing myself in memories. When the bedroom door closed, I looked up.
Eric had slid into the room and locked the door. He leaned against it. He wasn’t tall, but was stocky and took up space. My palms became sweaty, and I bit the inside of my cheek. There was no way I could get through him and out.
The picture dropped to the white carpet when I stood.
“I thought I might find you alone if I was patient.” His look focused on my cleavage, not my face. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
I shook my head.
“I saw the way you looked at me outside. I could tell there was a certain heat.”
He was crazy. I’d been scared, not interested. I shook my head again and stepped away from the bed.
“You don’t need to play hard to get, Baby Doll. I feel it too, this instant attraction.”
At the pet name, my blood froze, and ice filled my veins. A human popsicle in June.
He cocked his head to the side and ran his hand over his buzz-cut hair. “I heard a rumor that you can’t talk. Does that mean you can’t scream?”
I didn’t dare look away. He stalked toward me and I moved away, my back to the window. My heart raced and my throat constricted. I wanted to speak more now than at any point since the accident. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone. Nothing came out.
