Page 101 of The Fate Factor

For someone who’s been known to see the future, I sure spend an awful lot of time wishing I could go back. Back to before Wes made me question the benevolence of this magic. Back to Jamie’s bed before I decided to come to this stupid bakery. But no matter how much I wish, I can’t find a way. There’s been a lot of magic in our lives, me and Jamie, more than most people get, but time travel isn’t our particular brand.

It was no more than five minutes before he came looking for me, but it was long enough for more to be said between them. More confusion cleared up for him and stirred up for me. I didn’t ask. Icouldn’t.

Now, he trails a few steps behind me, hands in his pockets, eyes on the cobblestones while we head down the street back to his place. Questions fire at me from all sides in the silence: Would he still have left her if he had all these details? Would hehave gone all in on the rest of it if he’d known there were holes in this?

When we get to the landing, I wait, arms wrapped around myself while Jamie opens the door, holding it for me. The heat of his apartment feels less cozy today, more oppressive. He still hasn’t spoken. I don’t know if he’s giving me the space I demanded when I ran out of there or rethinking every interaction we’ve ever had, but wondering is killing me. “Jamie, I—”

“I just need a minute, Noe.”

I freeze, the blood draining from my face.The latter, I guess.

He rounds the kitchen island, putting it between us like a shield, gripping the edge with white knuckles. “What were the other differences?”

“What?”

“You said a few things were different from what you saw, right? But you never told me what.”

My jaw tightens with panic. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to think about it. But the chickens have come home to roost. They always do. “Your tattoo,” I whisper.

“My…” he lifts his arm, looking at the hops wreath wrapping his bicep.

“Not that one. The one on your back.”

His forehead creases. “Okay. How?”

“It wasn’t a wave. It was words. I don’t know what it said.”

“So you know it was different but you don’t know what it was before?”

“It was a little… blurry? And it was partly covered by the sheet.”

“The sheet?”

“I saw it when I saw us. We were in bed. At the hotel.” I don’t know why I’m blushing after everything we’ve done, but I burn from my cheekbones to my ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Is that it?”

“The scar on your hand,” I say miserably. “It wasn’t there.”

He glances at it, then shoves his hand in his hair. “These are tiny things, Noe.”

“Yeah. They were. Until now.”

I try to pull that night back into my head, search for any other signs that I was wrong, but the memory seems to come at me from another angle. Something that’s been hidden in the bushes, stepping into the light.

All I can see looking back at it now is how badly I wanted him. The minute I saw him. After everything that’s happened, I can be honest with myself about that. I’d felt it, a quick pulse of desirethat flipped my heart and shot heat between my legs. The kind of whole-body impulse that I never give in to.

Whenever I’ve felt that kind of want, I’ve shoved it down with both hands. But not that night. I let myself look. Think about it. Imagine it.

What if that’s all it took to manifest this thing? What ifthat’sall it was that put those pictures in my head? A selfish disregard for anything but my own wants.

I knew I should walk away, but I didn’t. Just like when I found him on my porch and decided to bring him to the ER myself.

Wait.

My eyes snap to him. “You told me it was true. That’s what you said at the hospital. Didn’t you even ask her?”

Guilt flashes in his wince. “She said there was someone else. That was enough. I left and I blocked her number.”

---