Page 32 of The Fate Factor

Noel blinks at me dramatically and it’s like her face comes alive with this little bit of snark. “As in, all hot beverages?”

“All.”

“Hot cocoa?”

I shake my head.

“Hot toddy?”

“No one likes those.”

“I do!” She clutches her heart. “My Nana made them every Christmas.”

I laugh. Between this and the way she’s sitting all prim and proper in this torn pleather booth, I’m beginning to think Noel might be a little old lady wearing a gorgeous twenty-something disguise.

Although, the Christmas part sounds nice. I’m always intrigued by other people’s family dynamics. Traditions and such that lasted longer than a year or two until you moved in with another family and started all over. But hot toddies are pretty disgusting. “I’d rather have a cold beer,” I say.

She visibly shivers. “What about hot soup?”

“Soup isn’t a beverage.”

“It’s a hot liquid, what’s the difference?”

I flash her a quick grin. “The same as the difference between drinking milk and eating cereal?”

She fights a smile, conceding the point with a few beats of silence, then shouts, “Warm apple cider!”

My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You’re not going to suddenly come up with a new beverage that has somehow escaped me for thirty years.”

Fran brings our drinks, and I order my regular: Southwest omelet with home fries and fruit. Noel doesn’t even look at the menu before ordering pancakes with whipped cream.

“Is that how old you are?” she asks me when we’re alone again.

“I’m thirty-one. I figured the first year doesn’t count because you only eat mush.”

“And drink milk. Warm.”

“What about you?” I ask, grinning.

She takes a big sip, smacking her lips. “I love warm drinks.”

“I meant how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So that makes you twenty-six when we first met.”

“Mmm,” she hums around her coffee. “And that makes you the old guy at that party.”

I laugh again. “So you spent summers here?”

“Since I was a kid. Nana moved to long term care closer to us two years ago, though. Right after that night on the roof.”

“Us?” I glance at her left hand. She’s not wearing a ring, and my chest deflates in relief. Which I quickly kick myself for because this is a business meeting with a beautiful woman who can see my future. Not a date.

“Me and my mom.” Her smile is tight.

“You live with your mom?”

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