Page 41 of The Fate Factor

“So where are you going?”

“I have no idea. He wouldn’t tell me.” Last night when I left Jamie’s loft, he’d only said he had somewhere he wanted to take me, and to be ready by noon. I give my outfit one more look in the mirror—a pair of cut-offs and my hand painted Chucks, a vintage Matchbox 20 tee. Also makeup and perfume, but I’ll deny it in the interrogation.

“Wow,” Kate says.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just remembering the time we went to Boston to seeHamiltonand you made me send a schematic of the parking garage so you could ‘plan ahead.’” She makes air quotes and I flip her off.

“I’m taking Colin’s advice. Trusting the universe.” Which issosomething that shouldn’t come out of my mouth, so of course Kate doesn’t buy it.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You like him!”

I turn away from the phone so she doesn’t see the pink flaring on my cheekbones. I hate being called out. Having to admit something before I’m sure it won’t come back around swinging.

I do like him. Which, I suppose shouldn’t bethatsurprising given what I’ve seen in the visions, but I didn’t anticipate that it would be this easy. That I’d go from tolerating this arrangement to looking forward to it. After the massage and the movie that followed, both of which I’m conveniently not mentioning, I’d feltnewly light despite all of the then-cold Thai food I consumed. I’d left wanting more of it. The company, yes, but specifically his.

And I woke up this morning with these clumsy hands and a distinct slick of sweat at my hairline.

The pressure of Jamie possibly being my destiny is overwhelming. If I like him the way I think I might, I’ll have to admit how much of my future is out of my control, which is terrifying. But if it ends up going south now, it will be a sign that there is no fate, and the world is the big ball of chaos I thought it was, which is just a different shade of terrifying. Normal date jitters truly have nothing on this situation Jamie and I find ourselves in.

Or, I suppose, it’s only me who finds myself here. My claim on Jamie exists only in the ether at this point. All of this is an exploration that he has no idea he’s even participating in, and I have no evidence that what I saw between us is even something he’s thinking about. At least not as much as the psychic tip he wants from me.

My shoulders sink and I pull my lip between my teeth. “Please be nice to me,” I beg Kate. “This is already so far out of my comfort zone.”

“Okay, okay,” Kate says in that calming tone she’s used since we were kids. “Look, all I’m saying is I’m proud that it didn’t instantly occur to you to freak out about this. In fact, one might even call it a sign.”

“Cow,” Jamie says, pointing out my window as we cruise down a sun-bleached country road. My head swivels just in time to catch a reddish-brown dairy cow standing in a field, and my grin splits. We’re in a pickup truck today with Fortune Brewing emblazoned on the side, headed west out of the city. Abouttwenty minutes into the drive, the houses and storefronts started to melt into rolling hills and trees with their tips turning gold. That’s when he’d challenged me to this cow-spotting game.

“I think you have them plotted on a map.”

He grins, but doesn’t deny it. He has on one of his tight-fitting T-shirts that makes his inked biceps look obscene, and the baseball cap I’m beginning to think is his signature sits high on his forehead like he accidentally knocked it askew batting away a mosquito or a swooping seagull and didn’t bother to fix it.

Forcing myself not to straighten it is a good distraction from the dark stubble that’s been filling in on his jaw since yesterday, the way it changes his face to something a little more in line with the mystery of this whole thing.

Eventually, we turn down a winding dirt driveway. Open fields line either side and Jamie pulls to a stop in front of the single, white sided building occupying a swath of land that rolls as far as I can see.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a farm,” he says, killing the engine and unbuckling.

I sit up taller, scanning the fields for a duck or sheep or some other cute animal I might get to pet, but it’s just hills of green. “What kind of farm?”

“Hops.” His grin explodes. I don’t really know what hops are, except that they go in beer, but he’s clearly happy to be here and my veins start to fizz in secondhand excitement.

Jamie pulls a backpack from behind his seat and climbs out of the truck. He comes around to my side, offering me a hand down. My sneakers hit the gravel, landing toe to toe with his boots. Not the rubber ones from the silly picture he sent, but dark brown work boots, water stains on the toe.

The night at his bar, his hair was styled with product, jeans designer label, and the sneakers he wore to breakfast had beenvery expensive. This, I think, is a little glimpse into Work Jamie. I’d be hard-pressed to pick a favorite.

“You look like a brewer today,” I say, nervously tightening the ribbon in the ponytail I’d finally decided on. A farm might be the only place he could have taken me where I’d be overdressed.

His cheek hitches up. “What did I look like before?”

A Nike model,I stop myself from saying. “Just, you know, a guy.”

---