Page 58 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I considered saying out loud the truth I still hadn’t quite admitted to myself yet. That despite his prickly demeanor, there was a strange connection between me and Jonathan Lynch. A certain stillness that had no name yet, but drew us both.
It didn’t feel like a bad thing. Far from it.
“Wow…” Reina murmured. “So it’s like that?”
Of course. Even if she wasn’t actively searching my thoughts all the way from Portland, Reina sensed this feeling anyway. She would know in the way only sisters of the heart did.
Flickers of Penny’s memories danced around her clothes as I ran my hands over her clothes again. My family, what little I could call of them, had shrunken so much.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think it might be.”
“Get out of that closet, okay? I can feel your misery, and you don’t want that energy on a date.”
“It’s not a date.” I fingered the yellow dress even as I slumped against the doorway, trusting that my friend would understand my reluctance to follow her order.
There was a long sigh. “Fine. Just promise me you’ll do your hair, all right? Don’t leave it all beachy. It doesn’t look effortless, just salty and gross.”
I stood back up, suddenly annoyed. “Thanks a lot.”
“That’s better. You’re more fun snippy than depressed.”
“Is that right?”
“I say because I love, my friend. Because I love.”
It was justafter seven when I arrived at Blue Sky, the one and only “fine dining” restaurant Manzanita had to offer—meaning it provided a step above fish and chips or tacos, with dark wood interior and white tapered candles suited to first dates, anniversaries, and wishful thinking.
I took one final look at my appearance in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. The simple blowout that Reina had talked me through on the phone had settled my hair into soft waves that were already curling around my shoulders, and I had taken some time to rim my eyes with liner and apply lip gloss. In the yellow dress and my favorite black boots, I felt more like a fortuneteller than a twenty-something girl on a first date, with the added quirkiness of a pair of black leather kid gloves for good measure. But at least I was comfortable.
“Hello, Cassandra.”
The deep, increasingly familiar voice made me jump as I locked the car door. I turned to find Jonathan watching me with frank appreciation that quickly morphed into bland disinterest. He looked even more dashing than normal in a charcoal suit and white shirt. His glasses were gone, though, and his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. Was it my imagination, or was he purring?
“H-hi,” was all I could quite muster.
“You—your hair—it looks nice.” He cleared his throat and pulled at his tie. “Shall we?”
We were seated near the back of a room with only a few other diners. For whatever reason, my Sight seemed to be cooperating, with nary a glance of emotion nor a trickle of thoughts. I felt more clear-headed than I had in weeks.
“I should apologize again for surprising you this afternoon,” Jonathan said as he unbuttoned his jacket. “I must confess to having a rather severe phobia of the water.”
“You don’t say.” I spread a napkin over my lap, thrilled when I felt absolutely nothing.
“When I saw you dragged down by the seaweed, it brought out the more protective side of me. Which is what Penny paid me for, at least for a few days.”
As annoyed as I had been over his tantrum at the beach, the tension in my belly nonetheless softened at the sincerity in his voice and the kindness in his green eyes. “It’s all right.”
“Would you like a glass of wine? I thought I’d order a bottle. Do you prefer red or white? Maybe a specific region?”
I shrugged, unsure what to make of the sudden niceties. “Whatever you like.”
A server arrived, and Jonathan rattled off some unfamiliar name that sounded vaguely Italian while I perused the menu, trying not to look intimidated. We sat there for a moment in silence, both of us unnecessarily absorbed by a fairly typical menu. Jonathan rearranged his silverware around his plate multiple times and seemed trying, however inconspicuously, to smooth creases out of the white tablecloth.
Finally, I’d had enough.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
His head jerked up. “What?”
