"This place is..."
"The best?" Lewis finishes, stuffing the last bit of his blueberry pancakes into his mouth. His left eyebrow raises as I pause, watching the way a smile echoes across his features before he can hide it behind a cough. "Did you doubt me, Blue?"
I shrug. "I have no reason to trust you."
"Ouch," he clutches his chest, "that hurts. But, be honest, what were you expecting?"
"Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this."
"What's wrong with this?"
His tone shifts, and so does his demeanor. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I stare through my eyelashes at him.
"Nothing," I sigh, "that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
Lewis is more patient than I ever could be. Though he still seems out of sorts, his amazing dark eyes are clear and focused, but a softness lingers beneath. Without thinking, I reach out and grasp his hands.
His fingers weave through mine, clasping tightly. Tinkles feather up my arms, sending a shiver down my spine. Somehow, it's like what I feel with Chris, Charlie and Michael.
A need gathers at the base of my stomach, but I don't feed into it. Instead, I shove those feelings into a box, compartmentalizing my emotions. Feeling this way about Lewis so quickly is not only reckless but ridiculous.
Still, it's like I've known him forever.
"Just not what I was expecting in this area. That's all."
He chuckles, "You sure?"
"Positive," I raise my free hand, "scout's honor."
"You were in the scouts?"
I shake my head, "No. You obviously knew the sign, were you?"
"No, definitely not. I was spending my time learning piano, violin, and diving headfirst into martial arts."
I grimace. "Ah, yes, the obligatory learning of musical instruments."
"You play?"
Shaking my head, I scoot closer. "I used to, but I haven't played in years."
"Oh?" His head tilts, and he leans forward, eyes locked with mine. "Why did you stop?"
"I stopped because my mother d—"
Vehemently, I yank my hand from his and slip all the way back into the booth. The old upholstery—a dark forest green—is supple and matches the warm tones in the wood surrounds. Chipped, but well cared for, the table we share features small square tiles.
"Hey, hey, hey..." His voice, a smooth lullaby, lowers under the chatter. "I'm sorry if things got too personal. It wasn't my intention to bring up bad memories."
Stubbornly, I don't respond to his apology. He meant no harm, but it didn't mean anything to my flailing feelings. They're raw, as if my parent's murder was yesterday.
Losing them took a lot of life out of and from me. All of those happy memories we made simply stopped manufacturing one day. My mother will never see me get married and she didn't get to help me buy my first bra.
Those events belonged to Catrina. The woman Ryker trusted with my life. She'd become something—someone—else before she was gone.
My father... the man who pushed me to be my best even when it hurt, would never see my company rise from the ashes or change the tide of war. He never had the chance to teach me stick shift or take me on my first parasailing attempt.
"So, where are you from?"
"Born in Singapore, but moved here with my family about 15 years ago. My younger brother wanted to pursue acting, and I wanted to be there with him."
"Wow... changing not only countries but continents? Must have been difficult."
He shakes his head. "We spent most of my childhood traveling internationally, anyway. Coming to America was like riding a bike. Weird at first, and not only culturally."
Humming, I nod. "Do you get to visit very often?"
"Not as often as I'd like, but once school is done and I finish my degrees, I'll have more freedom." He studies me for a moment. "Have you ever been to Singapore?"
"Yes, it's so beautiful there."
I haven't spent much time there, but Singapore was one of the few places to survive the third and fourth world war unscathed. They chose to be neutral and opted to send food and supplies to those suffering in war-torn places. When the bombs stopped dropping and the peace initiatives were forged, they and a handful of others came out on top.
Some of the cities that once carried millions and billions were reduced to rubble. Many had to rebuild. The rich, who had underground bunkers, remained there until the smoke cleared.
They returned to a different landscape and a reduced amount of able-bodied workers.
Singapore kept her beauty. Lush landscapes thriving with massive trees, colorful florals, and wonderfully appointed skyscrapers pepper their horizon. I'm not a fan of humidity, but nothing beats the street food and I'll go back right this second for a taste.
"It is. I can't wait to go visit."
"You have family there?"
"Oh, yes. My parents divorced about 10 years ago, but my mother loved it so much she decided not to move back to Manchester and went to Singapore."
He changes the subject, clearly avoiding speaking about his family history except for easy questions. I take his queues, moving along in our morning as it bleeds to afternoon and evening. By the time the sun is dropping, exhaustion is tearing at me from all sides.
Yet, I don't want to leave.
The longing to stay here, eating breakfast food and laughing about nonsense, grows steadily. He seems to be as loathed to leave as I am. When I retake my position on the table, his hands find mine and don't let go.
"Sorry to interrupt," our server comes to the table, a blush on her cheeks, "but we're closing in about 20 minutes."
"Oh," Lewis pulls one hand back, shoving it into his pocket. "I'll take the cheek."
"No, I can pay my part."
"Don't listen to her." He says, swiping the receipt out of her hand. He barely glances at it before thrusting a pile of bills on top. "Keep the change."
"You didn't have to do that," I argue as she saunters away. "I should pay you back for my food."
"No. Absolutely not. I invited you out, and so I pay."
"So, if I invite you out next time, that means I pay?" I ask.
His grin turns shy, and he blushes as he breaks eye contact. "There's going to be a next time?"
"Maybe."
He follows me out, hands tucked in his pocket and confident swag in full swing. His taller than me, but not nearly as tall as Chris and Charlie, and lean, with muscles shaping his shoulders and down his arms. Another shy smile echoes on his features when he catches me looking at him.
"I'm not going to ask you if you like what you see," Lewis teases, "I know you do."
I roll my eyes but don't deny it. He is an attractive man and he ticks too many of the right boxes. There are no alarm bells going off in my mind about him, but none really went off for the others.
I'm not sure my intuition is the best thing to depend on.
"Look, I need to head out."
Lewis shrugs, "me too. I need to study and hopefully grab some sleep before class this afternoon."
"Studying? Ick. Have fun, Lewis."
"Wait," a hand closes around my left wrist and pulls me to a stop, "I want to see you, again."
"Lewis, I d—"
"Blue, don't tell me you don't think it's a good idea."
I don't.
"Okay. Fine. I won't tell you that."
"What's your number?" He pulls out his cell phone.
Sheepishly, I admit, "I—uh—don't have a cell phone."
"You don't have a cell phone?"
"I actually lost it on the way up here." Lost is a loose translation as I left it behind, but it's the only truth I can give. "I'm planning on getting another one in the next day or two."
"Then how do I get in touch with you?"
Slowly, I back away from him, letting my wrist softly fall out of his grip.
"Guess you'll have to go for another walk."
Lewis stands where I leave him, watching as I make my way down the street and out of sight. His smile stays with me, a bright spot in an otherwise bleak few weeks. I will be at the sign tonight, staring off into the abyss, and if he wants to see me, he'll have to find me.
True to my word, I stop at the nearest cell phone store and get a new phone. Sadly, I don't have a single number to add to the contacts list, but being connected is what I'm searching for. Then, I head for the grocery store.
No one knows about my identity here.
Years ago, when I was more paranoid, I set up a number of fake identities in several cities to disappear. This one comes with a flashy condo and a house up north, but I won't be needing the house this time. The condo is close enough to travel back and forth to the sign and see Lewis.
I'm nearly home when my system flickers, bleeding a dark violet before snapping back to blue. Confused, I stop in an alleyway and comb the code.
"Missing me?"
I jerk, nearly toppling over as a voice I haven't heard in weeks pours into my mind. She's a hologram, standing before me wearing a pair of baggy silver pants, a blue crop top and thick combat boots with glowing purple soles. How the fuck is she here?
"Zhyv?"
She grins. "As if it would be anyone else in your head."
"How are you here? I mean... how did you hack my system?"
"I didn't," she narrows her eyes, "emergency back channel, remember? You are far happier than I thought you'd be. What's his name?"
"Zhyv! I'm not—I haven't... Look, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, we aren't done with this conversation, but Ryker asked me to reach out to you because you've disappeared."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you lie to people." I sneer. "Who wants to be around a group of liars longer than you have to?"
Her eyebrows raise so high they nearly touch her bangs. One of her grey eyes bleeds purple, swirling in and out of focus. I'm not surprised her platinum blonde hair is braided and sitting atop the crown of her head in a complex bun, nor am I surprised to see her white tattoos shifting across her arms and shoulders like snakes writhing.
Zhyv is many things, but her style will never change.
"What happened?" she asks, her eyes analyzing my every move. "Who hurt you?"
"Nothing. No one." I sigh, crossing my arms. "So, you can go tell Ryker to go away. Thanks."
"Now you're lying to me?"
Her question stops me in my tracks, and I step backward, throwing an annoyed look her way.
"Don't give me that look, Hawthorne. Ryker wouldn't tell me what's going on, and unless you want him knowing exactly where you are and where you're going, you'd better tell me now."
"Remember Charlie?"
"Tall blond with the killer aim?"
"Yeah," I say, sucking my teeth. "That's him."
"What's wrong with him, or should I ask, what has he done?"
"He's not who I thought he was."
"Who did you think he was?"
I hate it when she does this, baiting me to answer every question. There's no avoiding what she wants. If I do not tell her what's going on, she will tell Ryker where I am and the guys will come.
"Someone trustworthy."
"What made you think otherwise?"
"When I found out the men who've been trying to capture me for the last few weeks worked for his father and everyone—and I do mean everyone—knew it but me. They all lied in some form or another."
"Blue—"
"Don't." I stop her. I know what she's going to say, but I don't want to hear it. "They lied and cannot be trusted. So, I left."
"And what are you planning on doing now?"
"What I always do: eliminate the threat."