Esmun shook his head. "She must favor her dad's side of the family."
"Thank the Goddess!" Aunt Terra raised her arm for a high five. Our palms slapped. I beamed back at them. Suddenly, the world seemed less lonely.
****
"Be back by two," Aunt Terra called after Jett as we left Spiral Journeys for lunch. "I'll need you on the floor during the board meeting."
"No problem," Jett assured her.
We walked past a consignment store, a gas station, and an artist collective. "Does Hazel always end her readings with dire predictions?" I asked.
"Pretty much." Jett stopped in front of an orchid-colored door with a driftwood handle.
Great. Hippieville . "Gives new meaning to the term 'scare up customers,'" I said, my voice dripping with disgust. Five people were lined up ahead of us to place their orders, a good sign.
Jett snorted. A ceiling fan painted to look like palm fronds stood idle above us as we read the menu painted on the wall. Finally, we reached the counter waitress.
"Hey, Morningstar." Jett greeted the wholesome-looking, ponytailed brunette as if she was his best friend. If she had been four years younger, I might have thought she was his girlfriend.
"Hey, Jett." Her olive tee shirt brought out the green in her eyes. Her gaze swung to me, and her silver spirit dancer earrings grazed her jaw. "Who's your friend?" she asked Jett.
"This is Ainslie. She's Terra and Esmun's niece."
"Girl, how you be?" she asked in a smiling, dead-on imitation of Uncle Esmun.
I totally melted. "I be well. Thanks."
"What can I get for you?" She held her pen over a small flip pad.
I glanced back at the Sand Bar listings. "One Moon Dust Smoothie." Then I spied the huge brownies piled in a pyramid atop a glass cake stand. "And one of those."
"Nothing else?" Jett asked. "Just a smoothie and dessert?"
"I'm stuffed. Uncle Esmun made omelets for breakfast. But order whatever you want."
"You sure?"
"Ye-e-ah." I drew out the word for emphasis. "Besides, my parents gave me money to cover my gambling debts."
"Right. 'Cause you're such a wild thing." His dimples showed. To Morningstar he said, "A portabella mushroom with bacon and cheese on a whole-wheat bun, please."
"You got it, handsome."
We migrated to an unoccupied rickety green table, scraped back a couple of chairs, and sat. Sunlight angled in from high, dusty windows. The warmth seeped into me, melting away some of the morning's tension. I picked at the plastic wrap encasing the brownie.
"I hate shrink wrap. No one can open those things." Jett's fingers brushed mine as he fumbled for an edge to peel back. "If I open it first, you have to share," he half-joked.
"No way!" I tried to slide the brownie away from him, but he was quick and nimble-fingered. We grappled, four hands wrestling, fingers bumping, entwining. Within seconds, I was breathless from the tussle and buzzing from the crazy mojo sparking off Jett.
"You have your own food!" I protested.
His long fingers picked at the plastic. "Not yet."
"Hey!" I laughed and grabbed Jett's hand. He escaped my grasp, so I captured his wrist. My thumb pressed against the angry crosshatch scars. Energy twitched beneath his skin. Random, short-circuited pulses struck my flesh like electric shocks.
"You going to eat the brownie or demolish it?" Morningstar asked.
We glanced up at her, then both let go, me of Jett's wrist, he of the now crumbled brownie still encased in plastic.
Jett dimpled. "Both."
"Hah!" I dragged the brownie toward me. My fingers burned from Jett's jittery energy. I thought back to the magazine quizzes Jazmin and I adored. They covered issues like, "Are You a Good Kisser?" and "Are You in an Abusive Relationship?" but not this. Though the weird energy and cut marks felt like a red flag, I pushed them to the back burner of my brain.
Morningstar handed me my smoothie and placed Jett's plate on the table. "No food fights, children."
"Yes, ma'am" we said in unison.
Our jaws dropped. "Jinx!"
"Double
"Thank the Goddess!" Aunt Terra raised her arm for a high five. Our palms slapped. I beamed back at them. Suddenly, the world seemed less lonely.
****
"Be back by two," Aunt Terra called after Jett as we left Spiral Journeys for lunch. "I'll need you on the floor during the board meeting."
"No problem," Jett assured her.
We walked past a consignment store, a gas station, and an artist collective. "Does Hazel always end her readings with dire predictions?" I asked.
"Pretty much." Jett stopped in front of an orchid-colored door with a driftwood handle.
Great. Hippieville . "Gives new meaning to the term 'scare up customers,'" I said, my voice dripping with disgust. Five people were lined up ahead of us to place their orders, a good sign.
Jett snorted. A ceiling fan painted to look like palm fronds stood idle above us as we read the menu painted on the wall. Finally, we reached the counter waitress.
"Hey, Morningstar." Jett greeted the wholesome-looking, ponytailed brunette as if she was his best friend. If she had been four years younger, I might have thought she was his girlfriend.
"Hey, Jett." Her olive tee shirt brought out the green in her eyes. Her gaze swung to me, and her silver spirit dancer earrings grazed her jaw. "Who's your friend?" she asked Jett.
"This is Ainslie. She's Terra and Esmun's niece."
"Girl, how you be?" she asked in a smiling, dead-on imitation of Uncle Esmun.
I totally melted. "I be well. Thanks."
"What can I get for you?" She held her pen over a small flip pad.
I glanced back at the Sand Bar listings. "One Moon Dust Smoothie." Then I spied the huge brownies piled in a pyramid atop a glass cake stand. "And one of those."
"Nothing else?" Jett asked. "Just a smoothie and dessert?"
"I'm stuffed. Uncle Esmun made omelets for breakfast. But order whatever you want."
"You sure?"
"Ye-e-ah." I drew out the word for emphasis. "Besides, my parents gave me money to cover my gambling debts."
"Right. 'Cause you're such a wild thing." His dimples showed. To Morningstar he said, "A portabella mushroom with bacon and cheese on a whole-wheat bun, please."
"You got it, handsome."
We migrated to an unoccupied rickety green table, scraped back a couple of chairs, and sat. Sunlight angled in from high, dusty windows. The warmth seeped into me, melting away some of the morning's tension. I picked at the plastic wrap encasing the brownie.
"I hate shrink wrap. No one can open those things." Jett's fingers brushed mine as he fumbled for an edge to peel back. "If I open it first, you have to share," he half-joked.
"No way!" I tried to slide the brownie away from him, but he was quick and nimble-fingered. We grappled, four hands wrestling, fingers bumping, entwining. Within seconds, I was breathless from the tussle and buzzing from the crazy mojo sparking off Jett.
"You have your own food!" I protested.
His long fingers picked at the plastic. "Not yet."
"Hey!" I laughed and grabbed Jett's hand. He escaped my grasp, so I captured his wrist. My thumb pressed against the angry crosshatch scars. Energy twitched beneath his skin. Random, short-circuited pulses struck my flesh like electric shocks.
"You going to eat the brownie or demolish it?" Morningstar asked.
We glanced up at her, then both let go, me of Jett's wrist, he of the now crumbled brownie still encased in plastic.
Jett dimpled. "Both."
"Hah!" I dragged the brownie toward me. My fingers burned from Jett's jittery energy. I thought back to the magazine quizzes Jazmin and I adored. They covered issues like, "Are You a Good Kisser?" and "Are You in an Abusive Relationship?" but not this. Though the weird energy and cut marks felt like a red flag, I pushed them to the back burner of my brain.
Morningstar handed me my smoothie and placed Jett's plate on the table. "No food fights, children."
"Yes, ma'am" we said in unison.
Our jaws dropped. "Jinx!"
"Double
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