Page 3 of Protecting Paige

“You can call on other nights,” she replies. “Well. Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Although if you let me know the week before, I could switch my days. Like if you’re going out of town and can only talk on Tuesday or something.”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” I clarify. “And I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday. I hope that’s okay.”

There’s a pause. “It’s more than okay.” I can practically hear her smiling. “I’m always happy to talk to you, Cillian. You know that.”

Happy warmth floods through my body. I grin at the blank TV screen as I say, “I’m always happy to talk to you, too.”

After another brief pause, Paige asks with a touch of amusement, “So. Would you like a reading?”

I chuckle. “No. That’s okay. Just talking is fine.”

Seven months ago, I never would have imagined calling a phone psychic hotline every week, paying a dollar a minute tonothave my future read. Because I never do. Not after that first phone call with Paige, when her reading veered into regular conversation halfway through it, and we ended up talking for an hour about home renovations, instead.

Paige loves fixing up houses, for the record. She has a little fixer-upper herself; one just outside Fredericksburg, about fortyminutes north of me. She also loves animals, spending time outside, and going on daily runs around her neighborhood.Andshe likes true crime documentaries, too.

So she pretty much likes everything I do.

I called on a whim the first time. I’d just been to a friend’s wedding and was feeling down about it—not because I begrudged his happiness, but more from a bittersweet sense of longing I’d never admit to anyone. I was aimlessly scrolling through social media when I saw the advertisement for a phone psychic company based in Virginia. And before I could talk myself out of it, I called, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Did I expect an accurate psychic reading? Of course not. But I was intrigued by what the quote unquotepsychicwould come up with. Would they predict a long life? An unexpected windfall? Ten kids?

But of all the things I imagined, finding a true friend wasn’t one of them.

“I’m always happy talking to you, too,” Paige replies. There’s a soft, rustling sound in the background. “Sorry. Just getting more comfortable. When I talk to clients, I sit at the dining room table. But when I talk to you, I like to sit on the couch.”

A beat later, she adds hurriedly, “I mean. You’re a client. But it feels different with you.”

“It does,” I agree.

And isn’t that the crux of it? The feelings I have for Paige? When we talk, I don’tfeellike a client. I feel like a man talking to a woman he cares about.

Paige hesitates long enough to make me wonder if I said something wrong. But then she asks in a cheerful tone, “How was your day? How was your weekend? Did you end up going on that hike?”

“I did.” And my knee hasn’t stopped reminding me since. “I went out to Wahrani Nature Park and did a few loops of the trailthere. The weather was good, and it wasn’t too crowded, so it was nice.”

“A few loops?” Paige laughs. “Of course you did.”

“Each loop was only a little over three miles,” I reply. “That’s barely a workout.” Back in my Army days, I would have done ten times that. But with my screwed-up knee, I can’t do nearly as much as I used to. I still try to keep in good shape though—going on weekly hikes and spending an hour in the gym nearly every day.

Do I have to for my current job? No. But it’s too ingrained in me not to.

“Is your knee holding up okay?” Paige asks. Concern laces her voice. And unlike when other people ask me about my limp, I don’t mind it.

“A little sore. But nothing that won’t go away in a couple days.”

She laughs again. “You mean in time for you to go on another hike?”

Chuckling, I reply, “Pretty much.” I pause. “Wait. You can’t see into the future to tell me?”

Paige is the first to admit she’s not really a psychic. Not to her other clients, I’m sure. But she came right out and said it during our first phone call.“I needed some extra money after I started the business,”she explained to me.“And this seemed perfect. No experience needed, work from home… And even though I can’t predict the future, I’ve always been good at talking to people. Making them feel understood.”

She’s right. Paige has this way about her, like you could tell her anything without fear of judgment.

“I predict you’re going to go hiking next weekend,” Paige answers. Then she giggles. “But I don’t think I need psychic skills for that prediction.”

“Probably not.” I bend my knee a few times, flexing the sore muscles. “So. How was your weekend? Any crazy stories from work?”

“When is therenota crazy story?” Through the line, I hear the faint clink of ice cubes in a glass. “One of my clients just got a new puppy. A Golden Retriever. He’s just the cutest thing. But he got overexcited on our walk and wound his leash around my legsandthe older dog’s. So we were all tangled together. And then a squirrel ran by…”