Page 9 of Memories of the Lost

“I prefer personal and real to the superficial,” he said. “I almost had a fiancée once. Turned out she was not as interested in the arrangement as I was.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged. “That’s life, as my friend Krish reminds me.”

A little pain lingered beneath the shrug, and she wanted to follow the trail of it. Beneath her thigh, the phone buzzed again. Jared was drinking, she guessed, listening to albums on the turntable they’d bought to play the vinyl they’d collected. She could imagine him sitting on his couch in the rain, in the apartment they had planned to share, drinking beer and wallowing in the music they loved. It made her feel both really sad and really relieved.

The server paused by the booth, tilting his cockatiel head back and forth between them. “Would you like some more, handsome?”

Liam grinned. “Nah, bro. How about a grilled cheese?”

“You got it.” He glanced at Tillie, his body still angled toward Liam. “You need anything, sweetie?”

She shook her head.

Liam folded his hands on the table—beautiful hands, long fingers with well-tended nails—only marred by the cluster of gemstone bracelets running up his wrist. Again, she wished he weren’t such a surfer-hippie dude. “Working on your energies?” she asked, pointing.

“Ah, yeah, why not? My sister gave them to me when I started traveling. Reckoned it couldn’t hurt.” He took a breath, fingered the beads. “It’s a challenging trip.”

“Are you a model?”

“What?” He laughed. “No!”

“Actor? Dancer? Professional surfer?”

“I’m pleased you see me as a man of substance.”

It was Tillie’s turn to laugh. “Sorry. You’re just so ...”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

She was going to saypretty, but that wasn’t it. Light skated along the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and she thought of Tam Lin, the knight stolen away by fairies. Following some instinct she’d learned to trust, she asked, “Would you maybe have time to let me sketch you?”

“You’re an artist, too?”

She nodded. “I have so much work, I wasn’t even going to come tonight.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She let the words skate around in her veins, awakening sleepy blood. “Me, too.”

“I have time tomorrow.” He paused. “Or tonight, if you’d rather.”

An iridescent possibility rose between them. “I would,” she said. “Rather. Tonight.”

The rest of their meal had no weight. Liam ate his sandwich, and they dashed into the rain and miraculously caught a passing cab. Tillie gave the address and fell back in the humid car. His knee and hers touched. Neither of them moved. She smelled nutmeg on him, or maybe it was just his skin.

“I hope your coat is warm,” she said. “It’s going to be cold.” She almost saidin the morning, but was that what she meant? Why else would she be inviting him back to her apartment to ostensibly sketch him at 10:00 p.m. on a rainy night?

He took her hand and turned it over. “Shall I read your palm?”

His skin was warm, warmer than it should have been. Light from the street flashed over his hair, showed the faint shimmer of beard on his jaw, the growth of a day. She thought,I will remember this.

“Sure.”

He spread her fingers open, stroked the center of her hand. Tillie was acutely aware of each brush of his fingers. “Long lifeline,” he commented, then: “Hmm. A break early. Did you suffer an illness as a child?”

Was hereallyreading her palm? “I did have a fall when I was three or four.”