Meeting Miss Mystic by Katy Regnery Read Free Book Online

Brandon.
    “Hey, uh—not this t-time, okay?”
    Sandy opened her arms and Zoë walked into them, savoring the familiar warmth offered by her aunt. “Think about it, Zoë. You’ve got to work this out with Thea at some point.”
    Zoë sniffled against Sandy’s shoulder, wondering for the thousandth time what she would do without her aunt.
    Sandy backed up, cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Want me to bring you back a slice?”
    Zoë nodded. “Sausage?”
    Sandy nodded and headed down the stairs.
    “Wait! Sand?”
    Sandy turned back.
    “Can you make it a tossed salad with grilled chicken instead?”
    Sandy raised her eyebrows but had the good sense to nod, not grin, and head back down the stairs.
    ***
    Zoë’s unfamiliar descent into giddy foolishness started around five o’clock on Saturday. She’d been checking her phone pathologically all day, and by four, she started to wonder if the absence of an e-mail meant that Paul might not be following through with their plan to go to the movies “together.” Shouldn’t he have at least written to her once? Just to reconfirm?
    No, her conscience had needled her, he shouldn’t. And furthermore, he shouldn’t be writing to you in the first place, since he’s faithfully writing to someone that doesn’t actually exist.
    She kept telling herself that it wasn’t too far gone yet; she still had space to pull back from him and no one would get hurt. But part of her knew she was lying to herself. A line had already been crossed. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Having Paul in her life simply felt too good to let go right now.
    She had scrubbed her kitchen and bathroom twice, checking her wi-fi connection obsessively and logging into Meet the One twenty-odd times to see if a message from Paul was waiting that just hadn’t sent a notification to her phone. No messages. Nothing. Zip.
    She did a face masque and put softener on her scar, then grimaced at her omnipresent black finger- and toenail polish, deciding it was time for a change. She spent a good half hour rooting around under her bathroom cabinet for the cotton-candy pink color she hadn’t worn in almost two years. She turned on an MTV marathon of The Real World and was halfway through her manicure when she heard it.
    Ding!
    Her heart thumped like mad as she eyed the bright, buzzing screen across the room on her on the kitchen counter. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to her fingers, relief seeping through her body. Sure, it could be Sandy checking on her from work or Stan asking for her to e-mail a file. But it wasn’t. She knew it was Paul.
    Waving her tacky nails for a moment she screwed the top back onto her nail polish and awkwardly made her way to the counter, shuffling along on the backs of her heels, trying to keep her bubblegum-colored toes off the plush carpet.
    She swiped her finger across the screen and her lips tilted up in a smile as she saw the heavenly words:
    PrincipalPaul has sent you a message.
     
    Dear Holly,
    I’m leaving for Livingston now. I hope you’re still planning to “meet” me. Looking forward to our first “date.”
    —Paul
     
    She caught her reflection in the glass of her phone and almost didn’t recognize herself for a second. The sun was shining through the window on her left cheek and her black hair wasn’t visible in the small frame. But for the dark-colored contacts, she could have been old Zoë looking back. For just a moment she looked young and hopeful. She smiled a touch more broadly and had an idea. If she was going out on a date with Paul as Holly? Well, she should dress the part. Why not? Placing her phone gingerly on the countertop, she headed to her room to get ready.
    ***
    Paul must have checked his phone thirty times on the ride from Gardiner to Livingston, glancing at it surreptitiously as he drove along, wondering if Holly would text him or not, unable to control the leaping of his heart at the prospect.
    He couldn’t figure