Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1) Carissa Andrews (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📖

my shoulders so I look more confident than I feel at the moment. I clutch my keys in my hand and swing the door open.

“All set?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

Blake turns around, his dark hair glistening in the early morning light. It pulls out the reds hidden in their depths. Smiling broadly, his dimples shine brightly—easily.

My stomach flutters. Such a stupid—childish feeling, but inescapable nonetheless.

I exhale slowly, shaking away the sensation as I lock the front door and slide my keys into my purse.

He tugs at the bottom of his leather jacket and nods, “Yup, sure am. How about you?”

Reaching for my suitcase handle, and picking up my small carry-on bag, I nod.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Wow—that’s it? Where’s the rest of it? Your suitcase is smaller than mine,” Blake says, pointing.

“I don’t need much. I’d rather travel light,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. Mostly, it comes from years on the go; moving from place to place before anyone realizes how I’m not aging. I find it’s easier to just—walk away and start over.

“Marry me,” Blake says, his eyebrows raised.

My eyes widen in surprise, “Uh—excuse me?”

“I mean, I’ve never in all my life seen a woman travel so light. You’re an enigma,” he says, flushing. He reaches behind his head, rubbing his neck.

“Oh—right. Well, occupational hazard. Enigma is practically my middle name,” I chuckle. “Let’s—let’s go.”

I clutch the handle of the suitcase tighter, trying to steady my heartbeat and relinquish some of my surprise.

Blake steps off the front entry and walks toward his Rover. In the daylight its dark exterior looks smooth—like the kind of car our local state senator would drive or something. He opens the back, extending his hand out. I roll my suitcase to him. Ridiculously fast, he collapses the handle and places my luggage inside. I flip the carry-on off my shoulder and rest it beside the suitcases.

Blake wasn’t kidding. His suitcase is massive—one of those hard cases that looks like they’re really a mobile armory instead of a place to put your underwear.

“What on earth did you fill that thing with?” I say pointing at the massive case and chuckling. “A body?”

He shoots me a sideways glance but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he flat out ignores my humor and walks to the front of the Rover to take his seat. However, the rosy color in his cheeks tells me it’s a touchy topic—so of course, there’s no way I’m gonna let it rest.

I quirk an eyebrow, nodding to myself.

Oh, it’s on.

“I mean, did you fold Aiden up like origami so you could smuggle him over the border?” I say, as I take my seat beside him and reaching for my seatbelt. “Oh—oh, you’re actually really embarrassed because you brought every outfit in your closet, just in case. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Blake rolls his eyes and starts the Rover.

“Ooooooo, it’s loaded with whips and chains,” I say, before thinking through the words before they tumble outta my mouth.

He turns his head, his eyes wide, and cheeks beet red.

My jaw slacks open.

“Oh my god, it is. There are whips and chains in there?”

I scramble around to look at the case again, but of course the back seat is in the way.

“It’s not like that,” Blake says smirking, his right cheek’s dimple showing. He shifts the vehicle into reverse and gets us going a little too quickly.

“What is it like then?” I ask, cocking my head.

“Well, if we find the men involved—we need a way to apprehend them, don’t we? I have my gear with me. Maybe for a psychic, you don’t require much, but I have my things.”

“Oh, right. Your things. Like whips and chains.”

I burst out into a full, deep laugh. God, it’s been years—like, we’re talking a decade or more since I laughed so hard. Of all the things for him to be nervous over—or try to keep to himself. It’s ludicrous.

But kinda sexy—no, wait not sexy. Cute? Rugged?

Shit.

I shake my head.

Don’t you dare start falling for Blake, Diana Hawthorne. Don’t you effing dare.

My laughter peters out, but I steal another glance at him. His eyes are creased—dimples digging softly I to his cheeks, but he refuses to look my direction. Instead, he deliberately chooses to keep his eyes forward and take the high road.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself.

I’m so screwed.

Of all the times to start developing feelings for someone—of all the people—Blake shouldn’t be it. And it definitely shouldn’t be now. I mean, he looks like he could almost be my father, for crying out loud. I’ve been trapped in this twenty-four-year-old body forever—and he’s gotta be at least thirty-five … maybe pushing forty? As if the people in this small, godforsaken town don’t already think I’m weird, do I really want to add that to the mix?

I suppose I’ve managed to convince people I’m going on twenty-seven, but their complacency isn’t gonna last long.

They’ll start asking questions soon, like they always do — Wow, Diana hasn’t aged a day. Isn’t that weird?

Then I’ll have to find an excuse as to why I need to go. Sick grandma…Mom died. Best friend’s husband left her, and I need to help her raise her three kids. Whatever you can think of—I’ve used it.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Blake asks, crashing through my train of thought.

“Uhm, nothing much,” I say, breathlessly.

I bite my lower lip and look out the passenger side window.

“Are your cheeks flushing?”

My hand instinctively flies upward.

“No, of course not. Why would they be?”

Blake laughs. “You tell me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snort, shaking my head.

“Oh, so now I’m the ridiculous one.”

I smile, “You’re always the ridiculous one.”

“So says the self-proclaimed psychic.”

“Indeed. So, I should know better.”

“How in the hell does that work?”

“Uh, because I said so.”

“Ah, so woman logic.”

“No, just logic—logic, you chauvinistic pig,” I say, laughing.

He shoots me another glance, his lips curving upward in the most easy-going way. The flecks of green and gold in his dark brown eyes sparkle—and I swear for a moment, his gaze could stop