“What?” Della asks. She looks around like there’s a joke she missed. Kit’s mouth twitches, and then he starts to laugh too.

“What’s wrong with you guys?” Della perches her hands on her hips, but she’s smiling.

I can’t even stand up straight. I slide down the living room wall as my stomach rolls with laughter. Have I ever laughed like this? No, and I don’t even know what’s funny.

“She just caught the giggles,” Kit says, shaking his head. There’s a short smile attached to his mouth. “She doesn’t even laugh; that’s a cackle.”

Della nods. “I always thought her laugh sounded evil.”

This makes me laugh harder; the fact that Kit noticed right away, but it took Della ten plus years, and her boyfriend, to know that I have an evil laugh. She wanders off to the kitchen, shaking her head. It’s a bad time to catch Kit’s eye. He’s still standing in front of the closed door, bag in hand. He’s not laughing or smiling anymore. His lips are folded in, and his eyes are narrowed. When our eyes catch, my laughter is gone. Just like that. It’s the Kit I saw in my dream, the one who grabbed my hand and said, “You are supposed to be with me.”

I lean my head back against the wall, hands dangling between my knees. Drunk and not drunk. Sober and not sober. Locking eyes with Kit Isley in his newly purchased love nest doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like shit. I look back at his face because I want to know what he’s feeling. I can see Kit’s chest heaving. Deep breaths because … what? Maybe he had a dream too. Maybe he feels a connection too. It’s probably all in my head, and that’s what makes me feel truly crazy, that I might be making all of this up. I don’t know what propels me to say it. Obviously, I’ve been doing a lot of crazy shit lately.

“Hey, Kit.” My voice is barely audible. I touch my lips to make sure they’re really moving. “I had a dream.”

I move the hair from my eyes so that I can see him clearly, and hold it back out of my face.

His eyes get wide; his lips unfold.

“So you’ve said.” His voice is soft. “What was your dream about?”

Now that he’s asking I don’t know how to say it. Thick tongue, thicker thoughts. How does one declare lunacy? My chest begins to ache. This was a huge mistake. I am still feeling the alcohol from dinner.

Then Della drops something in the kitchen. A glass shatters along with my moment. Timing is everything when you’re about to tell someone you dreamed him into your heart. Fuck if that’s not the corniest thing I ever heard. Kit’s head turns toward the kitchen where Della is cursing loudly, calling for help. He glances back at me regretfully. His eyes drag over my face one last moment, and then he is gone. I don’t even say goodbye. I sneak out while they are in the kitchen. I won’t be missed. I’ve always been the weird one anyway, expected to do things like this. Della likes being around her friends, but ever since she started dating Kit she’s needed us less and less. Which is good. Except not, because I can’t do what I’m thinking. I can’t.

The next morning I open my e-mail to find something from Kit. Last week someone hacked his e-mail and sent me a virus in the form of skinny pills, so I don’t open it right away. I wash my face, make coffee, and put Pat Benatar on the record player. When I finally settle down with my computer, I see that the e-mail is untitled. I brace myself for another virus, but when I open the file, it’s a chapter. I feel giddy that he’s writing again. I sip my coffee and scroll through to see how long it is. It’s been a while since the last time Kit sent me a chapter, and a while since I read a good book. Last I read George, Denver, and Stephanie Brown were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Denver broke his leg and lost his job, and Stephanie, being the ever-kind soul that she was, let him move in with her. George was now at a disadvantage and hoping to injure himself as well. I picture them all living in Stephanie Brown’s small apartment and giggle. People didn’t really take such desperate measures for love. Poor Stephanie Brown was running herself dry with all of their neediness. But when I scroll down, it’s not their story I see. It’s something new. Something that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck from sheer creepiness. I close my computer. Drum my fingers on the case. Open it again. It’s still there, and I’m not dreaming.

CHAPTER ONE

THE DREAM

When I am finished reading, I shut down my computer and go back to bed. I feel safer in my cocoon of creamy sheets and fat pillows. How? How on Earth did he write that? What did it mean? How could he? I stare at the cold coffee on my nightstand and feel ill.

I’m so embarrassed. What was I thinking telling him that? I gave Kit a few words, some ill guarded emotion, and behold! Chapter One: The Dream. Did Chapter One come out of him or me? I don’t know much about artists, but I’m beginning to feel as if they possess sorcery.

My lease is up in a month. I can move. God, haven’t I always wanted to get out of this hot cesspool of sweaty, tanned people and sharp palm trees? I have a disease called can’t keep your fucking mouth shut. And seriously, if you know you’re going to implode, isn’t it better to get to the going?

“Calm down, Helena. You can’t leave town because your best friend’s boyfriend has psychic powers.”

I crawl toward my phone and check my text messages. There’s a message from Kit.

K: I wrote five more chapters last night.