Free Crashing Souls by Cynthia A. Rodriguez Page B

A color that was supposed to be reminiscent of sadness, feeding me great joy.
    “That’s got to be interesting.” Her eyes continued to twinkle under the Christmas lights as she sipped her soda through the straw. “Are you afraid of walking across the street?”
    “No.” I laughed. “Tell me what I was like before. Did we ever speak to one another before today?” I didn’t think Dexter would associate himself with someone like her. All of that freedom and color in his seemingly adult life? No. She’d had Dexter pegged correctly. Only now she thought of him as me.
    She looked up at the ceiling, as if in thought. “You were this guy who noticed everything and nothing. Your head was in the clouds most days, but you were—are—so smart. You were the prince to my peasant. Before today, you never even looked at me, something that I dreamed would change.” She smiled to herself. I wanted her smile to be aimed at me, to shine under the radiance of it. “I think that was what made you such a big deal. No one mattered. Not even Becca. You were content to be alone, never needing the compliment of a beautiful companion. That’s why you are so beloved. Because you belong to yourself only.” Her smile never wavered.
    I wanted to belong to her. And I wanted her to
want
me to belong to her.
    “Are you actually happy to be here, Noa?” I asked in a teasing tone, hoping to hear that she was. And God knew I wanted to get the subject off of Becca or any other woman for that matter.
    “I don’t know yet. Ask me again in a few years.” We were interrupted by the waitress setting down our food. Noa dug in almost immediately, groaning with appreciation.
    “Good?” I asked, watching her, not even touching my own plate.
    “ Like heaven,” she said, placing her napkin against her mouth so I wasn’t faced with a mouthful of food. She chewed and swallowed and spoke again. “Sorry. This is my favorite place.” She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
    I shook my head. I wanted to touch her hair, run my fingers through it, and hold it against the light to see how pigmented it was. I’d be wrapped up in the blue silk of it forever.
    “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
    I shrugged. “I’m actually not that hungry. So, why in a few years?” I leaned back, content to watch her. It didn’t seem to bother her.
    “Pardon me?” She took another bite.
    “Why ask you again in a few years?” I sipped my drink.
    “Haven’t you heard? Hindsight is 20/20. And besides, I don’t know that I’ll ever even see you again. Maybe you’re satisfying some morbid curiosity. Maybe you’re slumming, looking to see how the other side lives.” She shrugged. “The movies show us happy endings and that someone like me can end up with someone like you, but let’s be honest. I am no Becca Hamilton.”
    I had to chuckle, a move that surprised her.
    “I was hoping you’d see me every day this week. If you don’t ever want to see me again, I’d walk away,”
lie
, “but that’d be your choice.” I couldn’t tell her the Grim Reaper had spared me and sent me back to find her. And that, quite possibly, the soul that belonged with mine was somehow implanted in her. I hadn’t figured out the logistics of it yet.
    I reached up and pinched a portion of the blue strands between my thumb and forefinger and rolled the silkiness of it against my fingertips, only because I couldn’t help myself. “And you being nothing like Becca Hamilton is the greatest compliment you could ever be paid.”
    She blinked a few times, and the rise and fall of her chest was the only other move her body made. I dropped my hand, worried I’d offended her.
    “Sorry,” I said, focusing on the plate in front of me.
    “You should be,” she said, snatching her belongings together.
    “Hold on, what’s the problem?” I asked, rising when she did.
    “If you’re looking to get laid, I can give you the names