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Skylar

It had been a week since the last dream when I found myself once again waking up in a cold sweat. Same dream, but this time as I was falling, I heard a whisper of my name as the breeze ruffled my hair. A feminine voice, strong and sure. I wondered if it was maybe my voice, but it sounded a little different.

I hop in the shower, trying to shake the uneasy feeling, but for some reason, it is dead set on remaining. Even meditation couldn't ease the apprehension I seemed to feel now and over the last couple of days, only made worse by the seemingly meaningless recurring dream.

I dress quickly in jeans and a plain, fitted shirt, making sure to put on the obsidian necklace my aunt gave me for my eighteenth birthday. It belonged to my mother and had been recovered at the site of the car accident, apparently in a bush close to the wreckage. It's used for protection, which is exactly what I feel like I need. Let's just hope it works better for me than it did for my mom.

I rush out of the house, not even bothering to style my hair, opting instead to leave it down and give it a quick comb-through with my fingers. If I hurry, I can get to the diner before the morning rush. I had forgone my regular morning coffee at my house for a coffee from Fred's Diner. I needed something stronger, and they made a killer cappuccino.

I drop my bicycle off next to the wall outside my shop and make my way over to Fred's, glad to see that it isn't too busy. Larry has not been working the counter lately, and I am greeted by his father, Anton.

I had assumed that his name would be Fred, an assumption I voiced to him three days ago when we had the first conversation ever since I've been in Willow Falls. He told me that the diner was a family-run business passed down from one generation to the next and that its name had remained unchanged.

Looking around after ordering my cappuccino and Rene's usual, I see a couple of faces in the diner I haven't seen before. Two couples in booths and two men sitting at the counter, as well as the big guy from the other day with the huge hands. He is in the same corner booth as before. I have nicknamed him 'Burlo'. Need to call him something, as he seems to have become a regular in this town. Thinking back over the last week, I must have seen him every day so far, except on Sunday when I stayed out of town. Either here or on the streets.

Burlo must be at least six feet tall, with short on the sides, long on the top, blond hair, and steely brown eyes under bushy brows. His shirt is taking a beating from his biceps, and those seams must have been double-stitched to withstand the pressure. His thighs... well, those could kick-start a Boeing. When I realize I am staring and being stared at by these newcomers, I immediately bring my gaze back to the counter. I'm as bad as the locals, I muse.

They must all be tourists, except perhaps for Burlo. Big tourists. While they are not as big as him, I feel like they definitely follow the same training regime, as they are buff as fuck.

I pay for my order, thanking Anton, who hands it to me. As I'm about to leave, my cell rings.

I place the coffees back on the counter and fish my phone out of my bag.

Chris. He rarely uses my personal number and usually calls the shop, so this is unusual.

"Hey, Chris," I answered, turning around to face the door for some privacy.

"Hi Skylar, sorry to bother you." The use of my full name doesn't go unnoticed, but I say nothing. I have no intention of dragging this public conversation out any longer than it has to be, especially when it suddenly feels like all eyes and ears are on me.

"No problem. Is everything okay?" I ask as I watch a couple of children playing in the park.

"All fine, Skylar. Thank you for asking. I will be in the area sometime next week on business, and I wanted to take you out for dinner, finally meet face to face if you're up for it?"

I hesitate for a moment, unsure how I feel about this impromptu dinner invitation. Speaking on the phone and meeting in person over dinner were two completely different things. But perhaps this was what he did with all his clients. Maybe I was reading too much into it, and it was merely a business dinner. Some sort of marketing strategy. Besides, he seems nice, and we will be in a public place, so it should be okay.

"Skylar, are you there?" Chris asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Um, yes, I'm here, sorry. Sure, that will be great, thank you. There are not many places to eat, so we will have to settle for Fred's Diner in town. But they make great food, so I'm sure you will love it. Just let me know when, and we can meet up there." My cheeks are burning red from embarrassment.

"Excellent. I look forward to finally meeting you." He sounds almost relieved that I have accepted.

"Me too. Anyway, I must go, but we'll chat soon then. Bye, Chris." The words are rushed, but I can't help it. I just want this very public conversation to be over. It is the first dinner date I have had with a man in ages, and now that I have accepted, I am second-guessing my decision.

"Bye, Skylar," he says, amusement in his tone. He can probably hear that I am uncomfortable.

I turn around quickly, taking my order before hastily exiting the diner.

Am I excited about finally meeting him? I had been very curious about his looks, even creating images of him in my mind. Based on his voice, he must be older than I am. A mature man. I preferred older men. They were more confident. But was Chris the man I would finally break my dry spell with? Probably not.

Not when I think about the reason for this dry spell of over five years. Even if we met and I liked him, nothing could happen, not that it would, I reassure myself. Even if we hit it off, it would have to be strictly professional or, at the very most, friends. And while I knew this was the reality, I couldn't help the feeling of disappointment from creeping in. The thought that I will never have a normal relationship. That I will always be alone. While I was accustomed to this, I wished it were different at this very moment. I wished the loneliness I usually dealt well with wasn't something I needed to endure. But it wasn't, and this was my life. A life alone.

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