I am like a fish out of water as I gasp for air. I look around me and the computer sits right in front of me and Nicolas Moreno is next to me, looking on at me with concern.

"Corinne," he says, furrowing his brow. "Are you all right? Esta bien?"

The train explosions. The way each explosion seemed so deliberate. I close my eyes and that is all I see. The beautiful young blonde girl, her bright blue eyes. There is a sense of dread that creeps up in my blood, coursing through my veins like a vine desperate to choke the life out of me. Do I need to go to the doctor? I need to find out why I've been having these dreams.

"I'm all right," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart rages on in my chest. It feels like it's about to leap out.

"Your hands are shaking. You had been staring at the same screen for the last ten minutes. I thought you were doing heavy reading, but then your eyes closed, so I let you sleep."

"Oh," I say, heat rising up to my face. "You should have woken me up. I had a nightmare."

Why did I see Inaki Leblanc in old-fashioned clothes like Nicolas? And why were the both of them near me? God, I need to stop watching TV. This is getting ridiculous. Ever since I met Nicolas Moreno that one midnight, my dreams have been scaring me.

"I'm sorry that you had a nightmare. Do you want to tell me what it's about?"

"Why, um, are you here?" I ask. "You could have left me alone here ages ago, but you're still here."

He shrugs, but smiles. Then takes my hand gently in his own and says. "Because you helped me find my flute, the most precious thing in the world to me. I want to make sure that the person who helped me, I help them too. After all, I am intrigued about Marie Guidry. Now, tell me about your nightmare."

He takes my hand in his and squeezes as breath escapes from my body, almost as if my soul has leaped out of me, just for a moment. He still holds my hand and I'm breathing heavier now. My heart rate is going up on my smart watch, showing borderline dangerous levels. I have to make it go down, it's going higher and higher. Deep breaths, Corrie. Deep breaths. There that's better. Much better.

"It, uh, was about a train. There was an, um, explosion while I was on it." My watch is beeping again. Oh, God. It's at 115. Go down. Deep breaths, Corrie.

I watch as his face pales and he frowns as his shoulders slump.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asks. "I did not mean to. I am sorry. Do you not wish to be touched?"

God, yes. I want it.

"I, uh, I don't --"

"Oh," he says. "I understand. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't touch your hand anymore."

No, no. Why can't you just say what you mean? I haven't felt a thrill with a touch like this, not ever. Not even with Jeff. I don't understand what he's doing to me. To my body. Someone I barely know, but so badly want to touch his chest and feel his heart beat against my hand. His face. His hair. His lips with my fingers. Corrie, stop being stupid. Stop. Stop it. Don't think like this. How can I tell this man that I've been dreaming of his face for the last two years, and that all of a sudden, dreams of him are becoming more and more frequent, even though they are a bit strange. And why is his touch doing these strange things to me? I don't understand it at all and its driving me insane.

I watch as Nicolas taps his foot on the floor, fidgeting with his thumbs. He stands up, then paces around the computer area.

"I'm going to step away for a moment," he says, not meeting my eyes. "I'll be back later."

"All right," I say, scratching my neck. I ruined it. Of course, I did. I pushed him away. I freaking ruined it.

I stare at the computer screen, the white blazing in my eyes and I curse at myself. Why do you have to be so stupid, Corrie? I want to say that he doesn't make me uncomfortable. Not at all. I just don't know him well enough, but at the same time, I want to know him better. Corrie, you are an idiot for letting him walk away.

I get up from my chair and walk fast, looking for signs of him. At first I don't see him, but looking on, I see him pacing around two aisles.

"Nicolas," I say catching up to him. "What I meant is—"

"It's okay," he says with a smile. "You do not even know me. I don't know you either. I should not have touched your hand like that. The fault is mine."

"I honestly want to know you better," I say. "I've just been having a hard go of it lately. Things have been rough. Having a lot of strange dreams."

"It's okay," he says. "I'll be more mindful of the way that I touch you from now on."

Is this man being for real?

"Do you want to go somewhere with me later?" Oh God, I think I'm asking him on a date.

"Where?" He smiles, arching a brow. "I'd like to know you better too."

"The best kept secret," I say leaning in close. "Is Cafe du Monde at midnight. It's open twenty-four hours. It's when there aren't that many people. Mainly drunk people from Bourbon Street trying to sober up."

"Deal," he says. "I've always wanted to try their beignets."