9. Arit

Chapter nine

Arit

T his is a horrible, terrible, very bad idea, but I can’t seem to make myself walk away.

For millions of years, I’ve been roaming this earth with nothing but duty on my mind, and now, after one conversation, I’m suddenly captivated by the most accident-prone man alive. A human man, with flesh and blood, who eats sandwiches and nearly dies just by being alive.

How Nixon has survived this long is truly a mystery.

But whatever is at play here, be it Fate or coincidence, I find myself drawn to him and all his little peculiarities.

That said, I have to watch it. I’m not used to censoring my words, so comments about how I would never harm a human have never been a problem. Nixon is perceptive though, and if it weren’t for the concussion, I’m sure he would have demanded more than my passing attempts at distracting him.

The sandwich shop is quite interesting. I’ve definitely been inside buildings before, when the need to collect my next charge demands it, but aside from my limited dwellings, I’ve lived mostly on the outside of things. I’ve never had a need to enter a sandwich shop. But with Nixon, even though he doesn’t know it, everything is extraordinary.

I study everything. The menu, the architecture, the music playing in the background, the employees. The silly artwork of the sandwich being turned into a weapon of war is amusing to me as well.

I follow Nixon’s lead, going where he goes and remaining silent as he orders his meal. The looks I’m getting from the workers and other patrons range between hostility to outright lust. And that in itself is fascinating. I’ve never spent much time in my true form without my mask, but even after one outing, I can see why we’re meant to be hidden.

The whispers carry.

He’s so pretty it’s like he’s not real.

He looks like a model.

That jawline could cut glass.

The simple fact that I stand out is one of Fate’s flaws. I know reapers have evolved alongside human beings for millions of years, taking on evolution’s newest, most perfected traits. I’m not sure if Fate really thought about what that would mean for us should our presence become known because humans would be able to pick us out with ease.

As soon as Nixon’s meal is handed over, we make our way back outside.

“I’m sorry about that,” I blurt, even though I hadn’t meant to address the elephant in the room.

“About what?” Nixon asks, leading the way toward the park. He doesn’t know that I know the way better than he does, but I let him lead as I walk beside him.

“I don’t go out a lot, so I’m not used to these types of situations. I don’t know if I should have said something or simply ignored it.” Understatement of my existence.

“It’s fine. People are going to talk no matter what. I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable.”

Offering Nixon a small smile, I ask, “May I carry your bag? You’ve already carried it to the library and back and now to lunch. I’d be glad to help ease your burden.”

Nixon glances at me and stumbles ever so slightly on an uneven section of sidewalk but catches himself before any harm can be done. “You’re very distracting, but no, I’m all right. It’s only my laptop and e-reader. Thank you for the offer though.”

“You’re welcome. And you think I’m distracting?” I can’t let that gem slip.

He shoots me an exasperated look that makes me want to smile in return. “As if the chatter in the sandwich shop wasn’t enough. You know you are. Everyone we pass is distracted by you, including me, and I’m already prone to tripping.”

Now that makes me laugh. “Yes, you are.”

Nixon studies me as we enter the park but doesn’t comment. I can tell he wants to though, that he’s curious about me. Well, I’m curious about him as well, so I guess that’s a good thing.

We head toward the nearest bench as I notice a new tug in my chest. It should be a little while yet, as distant as it feels. I hate to run out on Nixon again, but I will if I must. My duty is my purpose, and there is no ignoring it.

Attempting to push my wandering thoughts aside, I join Nixon as he sits and pulls out his sandwich, tuna on sourdough. Having never eaten human food, I try to see the appeal. I realize the emotion, the passion, and tradition associated with humans and food. I understand that meals have been part of the human experience since the dawn of their existence. I know the symbolism and ritual, the aching need and the gluttonous desire. I realize the significance of sharing a meal with others.

As Nixon takes his first few bites, humming his satisfaction and approval, I sit in contemplation over something so simple. Us reapers are relatively solitary. We drift on our own, only stopping to chat with others if we pass into another’s territory or they into ours. But our work, our ferrying, is singular. It’s done alone. And by proxy, so is our recharging. Our eating, so to speak. No two reapers would ever be able to coexist in the same moment together.

This simple meal I’m attending with Nixon, while I may not be eating, is maybe the first meal I’ve ever been present for with another. The realization is flabbergasting and confounding at the same time.

I turn in my seat to watch Nixon, completely befuddled by this amazing being.

I don’t know what I must look like, but Nixon freezes mid-bite and the most gorgeous blush colors his cheeks. “Why are you staring at me?” He grabs a napkin and dabs at his beard. “Do I have food in my beard?”

All I can do is shake my head as I gaze over every one of Nixon’s features—his straight eyebrows, his freckled cheeks, the slope of his straight nose, the curve of his hairline across his forehead. “No.”

“Then what is it? Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like that. Like you’re either going to cry or kiss me.”

The idea of kissing Nixon is suddenly all I can think about, primarily because I’ve never kissed anyone before, reaper or otherwise. What would it feel like to press my lips to his? Would my body respond? Would his? “Definitely the latter. Kissing you seems like a brilliant idea.”

Nixon huffs an adorably cute sound that’s a cross between disbelief and humor. “You’re crazy. All I’m doing is eating a tuna fish sandwich, which is the least sexy sandwich out there, and now you want to kiss me? I think we’re jumping ahead a few steps in the getting-to-know-you phase.”

“I don’t. I already know you, Nixon Everhart. Just as you know me. We’ve met countless times, only this time you can see me as I am. I don’t know why things are different now, and I don’t know how the change happened, but watching you eat a tuna fish sandwich—talking to you at all, for that matter—is the best thing to happen to me in a very, very long time. So, no. I don’t think kissing you is jumping ahead.”

Nixon freezes, eyes huge as he stares at me. His skin has lost a bit of color, but I know he’s perfectly fine. “What?” he finally manages, though the word is more of a breath than an actual word. “What are you talking about?”

“Fate,” I reply.

“Fate? What fate? You think you know me? That we’ve met before today?”

I can see that Nixon is on the verge of freaking out, but I’m not worried. I’m not going anywhere, and I have years to wait him out. “Yes. Maybe not in this life, but I know you. I have known you. Many times. Though as I mentioned, things are different this time around.”

“Because I can see you?” Nixon’s words are dripping with disbelief and cynicism.

“Yes. That’s never happened before. I wasn’t even sure what it meant myself. But that has to be the reason, right? I mean, why else would you suddenly be able to see me after all these years?”

Nixon makes a choking sound, but he hasn’t had a bite of his sandwich in a minute or two, so he’s probably fine. “Years?”

“Of course. You’ve never seen me before last night.” But this does bring up an interesting point of contemplation. Why, all of a sudden, would Nixon be able to see me? “Come to think of it, I have no idea why—”

“Wait a freaking minute,” Nixon demands, his indignation turning angry. “What do you mean, before last night? I only met you a few hours ago. I didn’t see you last night.”

Abruptly, the conversation takes a nosedive, and I know I need to back off. I’ve probably already said too much, but I can’t help wanting to plant the seed in Nixon’s mind that something is happening between us that goes beyond the realm of his world and mine. Somehow our two worlds have overlapped, or perhaps the veil has thinned, but however we arrived at this moment, I can’t ignore my inner voice telling me that Nixon is mine. Or at least his soul is. I do quite like the packaging though.

“I know it may seem that way since you have no recollection of the past, but I assure you, we’ve met before. Many times.” I lower my gaze so Nixon doesn’t feel quite so put on the spot and say, “I apologize if it seems like I’m coming on too strong. I can tell you think I’m not all here. I’m not trying to upset you, and I didn’t seek you out with any ill intentions. I was merely curious about the change in our dynamic and that drove me to your building, where you inadvertently found me standing on the sidewalk. I didn’t intend on intruding on your day or even making myself known to you. I’ve just been alone for so long that I suppose curiosity killed the cat.”

Nixon is quiet for so long that I do eventually turn to see what he’s doing.

He’s staring at me, and I can see the tangle of thoughts and emotions vying for attention behind his eyes. It’s another full minute before he finally says, “I don’t know what to think. I want to tell you to get the hell away from me and that I never want to see you again. That you’re a creep and a psycho.” That makes me wince. Nixon looks down at his lap and fidgets with his sandwich wrapper. Then he takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “But also—this is so fucking weird—I recognize you too.”