Page 30 of The Mist of Stars
I’m no longer in Gemma’s living room but standing in the backyard of a house I don’t recognize. In front of me is a small section of grass that stretches to a back porch where a patio table and chairs are. And sitting at the table is Gemma and a guy around her age with black hair that reaches his chin. He’sdressed head-to-toe in black and has his arms resting on the table. Gemma is wearing jeans and a black shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail, and worry haunts those gorgeous violet eyes of hers. She has something in her hand—a pocket watch.
“This can reset time?” She lifts her gaze to the guy sitting in the chair.
He nods, yanking his fingers through his hair. “It does. But resetting time comes with a lot of risks.”
Beyond confused, I start toward them when I feel fingers wrap around my arm, and then I’m being jerked back behind a nearby bush.
“What the?—”
A hand comes down over my mouth.
Gemma is standing in front of me, her hand over my mouth and a finger pressed to her lips. She shakes her head, indicating for me to be quiet. I realize then that this is the Gemma I know. I don’t know how I’m able to tell the difference other than it’s a feeling inside my stomach.
Her presence causes that wonderful buzzing to flood my veins, a sensation that occurs every time I’m close to her. I love the feeling but haven’t figured out why it happens.
She slowly lowers her hand from my mouth and gives me a pressing glance, an urgent plea for me to stay as quiet as possible.
“Are you okay?” I whisper in a hushed tone.
She hesitates then whispers, “I’m not sure.”
Her head is cut like it is in real life, and I absentmindedly reach up and brush my finger alongside it. “You’re hurt in here, too.”
A crease forms between her brows as she lifts her hand toward the wound.
I capture her hand in mine, stopping her. “It’ll hurt if you touch it.”
Her full lips thin as she presses them together.
I don’t release her hand, holding it in mine like I’ve wanted to for years. Her skin is flooding with warmth in here. Or maybe it’s the buzzing.
I want to kiss her.
I want to taste her lips.
I want to smell the scent of her hair.
Yeah, I’m a real goner, I know.
“How bad is it?” she whispers, surprisingly not trying to wiggle her hand away from mine.
“It won’t need stitches,” I tell her as quietly as I can, “but it might leave a small scar.”
She briefly mulls this over before turning toward the bush. “So, I don’t know if I’m in a vision or what. All I know is that some version of me is sitting over there with that guy named Evan, apparently, and we’re talking about resetting time.”
“What?” I hiss way too loudly.
She slaps a hand over my mouth to quiet me. “Shh …”
I resist the urge to lick the palm of her hand—she’d probably slap me if I did. Might be worth it, though, just to taste her.
She removes her hand and gives me a dirty look, but she’s still holding my hand.
“If they are talking about resetting time,” I utter softly, “and this is some sort of vision of the future, then that means something awful had to have happened.”
“I know.” She sinks into silence with her face set in contemplation. “What if it’s a vision from the past?”
I angle my head to the side. “Those are rare. And that’d mean …” I trail off at the gravity of what that would mean.