Beyond Your Touch

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Authors: Pat Esden
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    T he next morning, I was jolted awake at four a.m. by a sudden realization. With everything that had been going on, I’d missed the registration deadline for the fall semester at Sotheby’s. I could sneak into an online class, but I’d really wanted to take the short course in London.
    As I switched on the bedside light, my brain finished waking up and I realized I was mistaken. The deadline was next week.
    With a sigh, I got out of bed, retrieved my phone from my bag, and double-checked Sotheby’s e-mail. Yup, one more week, and I knew exactly which course to register for. There were a ton of more important things going on right now, but that didn’t mean I could just blow this off. After all, I’d been dying to do it for ages.
    I slumped down in the desk chair with the phone in my hand, thinking about classes and how I’d felt last night watching Selena and Olya scry, like I was exactly where I was meant to be. Before Dad and I had returned to Moonhill, I’d never thought about doing anything other than deal antiques, travel, and buy and sell stuff. Sure, I wanted to take classes and become a certified appraiser—as a way to do what Dad had done but on a higher level. It’s what I’d always planned for my future, along with spending some time in London on my own.
    Except now there were these unexpected forks in the road: Selena, my grandfather, all these family members, magic and secrets, a whole world I thought only existed in stories. And the possibility of Mother coming home, so many things had already begun to change because of that. And there was Chase. There was no way to tell if what he and I had would last. But my gut and heart—and a few other parts a bit lower down in my body—screamed that they didn’t want to be away from him, in fact they yearned to be with him every second.
    Chase. I let my hand touch my lips, drift down my throat, dreaming about how my whole body trembled with desire when our eyes met and lingered. Just the two of us, alone. How yesterday, after we’d left his mother’s house, my heart had ached and I’d longed to put my arms around him, to comfort him. It must have been horrible for him to hear that his mom was in a permanent care facility. What had the maid called it?
    I picked my phone up from my lap and did a quick search. Maine. Care Facilities. Beach Rose House. In a moment, my suspicion was confirmed. It was in Bar Harbor, not far from the village green, in fact.
    Most likely, Chase had done the same Internet search since we’d gotten home. He was probably out there patrolling the grounds alone, thinking about his mom and if he wanted to take the next step and contact her. Or he was thinking about how he might never see her, if something went wrong when he attempted to rescue my mother.
    I glanced at the time. Four thirty. His shift ended at five.
    I sent him a text: Hey. How’s it going? Quiet night?
    He answered instantly: Real quiet. About to wake Tibbs so he can take over.
    A spike of excitement raced into my veins and I smiled. I knew what would cheer Chase up. Maybe I’d pay for it later, but who needed sleep anyway? Meet me on the widow’s walk. ASAP.
    Why?
    Bring some ice.
    I shut off my phone and threw it into my oversize shoulder bag before he could ask me anything else.
    Leaving my sleep shirt on, I brushed my hair and put on a tiny bit of makeup. Then I snagged a couple single-serve orange juices and the bottle of strawberry vodka that I’d had Tibbs pick up for me, and stashed them in my bag along with a couple of Solo cups. It was a bitch being twenty and having to find people to buy liquor for me, not to mention having to stash mixers in my underwear drawer like some kid in high school, not that I drank that much—but it was nice to have something for occasions like this.
    I grabbed the quilt off my bed and

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