Hey guys, I'm back with the second chapter! Sorry it took such a long time - but seriously, working with so many others and waiting so we can all post at about the same time takes just a bit longer than a few days. Sorry again! Hope you enjoy the next installment...

"Hello, how many for your party?" Libby asked the gorgeous man, habitually reaching for her organiser.

The mysterious boy looked uncomfortable. "Um… actually…"

I grinned, and piped up immediately. "You've kept me waiting," I called across the room.

Libby stiffened and turned slowly toward me, and by sense of a rather keen intuition I could tell that she was disappointed she wouldn't have the ample opportunity to flirt with my guest.

My guest.

Tall, and wearing the exact same clothes from my vision, he looked even more unreal while he stood across the room from me than he had in my vision. It was like watching a film.

He stared at me for a full ten seconds, unmoving, looking at every aspect of my face and visible appearance. Half of me was hidden by the table, of course. He just looked, but instead of the crawly feeling I usually get when guys stare at me, I felt the skin on the back of my neck warm with something like a breath. It was oddly comforting.

Then he dropped his gaze to the floor, unsure of what to do.

Libby led him over to me, polite smile in place. "Would y'all like something to drink?" she asked him, stopping just shy of hitting the table's edge.

He looked like he hadn't heard for a moment, but then he blinked and seemed to understand.

"Coke," he said.

Libby bowed her head slightly, but he wasn't looking at her any more. She left to get his drink.

I waved to the seat across from me, determined to be polite. "Sit," I offered.

He flumped down like a bag of rice – like he'd been on his toes, waiting for the offer.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," he said quietly, ducking his head in a small apologetic nod. One corner of my mouth pulled up as I remembered how clueless he was to my appearance. "I didn't know that anyone would be waiting for me though," he went on. "And I'm sorry again, but do we know each other from somewhere?" He grinned, like he was trying to remember me from somewhere.

The tap dancers in my stomach were dancing something furious, but I tried not to let it show. My excitement was overriding the urge to crawl under the table and apologise with my face covered. I started to fidget – wait, scrap that – I started to fidget more.

"Well, I guess it's understandable that you don't remember me, since you've never even seen me before. But I'm Alice." I smiled long and wide now, trying to give the impression that I may be slightly hyper, but not crazy or stalkerish.

"Good," he said, "I hate it when I meet someone again and I've forgotten them. I always feel like such an… a jerk." He changed his sentence halfway, and I guessed as to why.

"No, you seem like a perfect gentleman," I countered truthfully. "I've definitely got my contacts – I can usually find people easily. When they want to be found, of course."

"Oh?" He seemed interested. "How's that?"

"You just happened to turn up on the radar in my… um, actually, you just happened to turn up."

He looked confused. "I don't understand what you mean. Honestly, I've been trying to lay low. And I haven't been missing long enough for the cops to get involved."

Ignoring the intense interest I felt at wanting to hear his story, my mouth formed words of its own accord. "I had some pretty weird ways of figuring out that we'd meet. I…" The words still wouldn't come out. I stared down at the table blankly for a few seconds, not moving, afraid for the first time in my life of being shunned for what I could do.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"You won't believe me," I whispered. Suddenly, embarrassingly, I felt timid. I was never timid. "You'll… you'll laugh and … and…"

I took a chance look up from the tablecloth. He was focusing entirely on me.

"No I won't."

I put my head in my hands, a headache threatening the borders of my skull. Once they were there, I didn't want to take them down. Never before had I been so afraid of a negative reaction. I looked up at him from between my fingers. He grinned, but the focus was still there.

Don't squeak, don't squeak, don't squeak…

"Iceethefutre," I squeaked the breath of mushy words.

"What?" he chuckled immediately. My ears flared.

"See! I knew you'd laugh!" I shot, genuinely hurt. He was laughing at me.

"What? No. No, I just didn't hear you. You squeaked and I couldn't tell what you said."

Liar. "I. Don't. Squeak." I snapped, more angry at myself for being so out of character with this peachy faced man.

"My mistake," he said, but there was humor in his voice. "I just must not have heard you." He turned my best puppy dog eyes on me, and my bones melted in to puddles at my feet. Oh, wow. That look could charm the heavens…When he spoke again, his voice was husky and low. I loved it. "Could you please tell me again?"

The melting of my bones had slightly softened the glare on my face, but the adorable look in his eyes was my Achilles heel. "Ok," I breathed, summing my life up to the details before delivery.

"My name is Mary Alice Brandon. I live in Pine Grove – a housing estate up north. I have a mother and a father who live there too, no siblings, and ever since I was a kid I've been able to see the future."

Clearly, he didn't believe me. The little pink monster was starting to climb back on my shoulder, however. Instead of trembling with pain, now I was determined to make him believe me.

Libby appeared then – and I had to applaud her timing. She was carrying his soda in a frosty old fashioned diner style glass. The ice chinked against the edge as she sat it down.

"Would you like to order now?" she asked. She frowned, looking between the two of us.

"Uh, no, I need to look at the menu still," he said, and I realised that we had been caught up in our own little bubble with no regard for anyone else. Two tables had emptied without my noticing.

My guest reached for his menu but didn't open it.

Libby cleared her throat, vying for his attention. "Well, call out if you need anything, and I'll stop by in a minute." She scurried back towards the kitchen, casting an admiring look back over her shoulder. He ignored her, his eyes trained on me. I thrilled on the inside and started bouncing slightly in my seat.

"How does that work?" he finally asked. I didn't need clarification. That question was one of the most common asked when people were told of my ability. And, like almost everyone else, there was clear skepticism in his tone. My heart began to sink toward my knees, floating and spinning on its way down like a dark red leaf in autumn. The disappointment couldn't be hidden from my expression.

"Never mind," I said, looking away. I abruptly wanted him to forget about it for the moment, until I could think of a sure-fire way to gain his belief. I brought a hand up to my eyes, kneading my eyeballs to get the neurons firing. It didn't work.

"Hey," he said gently, and I felt his warm fingers close around the hand still resting on the table.

My eyes snapped open so fast that I narrowly avoided poking myself in the eye. Good thing my palm blocked that view from him. I sucked in a quick breath and didn't breathe it out for fear of ruining the moment.

"Please," he went on. "I want to hear about it. About you."

Oh my God! He's interested – perhaps on some kind of freaky-science-experiment level – but I'll take it!

"We should order," I said, lowering my hand. I didn't want everything to be all about me. I suddenly worried about something – he hadn't said a thing about himself. I didn't even know his name.

"Will you tell me after that?" he asked with an unexpected note of desperation in his tone.

Hmm…

I smiled again and reached for the menu, gently loosening my hand from his smooth palm. I didn't want to, but it was better for me to do it than for him to. Most girls would do something like it – it was a defensive mechanism. "I guess so."

He finally opened his own menu, staring without seeing. I couldn't help but watch him for a few seconds, but then his eyes started to move and I concentrated on my own list for fear of getting caught perving. He really was gorgeous.

Curly writing covered the pages of the leather-bound menu. I glanced at the prices first, thinking of how to best pull out my credit card when it was required. Perhaps I could get a glance at his shoes while leaning for my bag? Shoes say a lot about a person.

A few silent minutes later I'd made a mental list of what I wanted, so I looked around for Libby. She materialised quickly once spotted, her pen poised for action.

Determined to be polite, I lowered my menu and folded my hands. "So what would you like?" I asked him. He just inclined his head towards me.

A gentleman too.

I cleared my throat, wanting to sound confident with myself. Apparently, guys love confidence.

"I'll have the 'Chilled Fresh Basil, Tomatoes, Bufala Mozzarella' dish as my appetizer please. Then, for the main course…" I glanced down at my menu again, though I couldn't stop myself from peeking at my guest to gauge his reaction. He looked kind of impressed, but the look was too quick to be sure. "And the 'Chargrilled Fresh Ground Sirloin' as my main, thank you. Oh, and add the 'Marsala Wine Mushroom Sauce' to the sirloin, please."

Libby made some marks on her organiser. "Starch or vegetable with that?"

"Vegetable, thank you."

"And what would you like, sir?"

"Could I have the Caesar salad to start with and the 'Chargrilled London Broil' for mains."

I inwardly applauded. He didn't look like he came from a 'posh society', but pronunciation was spot on and he was ordering some of the most expensive things on the menu.

Libby finished scribbling, whisked away the menus and disappeared through the kitchen doors once again.

I started to fidget, remembering my promise. "Does this mean I have to talk now?"

"What? No, not if you don't want to."

"Good. I just, I don't know, I'd rather talk about some thing else." I really didn't want to hear him laugh at me again… I'd only bared half the situation. He didn't yet need to know how I'd found him.

My theory of his tiredness was proven when he yawned, trying at the last minute to cover his mouth with his hand. I giggled slightly at his late reaction. It looked so silly, the way his hand almost thwacked his teeth and how his eyes crinkled at the corners. I noticed for the first time a long scar on the back of his hand, running across his knuckles then turning sharply to hide beneath his sleeve. I was contemplating a polite way to ask when he interrupted my thoughts.

"I need to go wash my hands, so you don't talk about anything important yet." He rose from the table and started to walk away, but then twisted back and pushed his chair in. The manners are definitely there, then. They must have stemmed from somewhere. He wove his carefully way through tables and chairs toward to the bathroom, then disappeared through the swinging door.

I started fiddling with my fork, thinking.

My mystery man seemed quite elusive, but I loved it. There was nothing more fabulous to me than a good mystery because they didn't happen very often. I wondered where he had come from, and why he was here, in Morehead City. His attitude to the stewardess suggested he didn't come here often, let alone to somewhere even remotely like this at all. His clothes suggested no sign of imminent wealth, as was the same with the leather duffel bag he'd left beside his chair.

Ooooh!

I shouldn't… I shouldn't… but I really want to! A look in to the future told me that he wasn't returning within a few minutes, so I threw caution to the wind and dived for the bag.

It was made of the kind of crinkly leather that you would expect to find on a grandfather's favourite around-home shoes. The bag was very soft, and worn, but sturdy. I took a quick peek around me before leaning forward and inhaling the scent of the bag. It was like freshly baked white-chocolate muffins. I loved muffins. The zipper opened easily. I automatically reached in and pulled out the first thing I touched. A toothbrush.

Boring, that's normal…

An expensive silver flip-top cigarette lighter came out next. Yuck, I hated cigarettes. They smelled dreadful, made the smoker smell like death and caused the same outcome. That would have to change.

I placed that on the table beside the toothbrush, and reached in once more. Something cold and hard brushed my fingertips. Fascinated and burningly curious, I pulled it out and slapped it down in my palms.

Oh God.

However, my freak-out was interrupted by my handy warning vision – my guest was about to put his hand on the door to re-enter the dining room. Racing, I swept the toothbrush, lighter and offensive item into his duffel bag, zipped it shut and gently swung it back down on to the floor by his chair.

I tried to look normal as he reached his chair – but felt my face slacken as I realised something crucial.

Wrong side of the chair. Uh oh. Please don't notice, please don't notice, please don't notice…

"What's the matter?" he asked, still standing behind his chair. Oh, how ironically sweet. He was worried about my well-being.

"Nothing," I answered quickly. Too quickly. Damn it.

He looked down to grip the back of his chair then, but his head swiveled from one side of his chair to the other, obviously calculating the duffel-bag situation. His shoulder's tensed and his eyes were flamingly dangerous when he looked up at me. My blood didn't turn to ice at that stare – it felt like it had left my body entirely.

"Find anything interesting?" His voice was like a whip. I flinched.

"I-in your bag. W-was… is that …"

"A gun?" he snarled. I nodded, my throat tight with fear. Everything I thought I had known about this guy was unpleasantly skewed by that single item. His eyes froze over. "Yes. Yes it is."

"Why?" I asked, truly lost.

He looked very angry. "I don't think I need explain my self to you," he spat. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing in this place anyhow." He stood up quickly, producing a wad of green from his pocket and tossing a fifty onto the table.

He turned to walk away, and I raised my hand as if to say something to get him to come back, but he stopped and turned. I retracted my hand ever so slightly, something that didn't pass his attention.

"Sorry you waited for nothing."

I wasn't sure, but he sounded just as disappointed as I felt.

Okay! There it is! Hope it was worth reading :-)

Chapter 2 Question:

What is your favourite thing to do when you're bored?

I like to write :-D shocking, I know! Lol.

Have a fantastic new years,

-Shaps