29.

The dream still clouded my mind the next morning when I got up for breakfast. I moved into the kitchen, his words playing over and over in my head and the concerned look on his face becoming a permanent image in my mind's eye. I got down the package of muffin mix and got out the milk. As I cut open the small package, I wondered if the only reason Nate had appeared in my dream was because I was stressed.

I was going to be going on a mission in a few short hours and my mind knew that and was stressed about it. It would be my first "official" mission and I couldn't help but feel nervous, though I knew that I was well prepared. So, maybe I was so stressed that my mind just created a really random scene for me.

Other option: it was real and it was a warning. There are some things that need to be said. And you've waited too long to admit them to yourself. So, was it just my subconscious trying to tell me something? I mean, I had never believed in the whole ghosts and haunting thing. Nate couldn't have penetrated into my dream. He was dead. He'd been dead for a while now.

I poured the muffin mix evenly into the muffin pan and then put it into the oven. I set the timer and sighed as I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms on my chest, still thinking about my dream. I had dreamed about Nate since he had died, of course, but it had always been just a replay of his death. It was never as peaceful as it had been the night before. Still, I refused to believe that it was some sign of Nate coming back from beyond the grave to warn me about something. I didn't need to be warned. Nothing was wrong.

"You okay?" Brian asked, scratching his head as he came into the kitchen. He wore only pajama pants and his body was well toned. He had been accepted into the CIA, too, and he had been working out harder than ever.

"Fine," I said, forcing a smile.

"You seem stressed," he replied, looking me over carefully.

I shook my head. "Nope. Right as rain, thanks."

"You're stressed," he concluded. "And distracted."

"How do you figure?" I asked.

He pointed to the oven. "You're trying to cook muffins and the oven isn't even on."

I blushed as I moved to correct the error. "Just a blond moment."

"You're not blond."

"So what? Anyone can have blond moments."

He shrugged and moved to wrap his arms around me. "Maybe this mission isn't such a good idea; it's stressing you out."

"It's a very good idea," I replied, moving out of his arms to load the dishwasher with dirty dishes. "I'll be fine."

"If you say so." He leaned against the counter to watch me.

The muffins were ready shortly and we each took some to eat. When I was done, I went to go take a shower and I was in there for a while, letting the hot water just run over me and soothe my tense muscles. It helped at first, but as soon as I got out, I felt tense again. Some part of my mind was paying attention to Nate's – no, my dream's – warning.

I pulled on jeans and a red Hollister shirt before pulling my hair into a high ponytail with braided-back bangs and a little bit of makeup on my face. I took a few deep breaths as I stared into the mirror. "You can do this, Layla," I told myself. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."

After a few more deep breaths, I walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. I hadn't put on shoes yet, so Brian hadn't heard me enter. He was sitting on the couch, staring intently at the phone in his hands. Wait a second…that was my phone.

Why was he looking at my phone? I could see him, scrolling through something. My text messages, maybe? My calls? Was he suspicious of me? Did he think I was cheating? "Um, Brian, what are you doing?" I asked.

He jumped and looked at me the way that guilty people do, trying to compose his face quickly. "You scared me," he forced a laugh, though it sounded very convincing. "You had a phone call. I was checking it for you."

"Who was it?" I asked.

"Wrong number," he shrugged. "It was weird."

No; the only thing weird was that he was going through my phone. I held out my hand. "Can I have it back?"

"Sure," he said, holding out my phone. I took it and made a mental note to go through it later.

"Thanks," I said softly. "I should probably get going."

"Without shoes?" he asked, looking pointedly at my feet.

"I'm about to grab some," I replied, heading for the bedroom.

He followed. "So, where did you say your mission is?"

"I didn't," I replied as I opened the closet door and turned on the light. "The director doesn't want me to say anything to anyone, not even you. He seems to think it's safer."

"I wouldn't tell anyone," he said.

"I know," I replied as I grabbed some simple Nike tennis shoes. "But it's classified; you understand that, right?"

He nodded slowly. "I guess. I'm just concerned for you."

"I understand that," I replied as I moved to get some socks out of my drawer. "But it's only for a couple of weeks. I'll be fine."

"Good, good," he said absentmindedly. Staring out the window. Something about him seemed…off. Unusual. He was quiet and the way that he stood was just…different. I couldn't quite figure out what it was. He just seemed…detached.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He didn't turn around to face me. "I'm fine; just worried about you."

I smiled as I finished tying my left shoe. "I'll be okay." I stood up and went to kiss him quickly. He kissed me back, but it was strange…not like it usually was. It was like he was…forcing himself to do it.

I shuddered as I stepped away. "I love you."

"Love you, too," I heard him reply softly as I walked out the door.