The Palm Reader's Warning

The lightning flashed across the Seattle skyline, illuminating the rain-streaked window of Mara's apartment on Queen Anne Hill. She pressed her palm against the glass, feeling the cold condensation, remembering how the fortune teller in New Orleans had traced those same lines just three months ago.

"You'll meet someone during a storm," the woman had said, her nicotine-roughened voice hovering over Mara's hand. "But it won't be who you expect."

Now, Ben sat at her kitchen table, eating the spinach salad she'd prepared with what she'd told herself was care, not desperation. He worked for the same cable company that had been sending her increasingly aggressive collection notices—small world, or cosmic joke? Their chance encounter at the Whole Foods salad bar had felt like destiny, or at least like something worth pursuing.

"This is good," Ben said, chewing thoughtfully. "Better than the crap I usually eat."

Mara watched his jaw work, the way his eyes darted toward his phone on the counter. The cable company's protocols were probably blowing up his screen. Some emergency about fiber optics or bandwidth shortages or whatever technical catastrophes kept people like him employed and people like her writing past-due checks she couldn't afford to cash.

Another flash of lightning. The building's power flickered.

"You okay?" Ben asked, finally looking at her. Really looking at her.

"Fine," she said, hearing the flatness in her own voice. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how the palm reader told me I'd meet someone during a storm. And here you are."

Ben laughed, but it was kind, not mocking. "She didn't mention anything about you being three months behind on your internet bill, did she?"

Mara's stomach dropped. "You knew?"

"Honey, I ran your account the second I got back to the office. I was curious if you were single or just good at avoiding me." His fork clattered against his plate. "I waived the late fees. Put in a note that you're on a payment plan."

The room went silent except for the rain drumming against the glass.

"Why?" she finally asked.

"Because you made me a spinach salad when you couldn't afford to pay your cable bill." Ben reached across the table, took her hand. "Because sometimes lightning strikes, and you just have to trust it's not going to burn everything down."

Outside, the sky illuminated again. And for the first time in three years, Mara didn't flinch.