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My gaze meets hers. “I had an orgasm.” My voice lowers, even though there’s no one else here to hear us.

Lynn’s eyes widen, and she squeals. “Did you have sex? In his office?” Thank God she keeps her voice low.

“No! It was just kissing. And…” Ugh, am I really about to say this? “And some, you know, dry humping.”

“Oh my goodness, that’s so hot.”

I crack a smile at her enthusiasm. “It was.”

Lynn, ever observant, tilts her head. “Something else happened. Something not good. What was it?”

“After”—I wave my hand—“the make-out session, we talked. I told him.”

She gasps, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “About the drowning and how he saved you?”

“Yes, he walked me to my car and said that he felt like we had met before, but he knew that wasn’t true.”

“That was the perfect opening.”

“It was, and I took it. But now . . . now I’m not so sure.”

“He didn’t take it well?”

“He was okay at first, not upset, just in awe and curious about all the coincidences.” I make anair quotesgesture when I say coincidences.

“So, what got his balls on fire then?”

I snort. Leave it to Lynn to come up with something no one else would just to make me laugh. “The idea that those women had to die for us to meet again. I think he feels somewhat responsible. I don’t know.”

Lynn nods to herself. “I get it, though. Think about it. All the things that happened to bring you two together again.” She gets up and starts pacing in the space around the couch. “Of all the places to stop for breakfast, we picked a restaurant across from an antique shop. And I badgered you to go in there.”

“You did.”

She stops pacing to shoot me a glare. “And then you found that necklace . . . which took us to the police station. What are the odds?”

“Where fate is concerned? The odds are always a sure thing.”

“No surprise the poor guy is freaking out. He couldn’t even take the psychometry thing, and now his brain can’t handle that many coincidences.”

“Synchronicities,” I correct her. Grandma’s voice echoes in the back of my mind.

She waves me off and now expands the pacing to the rest of the room. No wonder she hates it when I pace. My neck’s getting slow-motion whiplash watching her.

“Dude, he’s a cop with a bunch of missing women, and now he thinks that somehow their disappearance is related to having saved your life all these years ago.”

Wait, what? “What do you mean?” Even though I already know.

“I mean, this story—the two of you getting together—it doesn’t start with the women going missing and you finding that necklace. It started when you were thirteen, and he saved your life. And now you’re here, and all he can think of is that if those women didn’t go missing, there would be no necklace for you to find, and there would be no making out in his office.”

“I don’t know about that. I think we were meant to meet again. I’ve always felt that. Somewhere, somehow, our paths would cross again. I just never envisioned it happening this way.”

Lynn sits on the other end of the couch. “No one would. I mean, you were thirteen, and that’s a lot of years ago.”

I grab a pillow, hold it to my chest, and rest my chin on it. “Why can’t things be easy and simple? Why couldn’t I just meet him again in a bar or something like normal people do?”

Lynn snorts and holds a hand up, fingers spread. “One, you hate going to bars. Two, you’re far from normal. Three—”

I toss the pillow at her to stop her countdown. Lynn snatches it and throws it back across the couch. “Now what? Are you still going to help him? Are you going to see him again?”