“Wait a minute. You said that was you. You were in my dream. How was that possible? Did you creep into my bedroom?”
“I’m a pooka. Remember? Magic. But no, I didn’t do any sneaking into your room in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t do that. Not physically. But the dreamscape is a realm of magic. I can enter it freely.”
“So, did I ride you or not? I mean when you were a horse.”
“Yes, you did. Quite well, actually, for a first time rider. You’ll get better with practice.”
“Okay, next subject. When can I go home? When will it be safe?”
He curled up his legs, and I saw that the tension had returned to his face. His brow shifted higher, his eyes darkened, and a small tic near his cheekbone writhed once.
“I have someone watching your building. They will let us know when it’s safe. But let’s count on a week here. Would they be too much to ask? We can have fun doing things together.”
Apparently, I reacted to his sentence, and he quickly added, “I mean things like ping pong and badminton. Maybe cake decorating, but definitely not dancing lessons.”
He made me smile, which was his intension. I finished my coffee and set the mug down on the table. “Well, if I were going to be here a long time, I guess dance lessons might be a good idea. But I don’t want to embarrass myself. I’ve got two left feet . . . or two right feet. See, my feet don’t know which ones they are, which is why they get all confused.”
That made Timothy smile. “Who would even notice? “ he said. “Maybe we could do dance lessons here at the house, and then you wouldn’t be worried about anyone observing your two feet of the same directional position.”
I was pouring a second cup of coffee. His same directional position me want to laugh so hard I had to put the coffee pot down and force myself back into seriousness.
“I like it when you laugh.”
“What? How did you . . .oh, I looked like I was getting goofy, right?”
“And something separated you from that coffee you love so much.”
He rose up and came towards me, then placed a hand on my back. “Need some support? Or would you prefer that I pour your coffee?”
I whirled away, not feeling like I wanted him to touch me, yet, the absence of his hand on my back felt cold. I wanted it back. I wanted the other Timothy back — the way he’d been before the great reveal.