The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum Page A

who was the most surprised at this statement, Hannah or Dante or me. I stood up from the love seat. “Just give me a minute to get ready, Dante, and we can go, okay?”
    Dante nodded, naked relief in his eyes. “I’ll wait for you outside.” He slipped out the front door.
    Hannah crossed her arms and frowned at me. “Mom’s not gonna be happy about this.”
    “It’s not a date,” I said gruffly.
    Hannah sniffed. “I’ll say it right now, then—I told you so.” She waltzed back to the kitchen.
    I ran up the stairs, tossing my robe onto my bed the instant I closed the door behind me. My mind raced. What was I doing? I had just asked an almost complete stranger to go to breakfast with me. A potentially dangerous stranger, if Valerie was to be believed. A small laugh bubbled up. This was something the old Abby would have done—no schedules, no planning, just . . . seizing the moment, following where the day would take me. I hadn’t realized how confined I’d been feeling until I realized how liberated I felt instead.
    I changed out of my pajamas and pulled on a pair of jeans and a light green turtleneck sweater. I ran a brush through my hair and twisted it into a quick French knot at the base of my neck. On the way out of my bedroom, I grabbed my backpack, my jacket, and my keys.
    I had just swung down from the stairs when Mom called my name.
    “What’s this about a breakfast date with someone?”
    “It’s not a date, Mom. Dante’s in the play I’m directing. This is like a . . . a working breakfast. Look, I’ll explain everything when I get home, okay?”
    Mom crossed her arms and frowned; she looked just like Hannah. “I’m not happy about this, but—”
    “Thanks, Mom, you’re the best!” I kissed her cheek, pulled on my jacket, and slipped out the door.
    I saw Dante straighten up from where he had been leaning against the porch railing. His breath plumed in the cold air.
    “Ready?” I asked, jingling my keys.
    Dante hesitated, looking down at the fuzzy blue slippers on my feet.
    I laughed. “I guess this’ll be a blue-slippers-and-breakfast kind of day. I’m surprised you didn’t get the message.”
    “Perhaps it’ll come later this afternoon,” Dante replied with his small smile.
    I cocked my head at Dante and felt another laugh bubble up inside me. Jason wouldn’t have played along with me. Jason would have made me change into shoes. Of course, Jason wouldn’t have shown up unexpectedly on a Saturday morning at all.
    “Dante,” I said, “I think we are going to be friends.”
    The rising sun changed Dante’s eyes to silver, and the sudden tingle in my fingertips had nothing to do with the January cold.
    “I’d like that very much.”
    “Shall we?” I gestured to my car parked at the curb.
    I had taken only one step before Dante swept me off my feet, literally, and into his arms, cradling me to his chest.
    I caught my breath as time seemed to coalesce around me. I had time enough to watch the sunlight slowly pool in the empty footsteps that led across the front yard, up the driveway, up the porch, and to my front door where Dante stood, holding me close.I had time enough to feel Dante’s strong arms tighten around me, to hear the sharp intake of his breath. I could almost taste the dusty odor from his pea coat.
    And then we were standing by my car. Dante lowered me to a clear spot on the curb and stepped back. I blinked, disoriented, my heart beating faster at Dante’s nearness.
    “I didn’t want your slippers to get wet,” he said quietly, tucking his hands back into his coat pockets. He looked a little pale.
    “Th-thanks,” I said. I opened the door, and the movement helped shake off the lingering sense of déjà vu.
    Dante walked around the car and slid into the passenger seat.
    “Where would you like to go?” I asked, turning the key in the ignition. My car rumbled, coughing and sputtering, to reluctant life. “The Dungeon’s not open for breakfast, is