Hannah smiles, flashing straight, white teeth. Her dentist must be proud. “Isaac said you were modest. Now I see what he was going on about.”

“Is that what he went on aboot?” I ask, mimicking her pronunciation.

“Ah, I was wondering when we were going to get to the accent jabs.”

“Hey, I think I’ve shown tremendous restraint. I let at least three or four ‘ehs’ pass without comment.”

She tosses a sugar packet at my head.

I tell Canadian jokes until the waiter takes our order, relieved when Hannah orders a cheeseburger. I hate girls who refuse to eat around guys, like they’re afraid we’ll think they’re fat because we actually see them putting food in their mouths.

Hannah isn’t like that. She’s confident. She isn’t the prettiest girl in the room, but she’s cute. Peachy skin, pink lips, and a mass of wavy blond hair. I’m sure more than a few guys would gladly trade places with me right now.

The problem is, I have a “type.” Isaac says I’m too picky, but he doesn’t get it. Honestly, I don’t understand it either. I just automatically compare every girl I meet to someone else. It’s dumb and crazy, but I can’t help it.

But as we eat our burgers and drink sodas packed with more ice than soda—desert style, I explain to Hannah—I’m stunned to realize I’m enjoying myself. I like Hannah’s laugh as much as her smile, and the way she brushes her hair behind her ears when she blushes.

And then, I see her.

Dark hair.

Dark eyes.

Dark jacket.

Leaning against the bar in the center of the restaurant, with only a sliver of her face pointed in my direction. I have to blink to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.

They aren’t. Her hair is twisted into a tight, intricate braid, but it’s definitely her.

She turns another inch my way and our eyes meet. My heart pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else. It’s just me, and her. Locked in a stare.

Her eyes narrow and she shakes her head—like she’s trying to tell me something. But I have no idea what it is.

“Vane?” Hannah asks, and I jump so hard I nearly fall out of the booth. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

She laughs, but I don’t smile. She isn’t that far off the mark.

Hannah follows my gaze, frowning. “Do you . . . know her?”

So Hannah can see her too.

She’s real.

“Excuse me,” I say, on my feet before she can say anything else.

The hostess is leading a large party past our table, blocking my path to the bar, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to shove them out of my way. I rush forward as soon as the aisle clears, but the girl’s gone.

I race for the door, ignoring Hannah as she calls after me, ignoring the way everyone stares at me, ignoring the blast of heat as I burst through the doors. And I find . . . nothing.

No sign of anyone anywhere—and certainly no gorgeous, dark-haired girl in a jacket. Just a face full of scorching desert wind and an empty courtyard.

My hands curl into fists.

She was there.

But how is that possible?

And how did she get away so fast?

I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to sort through the ten million things racing through my mind. I still haven’t made any sense of them when I hear quiet footsteps approach behind me.

“I had to pay the check so they wouldn’t think we’re skipping out—that’s what took me so long.” Hannah won’t meet my eyes. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d be out here.”

The thick June air sticks in my throat, closing off my voice. The sun has set, but that only makes the temperature drop a few degrees. I stand there, listening to the cicadas in the trees and searching for some way to explain—or apologize for—my behavior. “I’ll pay you back,” is the best I can do.

She turns toward the parking lot. “I guess we should probably go, eh?”

The silence buzzes with the things neither of us says.

Seriously, why does something always screw up my dates?

I still haven’t come up with a way to salvage the evening when we reach my faded white car. It isn’t much to look at, but it has a working AC, which was pretty much my only requirement. I open the door for Hannah, hoping it will prove I’m not a total psycho. She doesn’t seem impressed. Not that I blame her.

The drive back is torture. I’ve never noticed how many noises my car makes—but I’ve never had such a quiet passenger. I’ve also never noticed how many lights Highway 111 has. It’s the main road that connects all the desert cities together, so there’s a signal. At every. Freaking. Block. And, of course, tonight they’re all red.

Thanks a lot, universe.

We’re about halfway home, just entering the string of “affordable cities” in the valley, when Hannah finally speaks.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

I drag out a sigh, stalling for time. “I . . . thought I saw someone I knew.” It sounds lame even to me.

“Did you used to date her?”

Ha—I wish.

Fortunately, I stop myself from saying that out loud. I can hear the hurt in Hannah’s voice.

But it’s nice to know that Hannah really did see her—even though I have no idea what that means.