I gasped and held my hand over my heart. "I had no idea. I'll leave you be,then."
We grinned at each other likeidiots.
"I'm sorry, Kristoff. My life has been weirdlately."
"I get it. It's not every day a genie pops up around here. In fact, I keep forgetting to ask for yourautograph."
"Har," I said. "It's weird, but I think the newness of it is dyingdown."
He shook his head. "I'd keep denying people, Katie. The only one who has any right to your power is you. And whomever you choose to share itwith."
I studied his kind face and bright, intelligent eyes. "How about tonight? Youfree?"
Martin wasup on the roof right above my doorstep when Kristoff showed up at seven sharp. I could feel Martin's stare right between my bare shoulder blades, so I took a step back under my porch out of his line of sight. Kristoff gave me a little wave and took the steps two at a time until he was right in front ofme.
He eyed me appreciatively. "You looklovely."
I'd put on a strapless, powder blue fit and flare dress and paired it with a red wedge heels. I'd swept my hair into a side bun and wore minimal makeup except for a deep redlip.
"Very retro," headded.
We were going to a swing dance tonight at City Hall so he had dressed the part, too. He wore blue jeans rolled at the ankle with Converse sneakers, a white t-shirt, and a black leatherjacket.
Just as we were about to turn to go, something light gray dropped right onto top of Kristoff's perfectly coiffed hair and onto hisear.
"Aaaagh!" Ishouted.
Kristoff jerked back and touched his ear, confused about what hadhappened.
"Sorry!" Martin called. "I must have put too much paint on thebrush."
I looked up from under the porch only to see Martin sheepishly waving his brush around. A brush that wasn't dripping with paint. He looked surprisingly unremorseful. "Uh, I have some turpentine if you needit."
"For his hair,Martin?"
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his painting. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. That couldn't have been an accident. Martin was nevercareless.
I helped Kristoff inside and did my best to get all of the paint out of his hair. For the most part it worked except for a tiny patch that would either grow out or eventually come out by itself. It had dried too quickly. I pulled him into my bathroom to search for some hair products that could help him redo his fifties hairstyle, but the only thing I had was a bottle ofhairspray.
"We're going to be late," he said as I did my best to finger comb his hair back intoplace.
"Fashionably late. And you'll have a distinguished gray spot on yourhead."
"At least it wasn't bird poop," hesaid.
I blinked. Kristoff wasn't even mad. "I hear in some cultures it's very lucky to get poopedon."
"No thanks," he said and we locked gazes in the mirror. I put one last hair back into place. "There.Ready?"
His gaze lingered on me. "Always."
Heat fluttered in my chest. "Let's go," I said, my voice more throaty thannormal.
I grabbed my purse and keys and stepped out onto the porch and carefully peeked up. "Martin?"
"Yep?"
"Put the paint brush down for amoment."