Science has to be right all of the time. Magic only has to be right once. Or twice.
The kids, taxes due, a work project, and no time for emerald eyeballs of snaking green.
There was a part of him that figured that the odd encounter in the subterranean cavern of a Florentine café was just a one-off experience and something told him that he should just chalk it up to an overactive imagination combined with too much red wine and €6 ice cream cones.
'Just let it go,' he said to himself once in a while when the images of that woman came back to him. 'It was just a fluke.'
But then there was another part of him, although smaller, in fact, more like a splinter in a toe, that just couldn't let it go.
After Italy, life slid back into normalcy and the wriggling receipts and fiery orange eyes fe
