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“Strike number one, Oliver” Her full lips curled up into a smirk
“Poetry?”
“Strike nuht want to take your time before you ask that last question”
He scratched his head and leaned back as he examined her once more In spite of her youthful appearance, Oliver sensed a deep being One he felt as if he’d met before He’d always heard of déjà vu, just never experienced it firsthand, until now
“A journal entry?” he asked
“Close, but no cigar”
“What are you writing then?”
“A list,” she said
“Of things you need to do?’
“Sort of”
His interest was piqued, but he backed off, sensing her reluctance
“Since I lost, what do you get?”
The tension faded fro that she’d have her secrets ‘cause Lord knew he had plenty of his own
“How about three questions?”
“Shoot”