Psychic Men

Sometimes what you never thought would happen, does.
All at once. A furnace explodes taking your house with it. A cop at the door says your father’s dead. Or lightning strikes from the ice-blue eyes of a much-too-young-for-you man you pass in a doorway.
One year to the day later, the young man was my husband.
I slid onto a counter stool and Cam handed me a mug of coffee. A big slice of his grandmother Dee’s apple pie waited on a brick red ceramic dish. Our cell phones lay on Cam’s side of the breakfast bar.
He made quite the ceremony of turning my phone off and dropping it into the silverware drawer. “For the seven days of our honeymoon, you are not a homicide detective.”
Somebody should’ve told the killer.