Rolling over onto my side, my gaze fell on the small framed photo of myself when I was a little girl, peering up through the feathery leaves of the willow tree. I gently touched its frame. After I’d had a few fruitless hours of working with my aura that afternoon, Seb had finally stood up from the sofa and stretched.

“Come on, you need to take a break,” he said.

“Come on where?” I asked, getting to my feet. It was a relief to stop for a little while; I hadn’t really expected this to be so hard.

“There’s something I need to give you.”

I glanced at him in surprise – and then I understood. “Is this what I’m thinking?” I asked as we left the room.

His face was a picture of puzzled innocence. “How could I know what you’re thinking? Do you think I’m psychic or something?”

“Yes, very funny.”

Seb’s storeroom bedroom was filled with boxes; his camp bed literally took up the only empty space, so that when we got there he had to crawl over it to grab his knapsack from where he’d stowed it on the floor. I watched from the doorway, taking in the strong lines of his back and shoulders despite myself.

There was a ragged sound as Seb unzipped the knapsack, and then he stood up and handed me my shirt and photo. His fingers seemed a little reluctant to leave them, but he smiled. “Here, these are yours. And I lied; I could tell what you were thinking,” he added. “You were right.”

My eyes went straight to the photo of myself and the willow tree. I’d been so sure I’d never see it again. “Thank you,” I said softly. Then I gave a small laugh, clutching its frame. “You know, it’s so funny – this photo keeps getting stolen and then finding its way back to me somehow.”

Seb didn’t say anything, but I could feel his emotion – the photo had been how he’d known he wasn’t the only one of his kind after all. Looking down at my seven-year-old self, I was so glad that fate, or whatever, had led him to that Chihuahua marketplace that day.

“Thank you,” I said again, and tucked it in my jeans pocket. Then I glanced at the shirt in my hand and thought of something. “Wait – you paid for these things, right? So I need to pay you back.”

Seb’s expression turned gravely serious. “Well, they were very expensive, you know,” he said, stroking his chin. “But I’m sure we can work something out. What do you call it – a payment plan? Perhaps if we make an agreement for how much you’ll pay me back each month – but no, we need to think about interest, too—”