Page 21 of Haunted Ever After

“I have to say…” He leaned closer, and Cassie licked her lips again, even though there wasn’t any hot chocolate left on them. Nick wondered what her lips tasted like. He wondered if she was going to let him find out.

“You have to say…?” Her voice was little more than breath, but it was enough to remind Nick that he’d started a sentence back there. Ages ago, before he got lost in the shine of her lips.

“He’s not the only one.” He traced the curve of her jaw with the backs of his fingers the way he’d been wanting to, following the line of her errant lock of hair, and Cassie sucked in a breath at his touch. He could relate; all of the oxygen seemed to have left the room. He was feeling a little lightheaded himself.

He asked a question with his eyes, and she gave the tiniest of nods in response before he bent those last few inches. Her mouth tasted like chocolate and bourbon. Nick wanted nothing more than to sink into her, claim her, but he settled for cradling her face in his hands. She sighed into his mouth, the rush of breath doing things to his bloodstream.

But he didn’t want to push it. So instead of deepening the kiss, instead of pushing everything off the café counter and hoisting her up onto its smooth surface, he pulled back slowly. Lingeringly. Let his forehead drop to hers and breathed her in for just a couple more moments before he let her go. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was her smile.

“Is this…” Nick’s voice had stopped working, the words coming out all gravelly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this too soon? I feel like maybe this was too soon.”

But Cassie’s smile was almost as bright as her eyes. “Feels just in time to me.”

So he bent to her again, her smile dissolving under his mouth, and when her hand came up to touch his face, all doubt flew out the window and into the night.

This had been the best date of his life.

Ten

“You sure you’re okay to walk home by yourself?” Nick glanced over his shoulder as he locked the door to Hallowed Grounds.

Cassie wanted to say no. Even though she could see the glow of her front porch light from where she stood on the sidewalk, she should say that it was a long way to walk all alone after dark. She should ask Nick to walk her home. Anything to make this night last a little longer. Anything to stay near him.

But if he walked her home, she’d invite him inside. And if he’d thought kissing her was too soon, what she’d want to do with him in her house would absolutely scandalize the man. Maybe it was good to have some decorum. Save something for the second date.

So she said, “There’s lights most of the way. As long as that ghost on the beach stays where he is, I’ll be okay.”

She’d been shooting for a joke, but Nick’s nod was serious. “He doesn’t leave the beach; that’s his domain. Just stick to the sidewalk and you’ll be fine.”

“Will do.” Cassie’s heart leapt as he stepped forward, his palm curling around the side of her neck. She tilted her head up, her mouth opening under his, and their good-night kiss was as gentle as the breeze coming off the ocean.

What a night.

Cassie walked home under the glow of the streetlights in a bit of a daze brought on by one part bourbon and more than two parts kisses. There was a lot to process about tonight, but two major themes swam to the forefront.

Ghosts were real.

Nick was a damn good kisser.

She wasn’t sure which one was scarier. Or more exciting.

Her steps slowed as she approached her house, and she stopped on the sidewalk almost exactly where she’d been during the ghost tour, staring up at it. When she’d bought the place, she hadn’t been looking for just a house. She wanted a home. A place—a community—that valued her and made her feel less alone.

Even now, the porch light bathed everything in a warm, cheerful glow. The wicker porch furniture with its plump purple cushions conjured up visions of lazy afternoons and pitchers of lemonade. Out here in the evening quiet, the waves crashed behind the seawall in a hypnotic rhythm, evoking endless summer vacations. This should be the perfect house. The perfect place to make a home.

But…She looked down at the book tucked under one arm. Either everyone here was delusional, or the entire damn town was haunted. She didn’t like the implication of either one of those things. Could she really make a home here?

The alternative, of course, was returning to Orlando, tail between her legs. Finding a new place with astronomical rent, admitting that her fresh start had been a bust. She could just hear the smug tones from everyone at that next all-hands meeting. The expressions of faux sympathy that she’d failed.

Or worse, they wouldn’t say anything at all. She’d continue to be invisible in the group text like she was now. All her contributions lately had been conversation killers; she’d say something about her day, or post a shot of the ocean from her back balcony, and no one would respond. On a good day she’d get a thumbs-up. Cassie felt like she was fading away, like she’d become a ghost herself.

At least Nick answered Elmer’s texts.

Nick. Focusing on Nick and the memory of his mouth on hers chased away her gloom, buoying her spirits as she went up the front steps and unlocked her door.

She’d forgotten how warm the night was until she walked into the wall of cold inside her house. Thank God for central air. She sucked in a grateful breath at the shock of cold air and reached for the lamp on the side table, bypassing the wonky light switch by the front door. It didn’t take long for her to shiver a little as the lingering sweat on her body cooled. She toed off her shoes and left them by the door before padding into the kitchen to get a drink. The cocoa had been nice, but not exactly hydrating. She rummaged inside the fridge for a diet soda—caffeine be damned—and bumped the door closed with her hip.

When she’d first walked into the kitchen the fridge had looked normal, magnetic poetry words in their usual jumble covering the whole surface of the door in a haphazard fashion. But when she closed the door the words looked like a starburst, lining the edge of the door five lines deep in a big circle.

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