Page 22 of Haunted Ever After

Except for one word in the middle.

wrong

The soda slipped from Cassie’s nerveless fingers, the plastic bottle bouncing off the linoleum. For several moments all she could do was stare at the word in the center of the fridge. But the dropped bottle rolled her way, nudging her foot, and she tore her eyes away, looking down at the floor.

“At least I hadn’t opened it yet,” she muttered as she picked it up, bringing it to the sink. She’d let the fizz settle and drink that one tomorrow. She closed her eyes, willing the past few moments to be some kind of weird cocoa-bourbon-induced hallucination. But when she turned back to the fridge for another soda, there wasn’t a single word in the middle of the fridge anymore.

Now there were two.

my house

And then she remembered. Her front windows were open. She hadn’t left the air on. The house was cold for an entirely different reason.

On second thought, Cassie didn’t need anything out of the fridge tonight. In fact, she probably didn’t need to sleep, either.

Eleven

Nick was in the best damn mood the next morning.

Sure, Cassie was still struggling with the whole “ghosts are real” thing, but she seemed to be getting past her initial skepticism. And then, of course, there was the way they’d said good night…

Damn, but that woman could kiss. The memory of her mouth was the reason Nick had woken up with a goofy smile on his face. It was the reason that smile had stayed intact through his shower, his first cup of coffee, and getting ready for the day. Maybe Vince was right. Maybe Nick did need someone special in his life. Maybe this was the beginning of something real. The end of situationships.

It wasn’t until he clattered down the stairs that he realized he hadn’t gotten her number. So much for a “good morning” text or similar. But that was okay. He knew where she lived. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he dropped by sometime. Like later today, after the café closed. He could bring her an iced hazelnut latte. He could…

Nick rounded the corner and there she was, like a remnant of his dreams the night before. She was still in the sundress she wore last night, with a camel-colored oversize cardigan thrown over it. It was way too hot for a sweater, even this early in the day, but Cassie had her arms wrapped around herself, and her eyes were huge in her face. Even bigger than usual. She looked scared. She looked…

“You look terrible.” He drew in a deep breath through his nose as he tried to keep a neutral expression, when all he wanted to do was pinch the bridge of his nose. He was really the worst at talking to people sometimes.

If Cassie was offended, she didn’t let it show. “I need your help.”

“You look like you need coffee.” He took his keys out of his pocket. “I can help with that. Let me just open up and we can…”

“No.” Her brittle voice stopped him in his tracks. “I mean, yes,” she continued, “coffee sounds amazing. But…” She hooked a hand around his elbow, and her touch sent a chill down his spine, and not in a good way. Her hand against his skin was ice cold.

He turned his head slowly and stared hard into her face. Hauntings manifested in all kinds of ways; he was well aware of that. It was a fact he lived with on a daily basis. One of those ways was with extreme cold. Was she…? Could she possibly be…?

But no. She was too real, her eyes were too wild, too alive in her face.

“I need help.” Her voice faltered as she repeated the words. “Please.” She tugged at his arm weakly, like a child who’d had a nightmare, and Nick’s senses went on high alert. This wasn’t like last night, when she’d been mildly creeped out by the idea of ghosts in this town. Something was wrong.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He put his keys back in his pocket as he let her lead him up the street. He could open a little late; who was going to reprimand him?

It felt weird, walking through the white picket gate to the Hawkins House. For years—decades, even—it had been the place to avoid. Even long after Mean Mrs. Hawkins had died, it had never been a house anyone wanted to linger near. But the night before, he’d stood in front of the house on the ghost tour and he’d been…charmed. It didn’t look like a creepy old house anymore. There was a wicker love seat and matching chair on the front porch, with purple cushions and a plethora of throw pillows, and the falling-down porch swing from decades past had been replaced with a brand-new solid wood one that was painted white. It had been a cozy scene, lit up by her porch light.

This morning the cushions were rumpled, some of the throw pillows were scattered on the porch swing, and a crocheted afghan was half tumbled to the floor.

“Did…” He paused on the porch. “Did you sleep out here?”

“Yeah.” Her keys rattled in her hand, and Nick realized she was shaking. This was serious.

“Hey.” He covered her hands with his, took her keys. “Cassie, what happened? Did someone break in? Did you call the cops?”

She shook her head. “I think…I think someone was already here. Like…before I got here.”

“Before you got home last night?” Nick couldn’t believe this. Boneyard Key wasn’t known for its crime sprees. Sure, sometimes tourists got rowdy during the height of the season and fights broke out, stuff like that. But breaking and entering? Theft? The citizens of Boneyard Key mostly kept to themselves and respected each other’s space.

“Before I moved in.” Cassie’s voice was full of meaning.

---