Page 10 of Haunted Ever After

And it worked. Vince all but rubbed his hands together with glee. “Music to my ears,” he said. “No pun intended. I’ll give her a call tomorrow. You want to come check them out with me?”

“Sure.” Nick was known to hang out at the consignment shop after hours, noodling on whatever instruments were for sale. He was a terrible guitar player and even worse on the bass, but those couple of months when Jo had had a drum kit in the shop had been fun. Nick had gotten a lot of aggression out. “Just text me and let me know when.”

Vince shook his head. “This is my point, though. You’re a young kid—”

“I’m almost thirty.” It kind of hurt to say out loud, but seriously. A kid?

Vince kept going like Nick hadn’t spoken. “—in the prime of your life. You should be spending time with a special someone, not spending your Friday nights hanging out with a washed-up old guy like me.”

“You’re not washed up…”

“You need a relationship,” he shot back.

“I have relationships,” Nick said defensively.

The front door to the bar opened, and the two men looked over instinctively as late-afternoon sunlight streamed into the darkened room. He didn’t exactly recoil like a vampire, but Nick could feel his pupils screaming down into little pinpricks before the door closed and plunged the bar back into cool semi-darkness.

“You have situationships.” Vince tossed the words over his shoulder as he moved to intercept the new customer.

Nick huffed an involuntary laugh into his beer. “Where the hell did you learn that word?”

The newcomer was a stranger, so a tourist. Vince pushed a stained menu in his direction as he turned back to Nick, picking up the thread of the conversation like they’d never been interrupted. “Online,” he said. “Haven’t you heard? Nineties nostalgia is a thing. The old videos have been getting a lot of views lately.”

“Reliving your glory days?” It was Nick’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Back in the day, Vince had been the bassist of a moderately successful rock band. But then the grunge era had come along, and flannel didn’t look good on a guy like Vince, so he—and his band—had fallen into obscurity. Boneyard Key was as good a place as any to be obscure.

“Always,” Vince said lightly. He left the conversation just long enough to take the newcomer’s drink order. Long enough for Nick to hope they could change the topic to something else. Because as much as he couldn’t stop thinking about Cassie, he didn’t want to talk about her. Not yet. She was too new.

But Vince wasn’t done. Once the other customer was settled in with a longneck Bud and a bowl of dubious-looking peanuts, he was back at Nick’s corner of the bar. “Situationships,” he said again, in the confident tone of a Gen Z kid, and not the older Gen X-er he actually was. “You and whatever flavor of the weekend you pick up at The Haunt.”

“Hey.” Nick was starting to feel offended. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t lie to them. No one’s getting led on here.”

“I’m just saying…” Vince shrugged. “What if you met a girl who stuck around? Like, a cute girl who’s definitely not a tourist?”

“I don’t know.” Nick took another sip from his beer. “That would certainly change things.” Would it, though? Nick hadn’t been a relationship guy for quite some time. He had been, back in the dark ages. But he’d learned a long time ago that relationships weren’t for him. If he met a cute girl at The Haunt, and she was only in town for a few days, looking for a good time…well, Nick was more than happy to help out with that. No strings, both parties knowing from the outset what they were getting into. Knowing that there was an end date from the start, so he couldn’t be blindsided when she left.

“Yeah, it would.” Vince sounded encouraging. “You should give it a shot. Ask her out. Might as well jump, as Van Halen says.”

“There are bands from this century you could quote, you know.” But he had to admit that Vince—and Van Halen—had a point. Unbidden, his mind was filled with an image of Cassie’s face. Those big dark eyes. A smile he wanted to lose himself in. A wit that gave back as good as she got. Okay, yeah. Maybe there was something better out there for him after all. And maybe…well, maybe it could be Cassie.

Seemed like a lot of pressure to put on a woman he barely knew, though.

Regulars began to filter in, just like clockwork, and Nick tilted his head back, finishing his beer and waving to Vince as he headed out. A late-afternoon post-work beer was one thing, but he was way too young to be one of Vince’s nightly barflies.

It was dark as he stepped outside, though; that late-afternoon beer had rolled over into an evening beer. The streetlights had popped on, and unseen waves lapped against the shore as he picked up his step, passing the bait shack and the fishing pier. He still had baking to do before tomorrow, and he’d forgotten to eat dinner. Good thing he owned a café; he could just raid his own stash. He was a shit cook, but even he could slap together a sandwich.

There was a crowd about a half block in front of him, huddled together in front of a house. It took Nick a moment to realize they were in front of the Hawkins House—no, Cassie’s house. He really should start calling it that. It took a moment longer to recognize Sophie’s voice. Of course. It was Friday night. Ghost tour time.

The group moved on before he could catch up to them, Sophie saying something about ice cream shops as they disappeared down the sidewalk and toward downtown. Nick’s steps slowed in front of Cassie’s house, something he’d never done before. For as long as he could remember, this house was to be walked past as quickly as possible, lest you encounter the spirit of Mean Mrs. Hawkins. But this time he fought his instincts and made himself be still so he could study the place.

It looked…well, it looked like a house. Not like the creepy house of his childhood that everyone avoided. Warm and inviting, lights glowed from front windows that used to be cracked and broken. When he was a kid the yard had been overgrown, weeds taking over the wooden picket fence. Those weeds were gone now, and the whole front yard was laid with fresh sod. It looked by all accounts like a charming beach cottage, for probably the first time in close to a century.

It was weird.

While he stood there a light blinked on upstairs, and he forced his feet to move along. The last thing he needed was for Cassie to look out the window and see him standing in front of her house like a creeper.

But Nick gave one last wary glance over his shoulder before he hurried down the street, in case Mean Mrs. Hawkins thought he’d lingered too long. New owner or not, it was still the Hawkins House. She’d been guarding that place for decades; a silly thing like a warranty deed wasn’t going to chase her off.

He hoped Cassie was ready for it.

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