Page 4 of My Blind Date is a Vampire

I don’t remember what brought me out of my slump, but Dad was right. These days, I was feeling more and more like the me before Toby and I got together, and I wasn’t about to surrender this new sense of freedom quite so easily.

“Well, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m already set to get my life back on track. I was going to wait until it was cemented in writing, but I got a job, and that’s what the phone call was about,” I announced in a smug tone. It might have been purely my imagination, but I thought the sun coming in through the kitchen windows shone a little brighter after I broke the news, as if it was responding to the looks of relief and bright expressions on everyone’s faces.

“Which school will you be working at? Is it a permanent position?” Mom asked after the excitement died down and they’d all offered their congratulations. “You can continue living here with us until you’ve saved up enough money to get a new place. I know how expensive renting an apartment in this city is,” she continued.

“Actually, the job is in Mystic Cove, so I’ll be moving out in a week or two if all goes well,” I replied, nervous excitement bubbling in my stomach. It was now hitting me that I’d really gotten this job and was embarking on a new chapter of my life somewhere where I wouldn’t run the risk of running into Toby or Jess or any of my old pals. Somewhere where my family couldn’t just pop into my house all willy-nilly without calling ahead.

My happiness was short-lived, though. “So far away? There are so many schools in this city. Why would you go looking for a job in a small town? Will the pay even be that good? Have you tried applying for a teaching job in private schools? I hear they pay far better than public schools, let alone small-town schools,” Mom argued, her brows furrowed. And just like that, my mood tanked again. I grit my teeth together, swallowing the nasty retort dancing on the tip of my tongue.

“Mystic Cove is not that far; it’s just a two-hour drive away. It’s not like she’s moving to the other side of the world,” Bennett spoke up, coming to my defense.

“And whether it’s private school or public school, it doesn’t change the fact that a teacher’s salary is complete crap. But it’s not like she’ll be completely destitute or anything.” As usual, Bas’s attempts at bringing levity into a tense conversation missed the mark altogether. I ignored him, trying to listen to what my mother was saying over the rush of blood in my ears and ensuring that the prickling sensation in my eyes did not result in actual tears.

“I know, but Mystic Cove is a tourist town. The property value and market value of the houses will be through the roof. Not to mention there was a string of killings two years ago that have gone unsolved. Two college girls who decided to spend their spring break in the town were found in their hotel room, their throats torn and their bodies completely drained of blood. What if the murderer targets you?”

“I have a higher chance of being mugged, raped, or killed if I step out the front door here in the city than being targeted by a murderer in a small town. You’re worrying yourself needlessly over something that will never happen. Mystic Cove is a safe haven compared to the city, Mom. I’ve already accepted the job and I’m heading over to the school Monday morning to sign my employment contract and I plan to do some house hunting while I’m there,” I declared, making it apparent that I would hear no more arguments from her.

CHAPTER 4

Regardless of my mother’s reservations, I met with the principal the following week and dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s on all the necessary employment forms and met with other staff members of Mystic Cove High.

The school wasn’t as big as some of the inner-city high schools I’d worked in before, so there weren’t really a lot of names and faces to remember. Still, my brain automatically deleted two-thirds of my new coworkers’ names the moment they introduced themselves. But no matter, I planned on sticking around MC High for a long, long while.

After the staff meeting, Principal Hawthorne gave me a tour of the school while enlightening me on its long and extensive history. “We try to cater to all our students’ needs and talents—be they academic, athletic, or creative. Having fewer than five hundred students allows us not to let anyone slip through the cracks. Almost all our students go on to pursue higher education after getting their diplomas, although we do have a handful that fall by the wayside.” Hawthorne led me up to the second floor to show me where my classroom would be located.

“You must have a stellar art teacher. Some of these pieces are absolutely breathtaking,” I commented, admiring a landscape piece depicting the beach cove that gave Mystic Cove its name during a particularly stormy night. I could almost taste the saltwater splashing against my face as the waves crashed on the shore. I could feel the electricity charging the air as I studied the forked jolts of lightning, some of them hitting the waves and making the image glow like a Thomas Kinkaid painting. The painter had captured the scene perfectly and managed to evoke the restless and frenetic energy that accompanied a storm. I wondered if they had painted this from memory or if they’d watched the scene unfold live.

I’d seen the beach from a distance when I drove into town early this morning and couldn’t wait to explore it up close and personal. I was meeting with a real estate agent once I was done with Principal Hawthorne to look over a few houses. One of my requests, besides wanting a house small enough for one person and affordable on a teacher’s salary, was that I wanted to be as close to the beach as possible. The rural area was going to be a welcome change from living in the middle of a never-resting city with all its bright lights and blaring noises.

“Indeed, we do,” Hawthorne beamed, replying to my comment and jolting me out of daydream. “When you have time, you should browse through some of the decor stores. You’ll find more than one art piece from our students on sale. Tourists love buying souvenirs from their time vacationing here, so we encourage the students to take advantage of that. Not only do the store owners give them a share of the profits from the sale of their works, but every so often we get a hotshot art dealer or collector passing through and discovering new talent. Ah, here we are.” She stopped in front of a closed classroom door. Retrieving a set of keys from the chain on her belt, Hawthorne unlocked the door and gestured that I precede her into the room.

My chest swelled to about ten times its size as I took in the empty classroom. The students’ tables and chairs were arranged into three rows with two students per table. The smartboard and blackboard were side by side at the front of the room and the teacher’s desk was by the windows. The walls were bare, but I planned to remedy that. I had a bunch of charts that I’d never gotten to use during my days as a substitute teacher. Before school started next week, the walls would be decked with said charts and teaching aids and maybe a bookshelf for some interesting historical reads.

I was itching to start drafting up lesson plans, and I couldn’t wait to meet my students. When I was in high school, my two favorite subjects were world history and English literature because of all the heated debates that took place in those classes. I’d actually been tempted to get a literature degree but ended up choosing history because there was something fascinating and thrilling about studying the people who came before us and how they—and certain events—shaped the world into what it was today.

* * *

Nearly two hours later, I was walking toward my car with my heart in a gloom. My mood had taken a complete swan dive and my fantasy of owning a quaint little beach house was falling apart faster than a house of cards.

Shayla, my estate agent, had tried her best to find a place that fit all my prerequisites, but what I’d failed to realize in my excitement was that properties close to the beach were prime real estate. I had to admit it: Mom was right. A third of the town’s beach was private property belonging to a select few families, the moneyed kind who lived in the city and only came down to Mystic Cove every few months for vacations. The town made most of its revenue from the tourists who flooded the town during the winter and again during summer.

Nestled between the sea and a mountain range, there was a rotation of visitors all year round, and a certain business mogul was taking advantage of that with his lucrative resorts and a golfing estate. During the colder winter months, the skiing and snowboarding enthusiasts flooded the resorts; some still came during the summer since the mountains remained snowcapped nearly all year round, but this time the summer crowds were mixed in. The same real estate bazillionaire happened to also own a bunch of beach rentals around town, and most of them were currently occupied.

So far, all the houses Shayla had shown me were not as close to the beach as I would have liked, and some of them were way out of my price range and way too big for one woman to live in by herself. I wanted two bedrooms at most, one to sleep in and one to use as my home office. I didn’t want to give my family any excuses to think they could come and stay over anytime they wanted. Just this morning I had to beat Mom off with a bat—not literally, of course—to keep her from coming house hunting with me. She would have made this more painful than it already was.

“Alright, the next listing is our last,” Shayla told me as we walked away from one of the houses she’d had me look through. She sounded, and looked, as exhausted as I felt, which made me feel guilty for being so nitpicky about everything.

“It’s got three bedrooms instead of two, open plan living room and kitchen, fully furnished, that is including a dishwasher and a washing machine. The bathroom and toilet are separate, and the beach is only a fifteen-minute walk. It’s located in a quiet neighborhood. I know most of the residents and can vouch that they are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet,” she explained, clicking on the car fob before opening the door to the driver’s side. I paused on the way down to my own car, parked across the street from hers.

“That sounds promising, but why do I feel like there’s a catch?” At my question, Shayla chuckled, but it sounded off, a little brittle, and it reminded me of the guilty laugh I was known to let out when I was caught in a lie.

“It’s not a catch, per se. The house is not for sale. The owners moved out of town for work, but they didn’t want to sell. They’ve been renting it out to tourists and the like. They wouldn’t mind renting it out long term to you until you find a more suitable place to live.”

I made a nonsensical noise deep in my throat, mulling over whether it was worth going to see this last house. After what happened with my previous landlord, I was leery of living in a house I did not own. After practically selling my soul to him, Bas was willing to co-sign for a loan so I could buy a house in Mystic Cove.

“Show me the way.” Since I hadn’t been able to find a place to buy—and I needed to move down as soon as possible to start my job—I guessed I could rent for a few months while looking for a place to buy.

The house was perfect. It was everything I wanted in a home, although some of the decor was a bit questionable and not all to my taste. The sixties had exploded throughout the living room. I half expected to see Austin Powers sliding down the banister in nothing but his boxers and holding a martini. The owners had quite the love affair with floral patterned wallpaper, sofa upholstering, and shag carpeting. It was odd seeing so many flowers everywhere but not smelling anything. The kitchen appliances were not the latest models, but they were in good shape and would not need to be replaced.

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