Page 25 of My Blind Date is a Demon

“You want a porch swing?”

“Oh my God, Damon! Will you stop talking about porch swings?”

“Okay, okay. Sorry you brought it up.”

CHAPTER 9

Damon and I sit in companionable silence in the car in the school pick-up line, Damon holding the cookie jar in his lap. We have the windows rolled down because the weather is surprisingly mild for this time of year. Listening to the kids laughing and greeting their parents makes my heart feel glad. For the first time in a long time, I feel strangely normal. And that is despite the fact that a demon is sitting next to me and I’m about to go see a police officer about who might have cursed me. Like, the fact that I’m not tense and anxious is what should be considered abnormal.

I put the car in park at the front of the line and wave to Bella. She’s talking to her teacher. Ms. Hawthorne gives Bella a side hug and walks with her to the car. I pop the trunk so Bella can put her violin in the back.

“Hi, Ms. Jones,” Ms. Hawthorne says, leaning down to the window. “Oh, and hello to you, Mr....” Her voice trails off as she looks at Damon expectantly.

“You can just call me Damon,” he says, raising his hand to shake hers.

“Oh, okay, Damon,” she says with an awkward laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone like you around here before.” She eyes his horns and chews on her lower lip. “What are you, some kind of shifter?”

“Well, if I told you, then I’d have to kill you,” he says, his voice low and sultry despite the not-very-veiled threat. She laughs anyway.

“Wow, well, where did you dig this one up, Tamzin?” Bridgit asks, playing with her braid.

“Believe me, Bridgit,” I say, “I wish I could put him right back where I found him.” We all chuckle with varying levels of sincerity.

“I just wanted to say that Bella had a really good week,” Bridgit says. “She was nothing but kind and thoughtful and really focused on her schoolwork.”

“Good job, Bee,” I say, giving her a high-five after she is settled in the back seat.

“There is a spelling test on Monday, and a geography test later next week. And don’t forget about the dance—”

“Oh, right,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—”

A horn honks behind me. I grip the steering wheel and pray for patience.

Bridgit gives a wave to the car behind me. I get that it’s the pick-up line, but it’s not my fault my kid’s teacher seems to think it’s her own parent-teacher conference line. There is plenty of room for the lady to just go around me.

I sigh and try again. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Say no more,” Bridgit says. “We got a lot of—”

The horn honks again. I roll my eyes and grit my teeth.

“We got a lot of pushback on that,” Bridgit says. “And I totally get it. Apparently, someone wasn’t paying much attention when the dance committee first put the plan together and it got much farther in the planning process than it should have. The dance is now—”

The horn isn’t even done honking when Damon opens his door and gets out of the car, black smoke radiating off him.

“Damon!” I jump out of my seat, worried about whatever he is about to do.

“Sorry, dear,” he says, leaning down to the woman’s window. “Is there a problem?”

“This is the pick-up and drop-off lane,” the woman says. “Not a social hang out.”

“You could just go around,” he says sweetly enough to make your teeth hurt.

“That’s not the point. The point is to get through as efficiently as possible.”

“Then why is there a whole other lane here you can use to go around people who are holding up the line?”

“That’s for emergencies only,” she says.

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