Page 7 of When the Woods Go Silent

CHAPTER FOUR

ROSE

I’m stalling.

Usually, a night’s sleep and a sunny morning make it easy to shake off a bad day, but I feel myself finding reason after reason to stay upstairs in the apartment, locked away from the bookshop and the woods beyond.

The shadows have crept back beyond the tree line with the sun, and blue sky stretches above the trees. It’s a gorgeous day, but I’m still curled on the couch, lights dim, nursing a third mug of coffee.

My phone pings with a text from Ruby - a string of emojis and exclamation points, followed by a selfie with dozens of books spread out over her hotel bed, several piled three and four copies high.

Last day! Will I have enough room in my car?

A purple-streaked chunk of dark hair falls in her eyes, and her signature ruby-red lipstick shows off a huge grin, which makes me finally smile, too. I love seeing her so excited, and I tap out a quick reply. She’s probably posted the same picture and caption to the shop’s social media already, and her audience will love it. The way she obsesses over books can be a bit overwhelming in person, but it’s perfect for social media.

My thumbs hover over the phone for a few seconds as I debate whether to try and explain the weirdness of last night,but in the end, I chicken out. It’s too confusing to put in a text, and besides, I want Ruby focused on buying books for our shop, not wondering if she needs to come home early to check on everything.

Grumbling to myself about being a damn adult, I drain the coffee and head downstairs in my slippers. It’s the easiest commute I’ve ever had, right down the back stairs and into the hallway next to the bookstore office, where there’s another locked door with a keypad separating the shop from the apartment.

The office space is in the house’s original kitchen, painted a cheery yellow with old-fashioned lace valances over the windows. My desk is the broad oak table, and I love running my fingers over decades of wine stains and nicks from cutting knives.

I slip in and out of each room, the light veil of anxiety eventually lifting as the sunlight makes it obvious that nothing is disturbed or broken, and this is still the quaint bookshop we both fell in love with. The fear that gripped me last night fades to a memory, and the only tangible piece of weird are the slim red lines on my fingers, no worse than a paper cut today.

Then something on the checkout counter catches my eye.

I’m almost one hundred percent sure I didn’t leave any books there, but a single tattered paperback sits in the middle of the counter like it’s waiting to be noticed. I pick it up and flip through it, studying the cover -Spirits of Clearwater. It’s a collection of local folklore and ghost stories, and a little shiver spirals across my shoulders as I look at last night’s events from a different perspective.

I may not believe in magic like Ruby does, but I’m undecided about ghosts.

Placing the book carefully back where it was for now, I unlock the front doors and push them open wide with thedetermination to start fresh today. Even if there isn’t a spirit hiding in these rooms, the place could use some sweet spring air. Something scrapes along the wooden porch, and when I peer around the door, I find a small, cream-colored box that must have been waiting on the doorstep.

A delicate rose is drawn on the top in black pen, and the scent of honey and fruit swirls out when I pop open the lid. A beautiful pale pink tart is nestled inside, just big enough for two people to share. Candied rose petals decorate its glistening top, and the tart-sweet smell is mouth-watering.

Slanted handwriting on the inside of the lid reads, “Rose-rhubarb tart for Rose. Enjoy, pretty neighbor.”

I glance up and down the empty street, but the only person I see is our elderly neighbor, Charles, sweeping the sidewalk in front of his art shop. He’s unlikely to be leaving me random desserts. Then my brain remembers the man I met briefly outside the pop-up restaurant - Arlo. I grin, feeling a bit of excitement start to filter through the unease.

Of course, he must have left this for me. After all, I did tell him my name and where to find me. Something I would have never done in the city, but maybe it’s another sign that I really do feel safe here.

A grin spreads over my face at the idea of finding him later tonight, once my work is done. I can think of a few fun ways to show my appreciation for this sweet gift.

The day slides past quickly as I get busy, and the sun is just starting to sink toward the tree line when I check off the final thing on today’s to-do list. The main front room is as ready as it can be for now, while I wait for Ruby to return tomorrow with her trunk full of newly purchased books. It’s high time for the reward I promised myself for all my hard work.

After locking the shop, I make my way upstairs. I indulge in an everything shower and have a good-decisions salad withprotein before diving into the luscious dessert that Arlo left for me. Sweet and sour flavors explode on my tongue in the perfect mix, and a moan I usually save for the bedroom escapes my lips.

“Fuck me,” I murmur, licking the back of the spoon. No wonder this restaurant has a cult following.

Barely managing to save some of the tart to share with Ruby, I head into my bedroom to choose an outfit. It takes me a while to find everything in the mess of half-unpacked boxes, but eventually I’m ready, dressed in a slinky but casual black top, jeans that show off my ass like a prize peach, and a wrap sweater that always slides off my bare shoulder.

I don’t try to hide or minimize my generous curves anymore. If a man doesn’t like it, he can go find someone with different genetics.

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