Page 62 of The Spider & the Storm

I swallowed at the thought and replied, “Maybe.”

“I hope you’ll show me sometime.”

My half smile matched hers as I muttered once again, “Maybe.”

***

She was from Connecticut, not too far from where I’d lived up until several years ago. But I didn't tell her that.

She had a younger sister and a couple of nephews, and I thought about how nice it would’ve been to be an uncle. Not that it was likely for me to be a cool one. I was too weird and reclusive for that, and then the thought of being the weird uncle seemedall at once fitting and shitty. But I would’ve loved whatever kids Luke might’ve had in a different, better life, in my own weird, crappy way, and the pain twisted like a dull knife to know it would never ever happen.

I told her none of that either.

In response to her talk of where she'd been and who she'd left behind, I nodded and threw in various sounds of acknowledgment. Just so she knew I was listening with the hope that it would be enough. In the same way that the simple joy of sitting beside her in an intoxicating cloud of smokiness and cinnamon was enough for me.

“Do you like living at the cemetery?” she asked, steering the conversation away from herself for the first time in about a half hour.

“I do,” I replied, keeping it simple.

“Seriously?” Her eyes twinkled with delight, her voice incredulous.

I nodded. “It’s peaceful—well …” I paused, unsure if I wanted to continue. Unsure if I wanted to be so brazen—unsure that I even possessed the ability. But then, after taking a moment to carefully choose my words, I continued, “Except for when mysterious women show up, looking for me in unethical ways.”

It sounded rehearsed and cautious, almost robotic in tone. I hated myself for it immediately. Hated myself for thinking I could actually talk to her in a way that teetered on the edge of flirtatious.

But it didn’t seem to bother her as she snorted with amusement.

“Does that happen often?”

“I can say with confidence that you were the first.”

She turned to me, narrowing her eyes with skepticism, like she had a hard time believing that I didn't have women lined up at my door.

“What?” I chuckled, diverting my gaze even though she couldn’t see through the mask I still wore.

“I just can't believe nobody has ever tried to get their hands on you yet.”

It was her own attempt at flirtation, and it was far more effective than mine. My face heated as my collar made the abrupt decision to strangle the life out of me, leaving little room for a response. And when it was obvious that I wasn't saying anything, she cleared her throat, as if to close the door on another awkward exchange.

Nice job, moron.

She turned away and said, “I love cemeteries. Like, what they stand for. Iappreciatethem. But I don’t know that I could liveinone.”

I huffed a laugh as one side of my mouth twitched upward. She couldn't have known, but Luke had said roughly the same thing to me when I told him about the job in Salem.

“Dude, I know you've always been into the cemetery thing, but, like, I don't know how you could live in one. It gives me the fuckin' creeps, just thinking about it.”

I could hear him now and the incredulity in his tone, like he had legitimately thought I'd finally lost my damn mind.

I had told him I had already accepted the job. I watched the furrow of his brow as I worried my bottom lip, my hands shakingand my legs jouncing wildly beneath the table. I waited for what felt like years for him to beg me not to go, even though it was his idea in the first place for me to get the fuck out of Connecticut. I desperately wanted him to take it all back … but he hadn't.

I released a morose sigh, and my shoulders hunched against the bench. The black-haired woman at my side turned to study me with the strangest blend of curiosity, pity, understanding, and an affection I felt was undeserved. I half expected her to ask what was wrong, what had once again shifted my demeanor, but what I was noticing about her was that maybe, just maybe, she had the same ability to read people and situations as I did.

So, she said nothing about that and instead continued to talk. And I sat on that bench, reluctantly allowing my lips to smile again, as I listened to her go on about nothing against the backdrop of crickets and muffled chatter coming from the house.

Shows she had been watching on the hotel TV.

A brand of cereal she’d been craving for weeks, but would never be able to find because it’d been discontinued for years.

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