Page 22 of Always Be an Us

A snap of a twig has me whipping my head to the side sharply.

"Who's there?" I call out sharply, wondering if it's a trespasser, or perhaps it's one of the townspeople coming to plead with me again.

No one calls back in answer and I walk slowly to the thickets leading into the forest, where the sound came from. It's too dark to make much out, but shadows of the trees.

But I could have sworn I heard something...or someone.

"Maybe this place is haunted by ghosts after all," I murmur.

Chapter Seven

Emma

A few days pass, and I drum my fingers on the dining room table, sighing for the third time in a row.

"Emma Jane, you’re going to scuff up my good mahogany if you carry on with that."

I glance at my Grandpa who’s throwing on his signature conical hat and shuffling around the small living groom as he talks.

"Sorry, Grandpa," I say and draw back my hands, lacing them together in my lap to keep from fidgeting. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"That seems to be the case with you lately." He throws me an amused look and picks up his water bottle from the side table by the couch, tucking it into his sack. "Wanna let the load off a little bit?"

I shake my head. Typically, I love to tell Grandpa all about my problems, but not when they are financial in nature. He’s getting older and I don’t want him to worry as much.

It’s why I suggested he let Rick take over the management of the Tiki Bar, while I assisted and trained to be a co-manager.

At this stage, Grandpa should be planning a retirement and doing nothing but enjoying his life, going fishing and such.

Instead, he spent all his retirement funds on sending me to college, for a degree I didn’t even finish.

A familiar guilt travels through me but I shake my head. Guilt won't help me now.

I have to find a way to fix it and get that money back to him. I thought we could at least count on the Tiki Bar for consistent income, but sales have been dwindling more and more every year as fewer tourists roll into town.

And with this new development that James Dean Hair—I’ve taken to thinking of him as James Dean Hair—is planning, it’s going to make things even worse.

"That asshole," I murmur under my breath as Grandpa returns to searching for his sandals. It’s irritating that I don’t even know his name so I can’t even curse at him properly.

James Dean hair. Dark eyes. And lips that would seduce a nun.

"There we go," Grandpa announces triumphantly, fetching one of the sandals from under the couch. He’s kneeling and begins to stand, groaning as he gets up. He stumbles back a little when he stands fully, and I frown.

"You feeling okay, gramps?"

"Yeah." He waves away my concern. "Just not as spry as I used to be. At my age, everything just needs a little bit of oiling."

"Oh." I take note of his body as he places his hands at his waist and tilts forward, before moving his hips in a circle. "Do you want to see a physiotherapist or something?"

Ha. Like we can afford that.

"Nah. I’ll probably go see Poppy Moon’s daughter when she gets back to town, and go to one of her woo-woo things. Old Man Shoreton said that helped him with his joint pains."

"Sure. Or you could go see Poppy herself? I heard she used to be a nurse back in her army days."

"Over my dead body," Grandpa’s face suddenly gets dark. "The day I ask that woman for a favor is the day hell freezes over and the devil invites me in for a ski."

I chuckle. "Alright, Grandpa." My grandfather has a long-standing rivalry with Poppy Moon, one I don’t entirely understand. Neither of them has gone out of their way to explain the details to me.

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