Page 27 of Ghostridden
I huffed a laugh. “No. But given the, uh,eventshere yesterday, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him on his own here. As a matter of fact, I was planning to ask your Tia Sofia if she’d mind if he hung out with her today. But then I realized it’s a little A) last minute and B) early to impose.”
Ricky grinned and held out his hand for Gil’s carrier. “Not at all. She’ll be delighted. She hasn’t had a cat since she lost hers about five years ago.” He shook his head. “Princesa lived to the ripe old age of twenty-two and was pampered every single day.”
“Why didn’t she get another one?” I asked as I passed Gil over.
His smile faded under an expression of disgust. “Liam.”
“Who’s Liam?”
“Her grandson.
“She has another one? She mentioned Guillermo, but—”
“That’s Liam. He decided Guillermo was tooethnicand started insisting everybody call him Liam back in high school. Heclaimsto be allergic to cats, which is the excuse he gives for not visiting Tia Sofia more often—or at all, since he left for college.”
“If her cat’s been gone for five years, though—”
“What can I say? The guy’s a tool. But Tia won’t hear a word against him. Still thinks he hung the moon.” He patted Gil’s carrier. “She’ll be thrilled for Gil’s company, trust me. I was heading over there anyway, so I can drop him off.”
“Thank you. Really.” I handed him the bag. “These are his essentials. I’ve got a spare litter pan too, if—”
“No need. She still has Princesa’s stuff. She never could face giving it away.”
I studied him, my head to one side. “Somehow, I don’t imagine you stopped by this morning because your super-secret ESP powers told you I needed a babysitter for my cat.”
That rosy pink glowed along his cheekbones again. He set the carrier down and retrieved a blue and white striped paper bag from beside the door. “No. I, um, just wanted to give you this. I wasn’t sure you’d be up, so I was just going to leave it, but then I saw you through the window, and, well…”
Warmth sprouted under my heart as I took the bag. “What’s this?” I opened it up and the heavenly aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted out. I peeked inside to see a plump, golden brown muffin resting in a nest of tissue paper. “Wow.”
“Isaksen’s signature pumpkin spice muffin.” He dropped his gaze and scuffed the toe of one Converse along the whitewashedporch decking. “For your first day. I figured it would either be for luck before you started or a reward for making it through, so you’d have something good to snack on, even if you don’t have time for dinner tonight.”
Okay, can I say my heart melted? Because my heart melted. Heck, Greg had never brought me breakfast. Or lunch. Or a freaking takeout dinner, for that matter. That had always beenmyjob—“Because I have to go to the office and you’re at home all day.”
I was home all dayworking, so going out was actually an interruption when he could easily grab something on his way home, but that’s not how he saw it.
“This is fantastic. Thank you. Truly.” I leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
News flash: It was just as smooth and warm as it looked.
He ducked his head and… was that a giggle? Whatever, it was ridiculously cute. “Have a good day.” He stooped to pick up Gil’s carrier. “And don’t worry about him. Tia will dote on him.”
“Uh oh. He probably won’t want to come home with me then.” I raised a hand in farewell as he walked down the porch stairs. “I’ll call you about dinner.”
“Great. Talk to you then.” He turned and actually skipped a couple of steps as he crossed the lawn toward Sofia’s house.
Seriously.Socute.
I ducked back inside—making sure the door was locked—and made my way through the house to the garage, mentally kicking my butt all the way.
Yes, he was cute. And nice. But could I really impose my baggage on a nice, cute guy? Greg had always cited my failed relationships:“What’s the common denominator here, Maz? You!” He’d claimed I was selfish and emotionally unavailable—usually when I was in the middle of my work day, or when he’dmade another stab at getting me to ghostwrite his ridiculous espionage thriller.
Here in this new town, I might have a chance to remake my image, but I still couldn’t categorize myself as much of a catch: Recently homeless. Mostly unemployed. And oh yeah—living in a haunted house.
“Who wouldn’t want to sign up for that?” I muttered as I slapped the garage door opener. I slid into the Civic and set my bag on the passenger seat, where the foam stuffing was peeking out from the split upholstery. I’d found the remote opener in a basket on the workbench that lined one side of the garage, so at least I could close the door behind me without climbing out and entering the code.
I’d decided to drive to the Manor the first day because I wasn’t sure how far it actually was to the doors. Saul had told me to follow the fence along Main Street to the first right, so I did, nibbling on the truly fantastic muffin along the way.
Making the turn onto Violet Road, I wondered briefly whether all the roads in Ghost were named after flowers. The Manor’s iron gates—thankfully wide open—were at least a quarter of a mile from the corner, and once I passed through, the gravel driveway snaked through the trees for at least another quarter of a mile. When the Manor finally came into view, I had to brake for a moment, becausewow.
