Page 102 of Oh No! There's an Incubus in my Hot Spring
Then the picture of Irene, Apollo, and I standing in front of the springs appears in the upper left corner of the screen.
“It’s us, it’s us!” Irene screams through a mouthful of pasta.
“Coming up next, a spirited story with a lot of heart,” the anchor says with a smile before cutting to commercial.
My stomach is doing backflips.
“Eat, lovely,” Apollo whispers, and I realize I’ve completely neglected his meal.
I set down my wine and take a big bite of noodles and meaty sauce. The tomatoes are sweet and tangy, the fresh Italian herbs are singing, and the noodles are perfectly al dente. I slurp them up noisily and then smile at him.
“Better than my pancakes?” he asks with a soft blush.
“It’s really, really good,” I say, covering my mouth with my napkin.
“Yeah, seriously. It’s, like, better than restaurant quality,” Irene adds.
He beams and my heart bursts. I don’t know if he actuallylikescooking, or if he realized I was incapable and decided to step up, but it’s obviously bringing him joy when he succeeds. Maybe I should buy him some special cooking gear? A real stove would probably be a good start.
“And now, a special on what Grizzlywood residents called the haunted hot spring,” the anchor says, and Irene points wildly at the screen as she drinks her wine.
The screen dissolves like a late-90’s PowerPoint presentation and Andrew appears on-screen in front of our building.
“It’s known as the haunted springs, the hooligan hangout, and many more interesting monikers.” He walks toward the camera as he talks. “That all stops today. Welcome to the Enchanted Sylvan Springs.” He steps aside and the camera zooms in on the front, then all the way up to the third-floor balcony framed by trees.
Irene squeaks in delight and pours us each a refill.
It cuts to an interior shot of Andrew at the reception stand. “Abandoned for twenty years, the business was in a sorry state when new owner Sylvia Azarolla arrived. But that didn’t stop her from rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.”
The shot cuts to my face on the second-level balcony. “I’ve always been very driven, so when I walked in and saw the place was a mess, I just shook it off, turned on my music, and got to work. Several truckloads of rotted furniture and musty carpet later, we were finally ready to start the glow-up.”
It cuts back to Andrew. “And what a glow-up.” He steps aside again and the camera pans over the second-floor lobby, then the balcony. It looks fucking enchanting, just like we wanted.
“But there’s more heart to this story than we know,” Andrew says, and the camera cuts to an interior shot with the reporter seated in an interview-type situation.
My nerves prick and I take another big drink, only to choke on my wine as the camera cuts to Jason. I swallow and cough, gasping for air as Andrew greets my ex.
Andrew starts in. “You’re Sylvia’s ex-boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend, not ex,” Jason says, frustration clear in his features. Then he shifts his expression, furrowing his brow and letting his eyes open wider. I remember those fake fucking eyes. It kills me that other people would fall for them.
“She seemed clear on opening night about where you stand.” The snip of me saying I’m not his girlfriend. “Can you explain?” Andrew says.
“We’re…we made mistakes, but we’re just on a break.” He really turns up the ‘beat puppy’ eyes and looks at the camera. “I came out here to show her that I still care, that I’m still here for her.”
My pulse thunders in my ears and I think I’m seeing red.
Andrew smiles. “That’s so incredible. You dropped everything and came all the way out here for her. Why did she leave?”
“She was running away from me. She’s so addicted to work, and when I wanted to get serious with her, she shut down.”
“What the fuck!” I’m standing, fists clenched.
Irene slaps the laptop shut. “Okay, well…that needs to be fixed.”
I pace to the door, then back to the table, trying to control my breathing, trying desperately to get crazy-girl under control.
I know what hotel he’s staying in. I could just pop by for a visit and give him ahuuuugeearful of my rage. I could bring a bucketof spring water and douse the inside of his car. I could buy some pad thai and throw it at him. I could stab him with a fork.
