Page 11 of Ghosted
“Where’d you park? I’d like to walk you to your car,” he says, grabbing my cup from me so he can throw it away.
We head outside after waving to Misha, instantly chilled thanks to the cool night air. “I didn’t,” I say, “I live just across the street.” I point to The Veil.
“You live in your aunt’s store?” he asks.
“On top of it, actually. There’s a studio apartment. I’ve lived there since I moved out of my parents. Rent is free, so I can’t complain.”
“Man, talk about an easy commute,” Dean says with a laugh.
“I know, it’s pretty sweet.” We cross the street and walk down the small alley, slowing as we come to the stairs leading up to my place. We stop beneath a streetlight, and I say unnecessarily, “Well, this is me.” I gesture lamely to the rickety staircase.
“I had a great time, Rae. Thank you for going out with me and not using the mace at your earliest opportunity,” he jokes.
“Thought about it,” I say primly.
He smirks in response and reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His hands are a little cold, butthat’s not what makes me shiver. “When can I see you again?” he asks, stepping closer so we’re almost toe to toe.
I look down before flicking my eyes up to meet his. I worry my lip between my teeth, watching him track the motion. How do I respond in a way that doesn’t seem desperate but still enthusiastic?
Ugh, why is this stuff so hard for me?
Finally, I settle on, “Soon. Let me know when you’re free. I work most days, but we can figure something out.”
“I’m pretty busy with this case through the end of the week, but I think that by next weekend things will settle a bit. Even if they don’t, I’m happy to meet you for dinner. I don’t want my stupid schedule to be the reason I don’t see you again.” My heart thuds irregularly at that. I knew it was going well, but to have him confirm so plainly is reassuring.
“Next weekend then,” I say with a smile.
He holds out his arms for a hug, and I step into them without hesitation. I squeeze his middle and rest my cheek against his chest. We stay there for a breath or two, and then we both start to pull away. Before he fully lets me go, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead that I feel all the way to my toes.
I snake my hands up behind his neck and impulsively pull him in until our lips meet. The plush feel of them moving against my own is intoxicating. He drags me closer and angles his head to give me more. He licks at my lower lip playfully, and I open with a gasp. His taste floods me, and it’s like I’m drinking the world’s best cup of hot chocolate again. Only this time, there’s a hint of Dean—even more delicious. After a few of possibly the best seconds of my life go by, I pull away slowly. He chases my mouth down for one final kiss, making me laugh.
“I’m definitely seeing you next weekend,” hesays. “Or even sooner if I can swing it.” He presses his forehead to mine for a beat and then pulls back to peck my nose, the warmth of his kiss-swollen mouth a shock against my icy skin.
I smile at him and step back, knowing if I don’t leave now, I’ll invite him up and he’ll probably say yes. I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t get this promotion, even if his feelings on the matter seem complicated at best.
“Text me,” I say, walking backwards up the first few steps.
“I will, sweetheart,” he says. I can feel his attention on me like a hand on the small of my back the whole way up the steps. When I get to the landing, I unlock my door and wave one last time. I catch sight of his dimple before ducking inside. My phone buzzes inside my purse, and I pull it out, curious if Wren is badgering me for details already.
Dean:
I’m so glad we got to go out.
I have to laugh because wow, that was quick. The man knows how to follow directions. I type out a reply right away, so he’ll walk to his car. I don’t want him freezing out there waiting for a response.
Rae:
Me too. See you soon. Goodnight, Dean.
Goodnight, sweetheart.
SEVEN
“Do you guys have any,like, potions?” I work hard not to roll my eyes at the teenage girl. She’s spent the last ten minutes touching everything in my shop and moving it slightly off-center. I try not to think about all the time I spent earlier putting up new displays that she messed up within a few minutes. She’s one of those people who don’t pay attention to where they got something from and just sets things down all willy-nilly.
What am I, eighty? Who says “willy-nilly” before they have a senior discount?
“No, sorry,” I say, trying to smile to soften my tone. She bobs her head, long blonde hair swishing with the motion. She bounces up and down on the toes of her worn Converse, and I can sense she wants to ask something more, but doesn’t know how. “What’s up? Anything I can help you with? Maybe some fun bath products or tarot cards?”
