Page 29 of Half the Summer's Night
My heart races a million miles a second.Friends. She wants to be friends.
It’s a start. A step closer to having her the way I want to have her. Not like last night, where I had to take. Maybe she doesn’t want the real me, but I think if Rowan Hanover asked to touch her—not right now, of course, but soon—she would say yes.
“I don’t have any friends who like the Blood Raiser movies,” I say.
Abi laughs, a kind of tension-breaking laugh. I’ve heard it before, from victims. It’s more hysterical-sounding when they do it. And not nearly as sweet.
“I mean, I guess I technically do,” she says. “But they don’t live here. One of them’s always moving around, and the other’s on the East Coast.”
I know about them, too. Chloe Monroe and Penelope Noble. I’ve scoured every photo they’ve posted across social media. Parties from college. A vacation to Florida that they all took together. I know Chloe is a data analyst, and Penelope’s an environmental activist who moves around to chase different protests.
I’ve spent hours learning about Abi. Killing and Abilene Snow, those are my two biggest interests.
But of course I can’t let her know any of that.
“That sucks,” I finally say. “Not having friends close by.” I sip on my drink, barely tasting it. “I don’t have a lot of friends, either. I have to spend all my time at the hotel.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” Abi says. “God, that seems like so much work. Running a hotel.”
“I fell into it. My uncle left me the hotel when he died.”
I wonder if she remembers Uncle Nash’s death. She was still living here when it happened.
“My uncle left me the funeral parlor,” she says with a laugh. “Funny. That’s another thing we have in common, isn’t it?”
“We both inherited real estate from our uncles?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “Well, real estate and a business.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “I don’t do funerals, though. I wasn’t really good at that part. Not like Uncle Vic.”
“So what part were you good at?” I can’t believe how easy it is to talk to her like a normal person, to learn things I can’t find out from watching her in the dark.
Abi rubs her finger around the rim of her cup. “I liked working with the bodies,” she says softly. “Uncle Nash would let me help with the preparation. Putting on makeup, that sort of thing. I liked how— unjudgmental they were, I guess.”
All I can do is sit and stare at her. I’m afraid that if I say anything, it’ll scare her off.
“God, I’m probably freaking you out right now,” she laughs, shaking her head.
“No!” I say it too quickly, and she jerks her gaze up to mine. “No, I think it’s interesting. I feel like maybe running a hotel and running a funeral parlor are kind of similar?”
I have no idea where I pulled that out from, but Abi tilts her head, waiting to hear more
“You have to make people happy,” I say. “Make them feel welcome.”
“Honestly, you’re right,” Abi says. “It’s all hospitality, right? That’s why I like doing autopsies instead of mortuary science. The dead don’t care what you do to them.”
That’s the same reason why I like killing people more than running a hotel. Another similarity between us that I can’t say out loud.
“I wish my guests didn’t care what we did to them,” I say. “But, alas, they care way too much.”
Abi laughs at that, and I can feel her anxiety lifting, just a bit. So I start telling her about running the Palm Breeze Hotel to see if I can lighten her mood even more. To my surprise, it works.
I tell her about the Patton family, who show up every July with their seven incredibly destructive children. And about Mrs. Gomez, a widow who spends the whole summer at the hotel, lounging by the swimming pool like an aging movie star. The more I talk, the more stories come out, and soon we’re having a real conversation, me and Abi, our words crossing back and forth across the table.
I’ve daydreamed about this a million times, probably even more than I’ve daydreamed about fucking her. And it’s just as exhilarating as it was to kiss her last night, and to feel her arousal seeping through her panties.
And it’s just as disappointing when she cuts it short, too.
“God, I’m sorry,” Abi says, checking the time on her phone. “I didn’t mean to stay this long. I’ve got to get that autopsy done.”
