Page 123 of Your Coffin or Mine
I go still, frozen for a moment as she goes on about how he’s a fraud. “Have you been digging?”
“No,” she grumbles, her face wrinkling. “Not since you came back, anyway.”
I grab her hand in mine and squeeze, making her look at me in surprise. “Promise me you will stop digging. I don’t even want you searching up the man’s name. Swear it.” Fear has my heart thudding in my chest at the thought of Frank Stein hurting Burnie.
Her eyebrows pinch together, but she nods. “Okay, okay fine.”
I settle back down onto the couch, relieved she won’t be getting into any more trouble with him.
She pushes her shoulder into mine. “So, how was it?”
“How was what?”
“The sex,” she whispers.
“It was magical,” I whisper back, unsure of how to describe how another person can just read your body and know exactly where to touch you to make your toes curl. I suppose it’s to be expected when he’s not exactly aman.
It was magical while it lasted.
I force a smile and change the topic. “Want to talk about what I’m wearing to Erica’s wedding tomorrow?”
“Gag me,” she says, getting up and fleeing to the kitchen.
I grin, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it myself. Erica loves to use my following to boost her own, not that I mind because she’s not malicious about it. I’m just not so sure I am ready for the public, which is why I took Burnie up on her offer of a sleepover tonight. I can get dressed at her place and catch a cab to the wedding.
“Do you want a cookie?” Gram’s voice comes from over my shoulder, and she smells like sugary goodness.
I look up at her, and the silvery hair atop her head bobs as she nods. “And it’s nice to see you at least showered today.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but she’s not wrong,” Bernadette calls from the kitchen doorway, chewing loudly on a piece of toast while holding her hand underneath to catch crumbs. “This jam should be illegal, Estelle.” She emphasizes her statement with a moan.
Grams shakes her head. “Thank you, Bernadette. Grab the hoover when you’re done making a mess.” She smiles at me next as she places the plate of cookies on the table. “Now, what kind of finger foods do you want for later?”
“You’re going to make me gain another ten pounds,” I say with a sigh.
“Good, you need some meat on your bones,” she sasses back.
I follow her as she makes her way to the kitchen, sidestepping Bernadette. “Grams, I’m going to need you to live forever.”
“Ha! No thank you. People were not meant to live more than a lifetime,” she says, kneading a ball of dough on the kitchen counter. A pot on the stove starts boiling over, and I turn it to simmer.
If you only knew.
I sidle up beside her, watching as she works the floury mixture. “What if someone did?”
“What if someone did what?”
“Never mind,” I whisper.
She blinks twice and looks me up and down before tossing a towel over the dough and turning the stove off. “I’d like to know exactly what it is you found on your little vacation I keep overhearing you and Bernadette talk about.”
A whole boxof tissues later, my face hurts from crying, and Grams is taking it all in stride while I just feel depleted anddrained. I guess that’s to be expected; the older generation is tough as nails. I left out the vampire and threatening bits, though.
“Ugh, my head hurts.” I pat my face dry and blow my nose. My face feels swollen, and I don’t need a mirror to tell me I look like death warmed up.
Grams shakes her head. “You are every bit as stubborn as your mother. Holding stuff in like this doesn’t do anyone any good.”
“Here, take some ibuprofen,” Bernadette says, pushing two tablets and a glass of water into my hand.
