Page 36 of Midnight Valentine
Excuse me, King Crabby Poo,
but YOU are stalking ME.
His phone chimes, he reads the text from me, then composes his response, his thumbs moving so fast, they’re a blur.
You’re not excused. Why is your nose so red?
Snort coke much?
“Okay, Sunshine, it’s on,” I mutter, then type.
Charming. That’s called walking-in-cold-wind nose. However, if I knew I’d be bumping into you,
I’d definitely have turned to drugs
to help me through the trauma.
He snorts.
Please. Being in my presence is like soaking up
golden rays of sunshine. Just look how jealous
everyone is of you right now.
I hazard a glance around, and sure enough, almost everyone is looking at us. Some more obviously than others, but the general level of interest could be compared to that of an audience awaiting the opening act at a circus to begin.
So of course I have to smile widely and wave.
Eyeballs scatter like marbles. Beside me, Theo makes a low noise deep in his throat that sounds like something close to a chuckle.
I want him to mak
e that sound again.
“I suppose the good citizens of Seaside are all shocked to see you out of your coffin during the daytime, Dracula. Oh, wait, there’s one guy over there who isn’t staring at us. Must be a tourist.”
I turn to find Theo gazing at me, his eyes bright with laughter. This close, I can see that they’re not black like they appear from even only a few feet farther away, they’re a deep, rich brown, velvet dark as espresso, just as warm and inviting. But also filled with that indecipherable longing like a secret message waiting to be decoded. Waiting for someone to look close enough to see.
My heart skips a beat. I haven’t looked this deeply into a man’s eyes since my husband died.
I look away, toying with the fork at my place setting, fumbling it between my fingers because they’re trembling. Breathe, Megan. Just breathe.
After a moment, my phone chimes.
You okay?
I stare at my fingernails, which are in dire need of a manicure. “Stop being so observant. It’s irritating.”
Irritating is my middle name.
Tell me what’s wrong.
Uncomfortable, I laugh. “I just remembered this place has really awful food. I had some calamari the other night I still haven’t completely digested.”
He’s about to type something into his phone when the waitress reappears at our table side. She holds a pad and pen in hand, ready to take our order. Looking at me, she asks, “Have you decided?”
I haven’t even looked at the menu yet, so I go with my default food choice. “Could I get a Denver omelet with extra bacon on the side?”
