“I get it,” he grumbled. “I took over your garage.”
Among other things. Boaz had been taking over small corners of my life for as long as I could remember.
“I let you do it.” I grasped the box and gave it an experimental wiggle. “I could have stopped you if I didn’t want your junk all over the place.”
A curious note spiked his tone. “Why didn’t you?”
I liked having a part of him with me. I liked sneaking out here smelling jerseys that carried his scent, sleeping in them when I could get away with it. I liked knowing he would have to come back, if not to see me, then to dig through his stuff.
“Here goes nothing.” I pointedly ignored the question. “Oh, hey. This isn’t so bad.”
The box was large, but not so big the momma cat couldn’t retrieve her babies. Nothing rattled inside, and it weighed much less than expected. It must be an empty waiting to be refilled.
Years ago, I found an outfit from his toddler days used to wipe up an oil spill. Another time I’d found his lion costume from an elementary school play used as an animal skin rug. And once, I found a onesie with his name embroidered on it used to coddle a greasy carburetor.
Odd bits of his life had a way of ending up here, part of my collection, making me the curator of his personal history. I was the world’s foremost expert on Boaz Pritchard.
I set the box on the concrete and folded open the flaps. A worn sketchbook held together with rubber bands sat in the bottom. When I lifted it out, I saw there were more pieces of paper stuck to the back. The brand was familiar. Maud had used it. I did too. But we never let them degrade to this ragged state. She was meticulous about keeping her supplies in good repair, and I had learned to retire sketchbooks before they fell apart too.
Flipping it front to back, I spotted no name or signature to identify the owner.
“Have you seen this before?” I held it up in one hand while I carried the box to Boaz with the other. “It looks like one of ours. Maybe Maud left it out here.”
It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities that it could be from when I was younger, something I doodled in for practice. She kept my art, my stories, my scribbles, all locked away in her library. I had blamed sentimentality, but I was beginning to grasp the truth, thanks to Linus.
“Yeah.” He nuzzled a kitten and avoided eye contact. “I know who it belongs to.”
This couldn’t be good news, and I had a sinking feeling I could guess the owner.
“I found Linus up that old oak in our backyard once. He was staring in your window.” He toyed with the jellybean pads on one fluffy paw. “I yanked him down so fast he saw stars.”
“You’re telling me Linus climbed a tree?” Try as I might, I couldn’t picture him communing with nature by choice. Or committing willful acts of athleticism. “How do you know he was looking in my window?”
“He was sketching you,” Boaz answered flatly. “He didn’t even try to defend himself.”
“Me?” There must be more to the story, like a homework assignment or maybe a gift he’d been working on for Maud.
“I was so pissed I stole his sketchbook. I would have burned it, but his mother being who she was, I figured it was smarter holding on to it until she made me give it back.” His lip curled at the yellowed papers. “He never demanded to know what I did with it, and he never asked for it back. His mother never called either. I must have forgotten about it and tossed it in with some of my junk at some point.”
Well, that explained why the temperature dropped around Linus when Boaz was in the same room.
“Why didn’t you tell Maud? Or me?”
“I’m not a snitch.” He glanced up, a piece of white fur stuck to his lip, offended. “Besides, I handled it.”
“I have to give this back to him.” I ruffled the pages with my thumb. “Maybe it will smooth things over between you two.”
“I don’t lose sleep over what I did,” he told the tuxedo kitten determined to use him as a scratching post. “He violated your privacy, so I returned the favor.”
Yep, here was the root of their mutual animosity laid bare and left to fester.
“All the same.” I heaved a sigh. “It’s the right thing to do.” I dropped the now-empty box at his feet. “Can you manage the kittens while I put this somewhere safe?”
“Sure thing.” He was already tucking each furry body in gently. “Cats love me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” That’s why he looked like he’d lost a fight with a very small demon.
Leaving Boaz to his delusions, I waffled on where to stash my contraband. I considered the carriage house, but Linus wasn’t home, and letting myself in while he was gone felt like a further invasion of his privacy. I could leave it leaned against the front door, but I worried dew might damage the fragile papers. After such a long separation, I expected he would be eager to see his drawings again.
When no bright ideas winked into existence above my head, I returned to Woolly. The sketchbook had been missing from his collection for this long. Surely Linus could wait a few more hours for a reunion. The porch light flickered in question, and I patted the doorframe on my way into the living room.
“We found an old sketchbook of Linus’s out in the garage. I’m just putting it here until I get back.” I placed it on the coffee table, then blew the foyer chandelier a kiss. “Don’t wait up.”
The crystals tinkled with amusement that put a smile on my face too.
I was determined not to let anything ruin this evening. Not ex-girlfriends. Not kittens. And not old grudges.
By the time I had checked the wards one last time, a nervous habit, and strolled back down the walkway, Boaz sat astride Willie with a helmet dangling from his fingertips. He wore a new leather jacket, this one a matte black that absorbed the moonlight, and I took a minute to zip up my own battered hand-me-down before I accepted the helmet, settled it on my head, and mounted behind him. His wide palm settled on my bare thigh, and a breath shuddered from my lungs.
“You’re living dangerously,” he murmured. “I like it.”
I popped his hand, earning a husky laugh that thrilled, and kept to myself that I’d learned a long time ago I could ride bikes in skirts or dresses all I wanted as long as I wore spandex shorts underneath.
“Arms around me, Squirt.” He still hadn’t moved his hand. “Don’t want you falling off.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice.
I linked my fingers at his navel then rested the side of my helmet against his back. I held on tight, a grin stretching my cheeks as Willie roared to life between my thighs. The vibrations rattled my fillings when he revved the engine, and a laugh burst out of me. He glanced back, his eyes warm, and I did my best to burrow so deep he would never be rid of me.
This much, at least, hadn’t changed. He’d always loved taking me on rides, and I’d always loved going. That’s why, financial reasons aside, I had glommed onto Jolene at the first opportunity. Riding her was like wrapping myself in the thickest, warmest blanket of it’s gonna be all right I could imagine.
Miles flew past in a gust of cool, spring air before Boaz coasted to a stop in front of one of the older bars in the area. Smart man, wooing me with history. This place was steeped in paranormal energy, and the air crackled with possibility.
The Black Hart and its grim past was, on occasion, part of the walking tour at Haint Misbehavin’. As the story goes, the original owner bricked his mistress up in the basement when she tried to leave him. On clear nights after the bar closed, tourists and locals alike swore they heard his wails of grief at having killed the love of his life.
A flicker of doubt crossed his features. “Does this work for you?”
“It’s perfect.” I smoothed my dress and finger-combed my hair. “They have the second-best burgers in town.”
Boaz slid his palm across mine and meshed our fingers. A zing of excitement raced up my arm, but the frantic thudding in my chest eased once I reminded myself we’d held hands a million times for a million different reasons.
Never because he took you out on a date, a gleeful corner of my mind reminded me.
He chose a booth in the back and let me in before capping off the end of the bench with his massive body and throwing his arm around me. “What looks good tonight?”
“I like their loaded potato skins and their big bacon burger.” I plucked the lone menu from the salt and pepper stand and pushed it over to him. “It’s got jalapeño aioli, bacon, buffalo sauce, bacon, and a honey chipotle sauce along with the usual suspects. And bacon.”
“Good call.” He was looking at me, heat in his eyes, when he said, “I like spicy.”
I dug my elbow in the soft spot above his hipbone, but he remained unrepentant. Being with him was as easy as breathing. Except when I wanted to strangle him. Then it was as easy as him not breathing.
Being on the receiving end of his charm almost made me feel sorry for anyone who got hit full force without any preparation. No wonder women tripped over themselves to get where I sat tonight.
“Evening, folks.” A red-haired waitress who looked vaguely familiar bumped a hip against our table. “Hey, Boaz. I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Hi, Rachel.” He didn’t glance up from the menu. “Just here for the night.”
The muscles in my spine hardened into blocks of wood in my effort to remain unnoticed.
“I can make it a good one,” she purred. “You and me always have fun.”
This time he was the one transformed, his fingers becoming iron spikes where they dug into my shoulder. As though he sensed my wish to vanish under the table and refused to let me slip through his fingers.
“I’m here on a date,” he said, polite as you please. “You remember Grier?”
Rachel’s gaze flicked to me. “Oh. Yeah. Hi.” She made a vague gesture. “Sorry about...”