“They’re not going to just assume, right?” Fear and uncertainty coiled within me. “There won’t be…consent concerns?”
His voice turned into a hard growl. “If they harm a hair on your head, Jacinta, I will rip them apart. Literally.”
“That’s all well and good, Austin, but that isn’t going to help me avoid a bad situation. I don’t want revenge; I want to not get hurt in the first place.”
He covered my hand with his. “You’re right. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. No, from what I’ve heard, that won’t be an issue. Just be upfront and they should back down. You…could have your pick, though, if you wanted…practice.”
That last sentence sounded as if it had been dragged out of his mouth. As though he was as reluctant to talk about it as I was.
“Yeah, let’s not open that door for discussion,” I said, looking straight ahead. “I wish Mr. Tom wouldn’t.”
“That guy is such a trip. I always think I’m going to get used to him, and then he surprises me by upping the ante of weirdness. Edgar, too. It is…really unbelievable. That crew is honest-to-God the strangest group of people I have ever met in my entire life.”
I was laughing helplessly by the time we got to the little bistro on the main drag, an Italian restaurant I hadn’t been to yet but had heard was fantastic. He stopped by the door, waited for me to take my hand back, and then stepped back to give me more space.
“So,” he said, holding my gaze.
“So,” I responded, looking around the quiet street. Then I lifted my empty hands to—hug him, maybe? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter because it made me realize something. “Damn it.” I looked back toward the house. “I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I forgot all my stuff. We’re supposed to split the bill. What time is it?”
He checked his watch, a large square of technology. “Five past eight. You’re late.”
“Dang it. Can you call Mr. Tom and tell him to bring it for me, please? With my phone, obviously.”
“Here.” He reached into his back pocket and dragged out a gold money clip pinching a dull green wad. “How much do you need?”
“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I need my phone, too, so he can just bring the whole lot.”
“I’ll call, but just in case this date ends as quickly as the last one…” He slipped the folded pack of bills out as he glanced at the restaurant. “This place is pretty pricey.” He leafed a few fives and twenties out of the way before sliding out a hundred-dollar bill, and then another. He handed them over.
“No, it’s—”
“Jess, take it. If you don’t need it, great, no biggie, I’ll get it back from you. I’ll ask Niamh to drop off your clutch on her way into the bar. She has to be less embarrassing than that clown Mr. Tom—damn it. Earl.”
“Just give in.” I couldn’t help the giggles. “Just give in and call him Mr. Tom. You know you want to.”
“No,” he ground out, threatening a smile. He slipped the wad of cash back into his jeans, the material hugging his large package and muscular thighs. I didn’t know if he bought them tight to show off on purpose, but they did a great job of drawing the eyes.
“Right, but where am I going to put it…” I held the notes in my hand, looking down at my tight dress.
Austin’s eyes snagged on my bust.
“It’s not going to fit in there,” I said with a grin.
In the dim light, I just barely saw a flash of hunger in those deep blue eyes. “No, I guess not. Your shoe?”
I laughed, folded it, and threaded it into my bra. “Just kidding—there is always space for money.”
This time I was sure of it—hunger, wild and ferocious, moved within his gaze. My body warmed, then pounded, my core tightening in response.
He didn’t comment, nor did he drop his gaze.
“So,” I repeated in a strained whisper.
“I’ll see you”—he gritted his teeth, spared another glance for the restaurant, tense now, and stepped away again—“when I see you, I guess. Good luck.”
“Oh, I forgot to ask,” I called to his backside while admiring the view. The man must have been created in the mold of a Greek god. “What’s the status of those guys? Did you silently sort out the king of the hill?”
“Of course,” he said over his shoulder without stopping. “It’s always going to be me.”
8
The interior of the restaurant was fashionably elegant, with white linens, flickering candlelight, and red carnations in dainty glass vases. Most of the tables within were taken, couples or families dining quietly. A small bar sat off to my right—room enough for four people, but only one seat was taken, a younger guy with a black collared shirt and rimmed hat.
The memory of my father reminding my brother to take his hat off at the table kept my gaze rooted to him, and in a moment, the attention was obviously noticed. His shoulders tightened and he turned in his seat. But instead of looking around for the source of his creepy-crawlies, he looked directly at me.
I should’ve shifted my gaze—I was the rude one in this scenario, staring at a stranger for no reason—but I couldn’t. He had a fresh face that spoke of a guy in his early twenties, but something in his eyes felt…ancient. I couldn’t see their color, or really any details from this far away in a dimly lit restaurant, but they carried the ennui of someone who’d lived this life three times over and was just waiting around for something different to happen. An old soul, clearly, or maybe just a guy in a small town desperate to get out.
“Can I help you?”
I jumped, not having seen the hostess walk up. After giving my name, I glanced over at the guy again. He was back to looking at his phone, a sweating brown bottle waiting in front of him.
“Right this way,” the hostess said.
I held my breath as she led me into the back, to a table by the window where a man was already seated. He looked to be about my age, with a shaved head and a modest brown beard. His nose was long and straight, and his lips, partially hidden by the beard, were turned up in a large smile.
He stood when the hostess stopped by the table with a menu in hand.
“Hi. I’m Ron.” He held out a hand.
Thankful he hadn’t moved in for a hug, I offered him a relieved smile and shook hello. “I’m Jacinta. My friends call me Jessie.”
“Please, sit.” He gestured to my chair and sat, waiting for me to follow suit, and didn’t speak until the hostess strode away. “Do you live around here?”
“I do, yes. Just down the street, really.”
“Oh yeah? I’ve been to this town a million times for wine festivals and because I have some friends here. Which area?”
“Just…” I pointed in the direction of the house as the waitress showed up to take our drink order. “I haven’t been here long. It’s the court with the creepy house at the end. Usually people know—”
“Ivy House.” The waitress smiled and nodded, ready with her pen and paper. “Right? You’re talking about Ivy House?”
“Yes—”
“Right! I know that house.” Ron paused for me to order a glass of wine before ordering the same for himself. After the waitress left, we started looking at our menus, and he said, “So that’s cool, huh? Living on the street with that house? I heard the owner lives in Europe or something, and there’s an insane old woman next door who throws rocks at people trying to check it out…” He laughed at the insanity of it all and held up his hands. “I’m sure there are a lot of urban legends surrounding that house.”
I shrugged as the waitress came back with the drinks. “I don’t honestly know. I’ve only been there for a couple of months. But the woman at the end…that’s true. She really does that.”
“No!” He laughed, delighted, and I found myself smiling with him. He had a carefree, infectious laugh. “That’s hilarious. I’d go check it out for myself, but I don’t want to get hit by a rock!”
“Yeah, she’s a really good shot.” I chuckled, ready to order when the waitress returned.
When she left again, he said, “So how close do you live? Do you see ghosts or anything at night? I hear it’s really creepy.”
“It is creepy, and…I live in it, actually. I’m now the owner.”
He paused for a moment, his glass half raised to his lips. “Wait…you live…in the house? You own it?”
“Yeah. I recently bought it. I like creepy old houses.”
A crooked smile worked within his beard. He laughed. “What a trip.” He squinted at me and turned his face to the side, mockingly suspicious. “Are you pulling my leg? You are, aren’t you? You’re poking fun because I’m so curious.”
I put up my hands. “No, honest. I swear.” I laughed, my tension from earlier dripping away. He seemed so normal. Non-magical, curious, no idea what went bump in the night… The most he had to worry about was a house payment or rent, bills, dating—normal life stuff. He didn’t have to think about flying, or warding off advances from promiscuous creatures, or a crazy house, or learning magic. He didn’t have to worry about the danger I felt drawing ever nearer, or whether Austin would soon find out the hard way that he was not, in fact, the biggest, baddest alpha on the block. Or wonder what would happen to the rest of us if our fearless protector fell.
I sipped my wine, relieved for this one moment. Relieved for this return to my old normal, if only for a night. This was one of the reasons I’d wanted to date a Dick.
“Wow!” He leaned back as our plates arrived. “I probably shouldn’t ask this, because I don’t want to open a can of worms, but…is it haunted?”
I told him about the room of dolls, obviously leaving out the detail that they came alive. Working through our dinners, we spoke about little things, the conversation starting and stopping as we navigated the waters of small talk, working around to hobbies and things we did for fun. It wasn’t until we started talking about what we did for a living that the conversation came to a screeching halt.