49. Clara
Clara
Dagan has been mysterious all day. Usually, we practice signing, talk about our days, walk along the beach.
Not only did we not speak today, but when I tried to go for a walk, I was all but forbidden.
Now it’s dark, I’m tired, and no courting date has happened.
Which is fine, but I wish I hadn’t been strung along all day.
So when Dagan finally appears, I’m not exactly in a courting mood.
“ Ready? ” he asks.
“ Ready for what? You haven’t told me anything, ” I remind him signing and speaking aloud, my tone edging into indignation. He frowns, and I instantly feel bad. I don’t usually snap at people.
" Mine. I’m sorry. I didn’t really communicate this very well, did I? " he signs.
“ No—no. I’m sorry. That was snippy of me ,” I sign.
He smiles, but signs again, " You were right, though. I’ll try to communicate plans better next time. Are you still up for a date? We can try again tomorrow or this weekend. "
I do want to go. I loop my arm through his and let him lead me out to the back porch. Twinkle lights illuminate a path from the stairs down to the beach. Dagan wraps a flannel-patterned blanket shawl around my shoulders. It’s soft and perfect in the crisp night air.
A f ull moon shines down on the water, casting an orangish glow across the surface. Halfway down the wooden steps, I see it—a bonfire on the beach. A wicker egg loveseat faces the fire and the still lake.
Once we reach the sand, I notice the table beside it.
It’s loaded with everything anyone could want for s’mores.
Different types of chocolates, cinnamon-sugar and original graham crackers, multicolored marshmallows, and bowls full of treats for dipping like sparkling sugar, Oreo crumbles, and sprinkles.
A squeal of delight slips out before I can stop it.
Dagan smiles down at me, and I rise on my toes to kiss his chin.
He leans down, brushing his cheek along mine, scent-marking me.
I perfume instantly so that the smell of apple pie mixes with campfire smoke.
Dagan’s eyes flicker, but he only leans over to hand me a roasting stick and guide me toward the table.
I choose the prettiest marshmallows—pink and blue—and roast them until they’re golden. Dagan tries, but his immediately catch fire. He scowls at the blackened husks until he catches me giggling, then makes a s’more out of them anyway.
We settle into the loveseat, watching the lake through the flicker of the fire in comfortable silence.
" Before you knew the house was haunted, you already owned the Ouija board and tarot cards. You have crystals and dream catchers. I’m glad you came prepared—but what got you into all of this?" he signs.
I smile overly proud of myself that I got most of the signs right away and inferred the rest. I sign back and I'm sure I get some of the words wrong and I'm so slow but he seems to be getting the point, " Honestly, my mom was into it a lot.
When she died, I kept a lot of her things—tarot cards, Ouija boards.
It made me feel connected. But the older I got, the more it meant to me. "
He nods. "Me and Victor’s mom passed when we were young too. Car accident."
" Is that where you got your scars? " I ask.
He nods. " It was bad. Before it happened, I could talk. I could hear perfectly. But after… I had serious injuries—fractures, broken ribs, concussion, and severed vocal cords. "
I wince. I can’t imagine.
" I’m lucky to be alive, though, ” he signs. “ It could have been worse. "
“ I’m glad you’re okay. You and Victor, ” I say.
He nods, gratitude in his eyes. " Victor’s had a rough time.
Especially this last year. It’s not an excuse, really.
I just want you to have some perspective on him.
He’s been shit—but he took care of me growing up.
Even though we’re the same age, he always felt like the older brother in some ways. "
“ I don’t really want to talk about Victor tonight ,” I admit.
He nods. "Then can we do this instead? "
From beside the loveseat, he pulls out a bag I hadn’t noticed. He unzips it and takes out a small black speaker. Moments later, soft romantic music drifts across the beach. Dagan stands, offering his hand, and I take it without hesitation.
He pulls me up, then suddenly dips me in his arms, ghosting a kiss across my lips.
I giggle—a breathy, unsteady sound even to my own ears.
He straightens us, and soon we’re slow dancing to haunting music under the moonlight.
His hand rests at the small of my back, radiating warmth through my layers.
I rest my cheek against his chest, and he scent-marks the top of my head.
I could live in his pumpkin-and-nutmeg scent forever.
We dance like that for an eternity—or maybe an hour.
I can’t tell. We laugh and talk, and I’ve never had such a good time.
By the time we head back to the house, I’m so exhausted Dagan has to carry me.
He lays me gently on the bed, and when he turns to leave, I catch his hand.
“ Stay with me? ” I ask.
His eyes widen, but he pulls back the covers beside me and slips in. Just like with Jack, I don't move all night.