Chapter Twelve
Twelve
While things did indeed look brighter after sleeping in her own bed and not on the porch, Cassie felt antsy all weekend. The magnetic poetry had stayed put since Friday night, but she still considered the fridge off-limits. Thankfully Poltergeist Pizza offered icy sodas along with their pies, and since she’d called them on a night when they actually delivered, she decided to treat herself. There was nothing wrong with eating on the front porch of her home, as far from the kitchen as she could get. Nothing at all.
But being afraid of your own house was, frankly, boring. So, even though the house didn’t seem to want her there, Cassie was determined to broker a peace. If there was one thing Cassie was, it was persuasive. She’d never met an unpleasant client she couldn’t win over; the same had to be true of haunted houses.
Because, house aside, there was a lot to like about this town. Someone had dropped by from the chamber of commerce down the street with a welcome basket—a sampling of goods from the downtown shops, like a loaf of sourdough from the bakery and a pound of coffee from a place called Spooky Brew. She was on waving-to-each-other terms with the lady who lived in the house across the street, and the produce guy at the market already knew she liked her bananas on the green side. Small-town living had its own charm, as long as she didn’t think too hard about the whole haunted part of things.
On Monday morning, she opened her charged-up laptop—how had Nick done that? That remained a mystery—and worked from her dining table, in full view of the fridge. Exposure therapy, as she’d said. And it sort of worked; by Tuesday afternoon she had almost convinced herself that she’d put those words in the middle of the fridge. Not Mean Mrs. Hawkins. my house . Cassie’s house, those words said.
She almost believed it.
By Wednesday morning she’d developed a backache, because as cute as her dining table was, those chairs were the furthest thing from ergonomic. So she took a risk: she unplugged her laptop and took it with her to the couch. The pillows felt great against her over-thirty back, but the risk didn’t pay off: by early afternoon her laptop was at less than five percent battery, fading to black right before she could hit Save. And plugging it in? Did nothing. Of course.
Cassie was pissed. But as she packed the computer in her laptop bag and grabbed her keys, she couldn’t be too upset. It was an excuse to go down to Hallowed Grounds, and she’d been looking for one of those all week. Sure, Nick had texted once or twice this week to check on her, and she’d texted back, but she wasn’t sure where she really stood with him. Not since her all-nighter on the porch.
It had been awkward, breaking down in front of Nick like that on Saturday morning. Especially after how close she’d felt to him the night before, how comfortable he made her feel. There was a part of her that yearned for him; she’d replay their first kiss, their subsequent kisses, and she’d feel her body moving toward him as though he were right there in front of her. But another part of her wanted to lean back, away from this town and its haunted houses and haunted beaches and haunted whatever-the-hell else. All week, that combination of swaying forward and leaning back had kept her right here, in this house that may or may not hate her, and away from her favorite bearded barista.
But not anymore. Sure, the mystery of her constantly dying laptop was annoying, but it gave her the excuse to see Nick again. Maybe when she was right in front of him, she could figure out once and for all which direction she needed to sway.
She hadn’t paid attention to the time, only dimly remembering that she’d worked through lunch, feverishly trying to finish a press release with one eye on her laptop’s rapidly draining battery level. She walked through the door of Hallowed Grounds a little after one thirty, and her heart sank. The place closed in less than half an hour; her laptop would never charge in that amount of time. And Nick would be wanting to close up soon. Dammit.
The place was all but deserted. The last lunchtime customer had just left, and Nick was clearing off the table by the window, his arms loaded down with plates and glasses. His face darkened as the bell above the door rang, not looking up from his task. He didn’t look angry per se, but he had the expression of someone whose day was ending soon, and he couldn’t wait. Cassie felt a full-body cringe coming on; her timing was terrible.
But his face lit up when he saw her, chasing away all of her fears. What had she been thinking, staying away all this time? “Hey, it’s you!” He dumped the plates on the counter behind him.
“Live and in person.”
“I have to say…” Nick put his hands on his hips and cocked his head, taking her in. “You look much better than you did over the weekend.”
Cassie snorted a laugh. “That’s not really saying much, is it?”
“Things going better with Mrs. H then?” He moved back to the table he’d just cleared, wiping it down with a damp rag.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” She got out her computer cord. “Laptop’s dead again.”
“Are you kidding?” He tossed the rag onto the table and glared up at her. Well, not at her. Hopefully. “Wasn’t it charging when I was there?”
“Yep.” She popped the p as she hooked things up. “But then I unplugged it and poof. Dead.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Yeah. Maybe Mrs. Hawkins is trying to get me fired. Unemployed people get foreclosed on, you know. This could be her way of getting me to leave.”
“Hmmm. Seems like a long con.”
“She’s a ghost, right? She’s got nothing but time.”
Nick chuckled. “Maybe she thinks you work too much.”
“Or she’s against women in the workforce,” Cassie shot back. Who knew bantering about ghosts could be so much fun?
Nick nodded solemnly, though humor danced in his bright blue eyes. “It was a different time, you know.” He shook his head. “Seriously, though. You want me to call Buster again for you? He must have missed something.”
Cassie didn’t want to bother him. Either of them. But Nick already had his phone out so what could she do but nod?
“Hey, Buster? Nick. Yeah, things are good. You should come by sometime, get some coffee. Elmer misses you.” He listened, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while he gathered the stack of plates from the counter. “Yeah. I know. I’ll tell him. Anyway, I was calling about Cassie’s house. You know, the Hawkins place? I know you checked it out but there’s still…” His voice faded as he disappeared into the kitchen, but he was back soon, shoving his phone in his pocket.
“He’ll be by tomorrow. That okay?”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
He waved a hand. “All good. So. Lunch?”
“Are you sure? You’re about to close, right?” But her stomach growled in response. God, she was starving.
“Eh.” He seemed unconcerned. “Technically. But you need to power up, and I have lots of stuff to do around here after I close anyway. I can hang.”
“In that case…” She tore her eyes away from Nick long enough to scan the menu board overhead. “I hear the chicken salad is pretty great. I’ll try that.”
Turned out, eating a chicken salad sandwich at the back table at Hallowed Grounds was the exact amount of time it took for her laptop to charge up.
“I guess it’s official,” she said with a sigh as she brought her empty plate up to the counter. “I have to hang out here if I’m going to get any work done.”
“Damn. That’s too bad.” Nick didn’t put a lot of effort into trying to look sorrowful, which Cassie appreciated. He took her plate and passed her an iced latte. She knew before the first sip that it would have the perfect amount of hazelnut flavoring in it.
She gave a happy sigh. There was nothing like midafternoon caffeine. It was like flirting with the devil: perfect right now, but there would be hell to pay later tonight, when she was trying to fall asleep. But that was Future Cassie’s problem. Other things that were Future Cassie’s problem: (1) her laptop, which would only have a few hours of battery when she took it home, thanks to (2) the ghost in her house. Probably.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything on your bulletin board that’ll help me with the whole…” She waved a hand back in the direction of her house. “With all that?”
The question hadn’t been particularly serious, but Nick’s eyes lit up. “Actually, I do. Libby.”
Cassie blinked. “Who’s Libby?”
Nick dried his hands on a nearby towel, then strode with a purpose to the corkboard by the front door; this was a man who knew exactly what he was looking for. On the little table in front of the corkboard, among the tourist maps and brochures, was a stack of business cards, and he plucked one from the pile. “Here you go.”
“Simpson Investigations?” She tilted her head as she examined the card. Simple, like Buster’s had been, but this one had a little ghost motif on it. “Like a private eye?”
“Like a ghost hunter.” He tapped the card. “Nan’s about a hundred and fifty, but she’s the best.”
“I thought you said her name was Libby?” She squinted down at the card. There wasn’t a first name on it.
“Libby’s her granddaughter. She helps out, but it’s really Nan’s thing. Remember what Sophie said about the Founding Fifteen? All of us descendants have the whole…” It was his turn to wave his hand vaguely. “ Ability to communicate with the dead. But it’s in varying degrees, like a recessive gene or something.”
“Like red hair?”
“Exactly. In this case, I’m the redhead in the family. My parents didn’t inherit any kind of ability, and neither did my sister. I was honestly surprised when Elmer got in touch.” He thought about that. “I was surprised for more than one reason, anyway.”
“I can’t even imagine.” But she could, couldn’t she? Was getting a text message out of the blue from a ghost much different than the magnetic poetry message that had happened to her?
“Anyway,” Nick said, “Nan has that gene in spades. If it’s still hanging around, she can talk to it.”
“This town has a ghost hunter.” This was the kind of thing she was still having a hard time getting accepting.
“This town has a ghost everything.” One corner of his mouth kicked up, and why not. There was humor in this, of course there was. Cassie just wasn’t there yet.
“Thanks. I’ll give her a call. Maybe she can tell Mrs. Hawkins to pound sand.”
“Their office is down the street. Past The Haunt, make a left, then a couple blocks inland. I gotta warn you, though.”
“What now?” Cassie braced herself for the next shock. “Is Nan really a ghost? Is Libby?”
Nick’s laugh diffused her tension. “Nothing like that. More like…spirits don’t move on from here, typically. They like to hang out.”
Crap. She was afraid of that. People in this town didn’t seem eager to expel their ghosts. It was all very kumbaya around here. “Well, maybe Nan can help Mean Mrs. Hawkins and me come to an agreement. Like I acknowledge that she exists, and she understands that she needs to leave me the hell alone.” She stuck the card in her pocket and took another pull of her coffee.
“That’s the spirit…I mean…You know what I mean.” Nick stopped short, realizing what he said.
“Ha.” It was a good thing this man made great coffee. The puns were terrible.
“I just mean, maybe Nan can help the two of you coexist. Make living in a haunted house not so bad.”
“And then what? We can have sleepovers at our shared house? I can spend my nights gossiping with a lady from the 1940s?” She set down her glass. “I wish I could be as matter-of-fact as you are about all this. You don’t find it weird ?”
Nick shrugged. “I grew up here. It’s part of who I am. I’ve had twenty-nine years to get used to ghosts. You’ve had, what, a couple weeks? Have you even finished unpacking yet?”
“Nope.” He had a point. There was still a stack of boxes in the unused second bedroom that she had yet to tackle. But at this rate, was she going to? Maybe she could consider them a head start if she couldn’t handle this whole “haunted town” business and went back to Orlando.
The thought depressed her, made her feel like she was giving up on this fresh start she’d given herself. She picked up her glass and sucked moodily on the straw until there was nothing left but ice. Starbucks had nothing on Nick’s skills. The man knew his way around an espresso machine. And she was pretty sure the baristas at Starbucks didn’t kiss as well as he did, either…Cassie shut down that train of thought. It was going in a weird direction.
Something of her mood must have shown on her face. “I have an idea.” Nick leaned his elbows on the counter. “Have you watched the sun set over the beach yet?”
“I’ve seen the sunset from my back balcony, does that count?” She lived right on the beach, that had to be close enough.
But Nick shook his head. “Nope. I mean on the beach, toes in the sand, sun setting over the water.”
“Ah. Then, no.”
His smile kicked up. “Wanna?”
She should say no. Was it a good idea to let herself get even more entangled with this guy? Even though everything in her wanted to say yes, sway toward him, she knew she should probably lean back. She had serious second thoughts about staying here for the long term. How could she live in a town where hauntings were the norm?
But before she could make the right decision—the smart, pragmatic decision—she was already nodding. “Sure. I’m in.”
“Great.” He straightened up, rapping his knuckles on the counter in front of him. “Meet me at the pier around seven, okay? There’s nothing more relaxing than a sunset over the beach, and something tells me you could use a little more of that in your life.”
She gave a small laugh. “You’re not wrong about that.”
“Good. I’d like to show you some things that I love about this place. Maybe I can change your mind about ghosts being scary.”
“Maybe.” She had her doubts about that, but screw it. She wanted to sway.