4. Some Grim Reaper
Chapter 4
Some Grim Reaper
Bonnie
“See? This is much better than moping about a stupid internship.” Lulu gestures with her ice cream toward the colorful bunting strung from shop to shop beside bright, twinkling lights under a pitch-black sky.
A bustle of people shuffles down Main, entering and exiting shops. Someone bumps into my shoulder. I barely keep my ice cream cone steady.
“ So much better,” I agree with a tinge of sarcasm. “I swear, if one more person knocks into me ”—I stress the words to nobody in particular, but a couple of people give me a wider berth—“then I’m gonna lose it.”
I silently pull my cone up to my lips and take another lick. Lulu rubs her shoulder against mine.
“Sorry, yes,” I amend. “This is much better than spending time in my studio.”
If I could be drawing instead, I’d prefer it. But getting out of the house is probably for the best.
She straightens with a smile. “So, what’s the plan here? Blow a bunch of money on candles, junk food, and art?”
“Obviously.”
“Amazing.” She raises her ice cream spoon. “Party until dawn!”
“It literally ends at midnight, Lu.”
She squeezes my arm. “Okay, then we’ll turn back into pumpkins and party at home.”
“Perfect.”
Never Harbor’s Main Street Night Crawl is a tourist’s dream. Our shops are a big draw for out-of-town Bostonians, and this is the only time during the summer our shop owners give steep discounts. Most take advantage of the new crowd, but some shop owners don’t like the fuss, and, well …
I slow a little as we pass Rafe’s screen print shop. The lights are off at Ink he isn’t offended. He’s surprised.
His eyebrows rise. A little line beside his mouth deepens. He smiles—he smiles ?—and it triggers my blushing grin, which grows on my face bigger than it should be under the gaze of this man who is much cooler than I’ll ever be.
I surprised Rafe Cohen.
“Bonnie,” he says, and my name is so smooth on his rough tongue. “What’s that short for?”
“Siobhan,” I answer. My skin must be beet red by this point, but when his eyes roam my hot cheeks, he only smiles more. “It’s a family name, but my mom didn’t really like Shiv as a nickname. So, she went with Bonnie instead. It doesn’t make much sense actually. But Ma does what she likes.”
“I like Shiv,” he says. “It suits you.” The words are sprawling and sensual.
I let out a nervous laugh. It sputters out of me like a struggling engine that won’t turn over.
“Does it?” I ask. I’ve always thought Shiv was cool, but I’m so far from cool. “Seems sharper. Cuts a bit.”
“Yeah.” He smiles and brings the cigarette back up to his lips.
Rafe has the kind of smile that seems like a secret between he and himself. It’s a secret I want in on.
“I’ve always thought I was more pushy or nosy ,” I say.
“Why do you say that?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Have you met my family?”
He laughs, and, God, it’s stunning. Low, throaty, gorgeous. “True.”
“Plus, I like knowing too many things.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Everything. I like people watching especially.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, everyone is unique, and I like to know why. What’s their favorite color? Is it because they like it or because they were told that’s a good color to like? Why did they choose their hairstyle? One blue house isn’t the same as another blue house. Why are people the way they are? I want to know people’s souls, and a lot can be seen from afar.”
“You want people’s souls?” he teases. “Collecting them like some Grim Reaper?”
I laugh. “I’m not evil.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
“I just wonder about people. Like why does the local artist like so much sugar in his coffee?”
He chuckles into his cigarette. “Nah-ah-ah, you’re not taking my soul.”
“Or why does he smoke?” I add.
“Nerves,” he answers.
The response is quicker than I thought it’d be.
But then his eyes drift to look over my shoulder. His face falls into exhaustion. I turn around and see Milo watching us. I groan.
The thing about being the only Davies girl is that my brothers are somehow always close by. Even with Jasper and Cass out of town, Milo is still keeping guard. I love them, but I’m not just their little sister. Rafe has to see that, right?
“Ignore him,” I grumble.
Rafe snorts. “I’m not intimidated by the Davies brothers.”
“So, you’re just intimidated by me then?” I joke.
With a laugh, he shakes his head and glances up at the moon. It’s like he’s praying for some random god to answer a question I don’t know he’s asking.
“You wish I were,” he teases back.
I do. So bad.
But his fingers shake around his cigarette, and his inhale sounds more like a throat clearing …
“You are,” I say, blinking. “You totally are.”
When the realization hits me, the blood in my veins beats faster. I’m hot like a wildfire.
Rafe gives me a blank, hooded stare. He pulls in a breath. Lets it out. Then, he huffs out a breathy laugh through his nose.
“Christ, when did you get so bold?” he asks.
“And when did you get so nervous around me?”
I’m excited. It’s showing too much. I’m losing any sense of cool I might have had, but, oh my God, he’s nervous around me.
He shakes his head with a grin that shows the canines of his white teeth, but doesn’t say more than that. Instead, he brings the cigarette back up to his lips.
He’s nervous around me. Rafe Cohen is nervous. Around me.
“Have you ever thought about quitting?” I ask.
He leans back, blowing the smoke away from me. “All the time. I don’t think I’m ever not thinking about that.”
“Well then …” I take a step forward and steal the cigarette from his fingers.
The slight touch of his skin bumping against mine sends little shimmers of electricity down my arm.
Rafe’s eyebrows furrow in. “No, don’t start smoking.”
“Why not? You do it,” I joke.
He opens his mouth to counter but instead of smoking—I had no intention to anyway—I push the butt into the ashtray on the brick wall and twist it until it burns out.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Those are expensive, you know.”
“Didn’t you just imply it’s bad for me? Wouldn’t that make it bad for you too?”
He tilts his head to the side, and the small smirk that spreads over his features sends the fiftieth shiver of the conversation down my spine.
“Yeah, well, you’re a bit more precious than I am,” he says.
Electricity gathers in the pit of my stomach, stinging each part of me like a bottled thunderstorm. His eyes are sharp, cutting through my gut under their hooded gaze.
Rafe clicks his tongue, runs another large palm through his hair, and sighs with a smile. “Want to get out of here, Shiv?”
My arms go stiff by my sides.
“Want to get out of here?”
Those six words could have sixty meanings, but I’ve been to enough college parties to know exactly what they’re implying. Not that the words have ever been said to me .
I had one or two relationships in high school. Nothing lasting more than a month or two though. There was Travis, who kissed me with too much tongue behind the football field bleachers. Riley, who took me to Mermaid Lagoon and snaked his hand up my shirt to clumsily palm my breasts. Simple stuff.
My parents’ version of “the talk” was clinical. Penis and vagina. Condoms. STIs.
Any additional information I learned from Lulu. We spilled secrets under a blanket at sleepovers, popcorn passed between us and endless giggles shared. Sex felt taboo—like bad things that only bad girls did. And I’ve always been a very good girl. At least until this year. Until my grades turned from A’s to C’s. Until I lied to my family about art school.
Now, here I am, standing toe to toe—boot to boot—with the man I’ve crushed on since I understood what crushes even were, since I knew sparks were my destiny the moment he sent a lightning bolt through me.
This is Rafe . He’s definitely a one-night-stand kind of guy. And I’m a virgin. A very good girl.
But I bet Shiv can be a bad girl.
So, I straighten my spine, bite my bottom lip, and say, “Of course.”
Shiv says.
A slow, gentle smile spreads over Rafe Cohen’s face. A small line deepens beside his mouth. It’s not a smirk. It’s not even teasing. And for a moment, I wonder if this is what happy looks like on him.
He leans in closer and murmurs in that smooth voice of his, “Then, where do you want to go?”