Chapter 2 #3
“It’s been very inspiring.” Jonah nodded with a big smile. “I…I never thought this would be possible. And it’s…I really appreciate you picking me. I know some other students at the Guild emailed you.”
“None of them were like you.” I tamed my amused smile, showing my seriousness. “Top of your class in undergrad and grad school. Incredible dissertation on the occult and modern science. That got you into the database, right?”
“Just considered for the database.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s still pending approval. Honestly, it’s all felt like luck until this point.”
“Luck doesn’t get you a perfect GPA and approval to pursue any specialty you want,” December chimed in. Despite her annoyance with meekness, she wouldn’t stand for self-deprecation if she admired the person. “Own that. You belong in whatever room you step into. Or, in our case, RV.”
Jonah dipped his chin down, nodding without making eye contact. I chewed on my bottom lip; watching him was the closest I’d get to a time machine. I used to curl my shoulders like that, too afraid to maintain a gaze, unsure my skills comprised something solid enough to stand on.
The food came before I could probe Jonah further about his plans to climb the investigator ladder. We quieted and stuffed our faces, starving after a day of work.
I was the first to finish, moving straight on to taking a small spoonful of the apple pie December ordered.
Nico got a call that required the absence of fork scraping, and Jonah had to use the restroom after he realized the loaded fries weren’t settling well on his empty stomach.
So, when she slipped into the dinner, it was just December and me.
“You see her?” December whispered.
I glanced up in time to watch Octavia Daniel take a seat at the bar.
She was as long-limbed as I, with hints of hard-earned muscle underneath her waffle shirt.
The warm brown of her skin matched the sun-damaged tips of her long locs.
She winced as she picked up a dirty menu, trying to wipe off some old ketchup with a napkin.
When a server stopped in front of her, Octavia whipped out the same food voucher we had.
December let out a dry laugh. “So much for an exclusive paid meal. That convention was so weird with its marketing. There was no need to pretend like they were treating us to something special—what are you doing?”
I waved in Octavia’s direction. “Getting her attention.”
“Why?” December squeaked, using a hand to shield the side of her face.
“Why not?” I’d been thinking about the rancher, and now she was a few yards away. My growing curiosity wouldn’t find satisfaction in internal musings alone.
When my gaze locked with Octavia’s, she frowned.
Her back straightened as if a disapproving parent were summoning her.
She pointed at her chest, questioning if she was the target of my invitation.
Even after I nodded with a smile, she looked over her shoulder just to be sure I made eye contact with her. I released a low, amused laugh.
“Why not isn’t an answer to my question,” December said through a tight smile.
“I just want to have a conversation. Make up for not responding to her brother for a month,” I whispered back.
“You don’t owe them a response,” December insisted. “You don’t owe anyone anything—”
“Hello.” Octavia tugged on her sleeves, her long fingers disappearing under the thinning cotton.
“Hi!” I gestured to the empty bench across from us. “Have a seat.”
“I didn’t…” Octavia looked around, gaze paying particular attention to the corners of the diner as if she’d find some hidden camera. “Follow you here. The convention gave us all vouchers, and the sign said, World’s Best Pancakes.”
“They all claim that,” December said flatly.
Octavia slid into the booth. “I know, but one of them has to be right.”
“I read your brother’s email,” I said. “Saw photos of the ranch. It’s beautiful, by the way. Congrats on the non-haunted parts; I’m sure there’s plenty to celebrate there.”
Octavia’s heart-shaped face would be charming if she didn’t sport a perpetual look of dismay. Dark acne scars painted her brown skin like pinpoints on a map. She picked at the end of one of her locs, a bit of loose coil escaping from the otherwise intact shaft.
“Did you mean what you said about my services being a gimmick?” I continued without missing a beat. “Or was that a jab to get my attention?”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m not critical for the sake of gaining attention.”
“Regardless, it worked.” I offered a lopsided smile. “So, I want you to pitch me.”
“Pitch you,” she repeated, her eyes going wide.
“Do you always parrot when you’re nervous?”
Octavia shook her head. “No…sometimes.”
Her fingers shook. She picked at her nails. They were short and unpolished. Her knuckles were dark. When Octavia noticed me staring at them, she tugged her hands under the table. I sneaked a glance at December, who gave in with a low huff as she pulled out her pocket journal.
“I own a ranch,” Octavia started.
“So I’ve been told.” I interlaced my fingers, resting my hands on the table. “Tell me why you give a damn. Why did you drive all this way despite not believing a single thing about my profession?”