11. Chapter 11
Kylie
There’s a soft knock on my door, about twenty minutes after the call. Abby rushes toward the front door, tail wagging excitedly and about as quickly as my heart is beating.
I hesitate for a moment before I open the door. Breathe, Kylie. No need to be nervous.
As soon as the door is open far enough for her to slip through, Abby darts through the gap.
She pushes it open so strongly, the fall wreath I got from Wayward Hollow’s flower shop swings dangerously.
After walking past it twice, admiring the orange gingham bow, chrysanthemums, pinecones and small plastic pumpkin arrangement, and listening to the voice in my head telling me I don’t need it, I decided to ignore it.
Now I have the prettiest front door of Wayward Hollow, I dare say.
“I think my dog likes you,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant as Abby darts all around Erik. ‘Just like her owner,’ I add in my head. Abby runs around him, tail wagging as fast as helicopter blades and jumps up his side, whining until he gets on his knees to say hi to her properly.
“I’m not complaining.” He glances up at me between dog kisses, with a smile that takes my fucking breath away. There’s something about him on his knees that makes my stomach flutter.
“Abby, that’s enough.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder as if to say, ‘I don’t have to listen to you.’ I don’t repeat myself and cross my arms in front of my chest and wait for her to listen to me, the way my dog trainer taught me. Once she realizes I stand on business, she gets off him to dart back into the house.
“It’s okay,” Erik mumbles and gets up.
“It’s okay once you’re inside. I don’t want her to get into bad habits,” I mumble and motion for him to come inside, softly closing the door behind him.
“I’m sorry for calling you so late, but I don’t think Nic, Lauren, and Kieran are the right people to ask.
” I run my hand over my face. “They’d probably be scared too, which would make me more scared, it would turn into a vicious cycle, and by the end of it we’d all be hiding under our blankets counting down the seconds until sunrise. ”
“Kylie.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and waits for me to meet his eyes. I hadn’t spared it too much thought before, but now that he’s standing right in front of me? Damn, he’s tall. Almost a full head taller than me.
“You don’t need to apologize all the time. If I hadn’t wanted to come over, I would have told you.”
I stare at him, the soft smile playing at his lips, the way a strand of his blonde hair falls into his face, and the ever-so-slight lines in the corners of his eyes.
“You wanted to come here?” The flabbergasted words tumble out in a squeak before I can stop them. Well done, Kylie, you don’t sound needy at all. “Oh. Fuck. Please ignore that I asked that.”
“No, I won’t.” He lets go of my shoulder. Almost absentmindedly, he brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. His finger hovers right by my temple and his eyes widen, ever so slightly.
My heart beats in my throat and my brain is running at a thousand miles an hour. But before I can blabber my thoughts without a filter again, he retracts his hand, staring at it as though he had an out of body experience. I guess that makes two of us.
Is this the part where he backpedals?
“Maybe ‘want’ is a strong word, but I like talking to you.”
My breath hitches. There’s so much sincerity in his voice and it spreads over my heart like a warm blanket.
“I like talking to you too,” I admit in a whisper, feeling blood rush into my cheeks. How does he say these things so nonchalantly? Is blushing not programmed into his genes?
“Also, when I became a cop, I swore to protect my community to the best of my ability.” His smile turns into a devilish grin. “Including from ghosts.”
I huff out a breath. “I doubt they made you say that when you graduated from the police academy.”
“It was implied.” He leans down to take off his shoes.
I shake my head at him and walk ahead to my living room, subtly putting my cold palms on my burning cheeks. “I was just about to make myself some hot chocolate. Do you want one too?” I ask him over my shoulder and head straight on to my kitchen.
“I’d love one.”
Soft footsteps behind me trail into the living room. They’re joined by a four-pawed pitter patter as Abby strikes again.
Shuffling commences, while I fill a small pot with enough milk for two cups. Could I throw them in the microwave? Yes. But I’d feel like a heathen. Hot chocolate has to prepared with a little fear of burning the milk and ‘oh shit it’s boiling over’ in order to taste right.
Slowly stirring the milk with a whisk, I stare at the white liquid and will it to hurry up. I can’t stop myself from glancing their way every few seconds. They’re on the ground, play-fighting over one of her toys. Contrary to when I do the same, Erik is winning.
Absentmindedly, my fingertips touch my temple, the same place he did a few minutes ago. A soft ‘clank’ alerts me—just in time, because the milk is about to boil over the edge of the pot.
So my ghost is helping me out now? What a real one.
Gabriella would have a field day with this domestic scene. Her voice pops up in my head.
Look at that hot guy playing with your dog. Must be a sign from the universe.
I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe I had to go through a marriage with fizzled-out sparks to be more certain of what I deserve.
And what I do deserve is a guy who comes over in the middle of the night when I’m scared. Not one who uses work as an excuse to stay away from home.
“Here you go.” I set both mugs down on my dining table and sit down. I’d give it to him directly, but with how they’re roughhousing, it would spill within a second and Abby would lick it off the ground quicker than a vacuum.
Chocolate and dogs? Not a good combination. She’s been acting as usual, so no zombie disease from the bone and I’d rather she stay healthy.
“Thank you.” He gets up and takes a seat opposite me, while Abby settles down by my feet.
This is nice. A delicious hot beverage, a hot guy in my living room and my dog by my feet. I’m about to take a sip when all of a sudden, a picture frame falls off my shelf.
We both freeze.
“Was that Abby?” he asks in a tight whisper. I shake my head and set my mug down with trembling hands. His presence and the fact he heard it too are reassuring, at least I’m not imagining it, but it doesn’t make the jump scare any better. My shoulders are tight, heart racing.
“She’s right by my feet,” I whisper and point at the table.
Ever so slowly he turns around. He probably thinks I left one of my windows open, but when he sees they’re all closed he jumps up, face pale. “How—?”
“I told you. Ghost.”
He strides over to my shelf and picks the picture frame off the ground. But instead of putting it back, he stares at it.
“Your ex?” He turns the frame to me. Of course it had to be this picture. I groan.
“Yes.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate, then hide my burning face behind the mug. “I put this picture up because sometimes I need a reminder of the good times we had,” I feel the need to explain.
It was taken on our honeymoon in Paris. He surprised me by renting a vintage car for half a day and driving me around the city in it.
I felt on top of the world. He was showing me off as his wife any chance he got, telling waiters and tourists who did not care in the least. It was a week full of laughter and dancing and walking hand in hand along the Seine.
The picture is a selfie, with him behind the wheel. I’m clinging onto his arm and leaning my head on his shoulder, both of us smiling the way you do when you still believe in ‘forever.’
“Looks like a nice guy,” Erik mumbles and puts it back on the shelf, making sure it’s on there properly and has no way of falling down again.
“He was. Is.” I turn the mug around in my hands, watching the hot chocolate swirl.
“What went wrong, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I arch my eyebrow at him. ‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ is he serious? “Erik. The first time we met, you offered me your guest room. I snooped around you home and pried into your kidnapped sister. I think no topic is off the table anymore.”
“Let me pretend to be a gentleman and ask.” He chuckles and sits back down. Abby gets up from between my legs and trudges over to her bed next to the couch.
“Ultimately, we both wanted different things from life, and were too young to realize how horrible of an idea marriage was at our age.” Nervously, I rake my fingers through my hair.
“His priorities shifted. He wanted to climb the career ladder, retire at forty-five, and I want to… live my life, I guess.” Erik leans closer, paying attention to every word.
I can’t imagine this is what it meant when he said he liked talking to me
“We didn’t find any common ground and I could only take so long of being the second priority in his life.
By the time we divorced, it might as well have been over for three years already.
He was always at work, I was always at home.
We barely saw each other. And one day I finally stopped ignoring how shitty being a second choice made me feel. ”
“I’m sorry,” Erik mumbles, a glint of something reminding me of pride crossing his features. His hand lifts off the table as if he wants to comfort me but isn’t sure how to.
CLANK!
“Holy shit.” I jump, clutching my shirt right above my thundering heart. “I can’t with all these jump scares.”
I glance behind him and my eyes widen.
“What the—?” Erik’s shoulders tense and he turns around in slow motion. “Seriously? The same picture?” He turns back to me, mouth agape.
“Maybe the ghost is telling me I’m better off without my ex,” I mumble, trying to ease the tension and get up myself. Instead of putting the picture back on the shelf, I slide it into one of the boxes I still have to unpack.