21. Chapter 21
Kylie
I wake up with my face smooshed into Erik's chest, his arm over my hip and promptly close my eyes again before I freak out.
So yesterday wasn't a dream. My stomach tingles as memories flood my brain.
Our kiss at the autumn fair, the campfire, him sleeping over, and now he's still here. All calm breaths, his arm heavy on my side, and so nice and warm. I take a deep breath. There's still a hint of campfire smoke on him, even though I lent him one of my oversized shirts to sleep in.
Suddenly he stirs. Oh damn, what do I do now? Pretend to sleep? What if he wakes up and regrets it? Maybe it was only a heat-of-the-moment thing, and he was only too tipsy to drive back home. Yes, I’ll pretend I’m asleep and if he wants to sneak out we’ll never talk about yesterday again.
For a moment, his arm around me tenses.
Fuck, I knew it. It was too good to be true.
But then he lets out a soft sigh and relaxes again. I hold my breath. He lets out a barely audible hum from the back of his throat, and keeps still. One breath, two, then his fingers run through my hair.
“I can tell you're awake, you know?” he mumbles, voice hoarse from sleep, and oh my, just when I didn't think he could sound any sexier, I stand corrected.
“No, you can't,” I mumble and stubbornly keep my eyes closed. If I don't open them, it means he won't get up, right?
“I so can.”
Before I know what’s happening, my entire world turns. Literally. He pulls me on top of him and I squeak with surprise.
Okay. I thought the position I woke up in was perfect, I stand corrected once more. I put my palms on his chest and rest my chin on the back of my hands. His hands are a nice, warm weight on the small of my back.
“Do you have to work today?” He glances to our left at my alarm clock. “I'm on call from noon on.” Erik lets out a deep, content sigh. “We still have plenty of time. I'm not ready to get up yet.”
The admission sends a surge of heat right to my face. His thumb strokes my lower back, and it's doing all kinds of things to me.
“I don't think I ever want to get up,” I mumble against his shirt. My shirt. I will so wear it to sleep tonight.
Right then, my stomach growls. What a traitor.
“Come on.” Erik nudges my hip. “You go out with Abby for five minutes, and I'll have breakfast ready by the time you're back. Sound like a plan?”
“Yeah.” I stare at him. He's sleeping over, cuddling me, and now he's making me breakfast?
Too good to be true.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we're not going to make it out of bed,” Erik rasps, and brushes a strand of my matted hair behind my ear, tearing me right out of my potential thought-spiral.
“The horror,” I say deadpan. Only for my stomach to growl again.
“Come on.” Erik laughs and gently pushes me off.
It's weird, yet almost infuriatingly exciting, to watch Erik in my space. By the time Abby and I are back, he's setting the table and the scent of bacon is in the air, which both Abby and I are thrilled about.
“Hope you don't mind I raided your fridge.” He hands me a cup of coffee. Splash of milk. It’s almost eerie how much he notices.
I set it on my kitchen counter and throw my arms around him instead. The bacon can wait another minute.
“You can raid my fridge all you want.” I glance up at him, chin digging into his collarbone.
He gets the hint and cups my face, leans down and captures my lips in a kiss that leaves me breathless and the bacon a little extra crispy.
“Go drink your coffee,” he mumbles against my lips once he breaks the kiss. “Let me finish making breakfast for you.”
“Boo,” I whisper against his chin, but draw back and saunter over to my table.
Abby zooms around my legs, very excited by the bacon scent and Erik’s presence.
I can't stop staring at Erik. The love-struck grin on my lips makes it hard to eat. And the best thing about it is catching Erik each and every time he casts stolen glances my way. Our eyes meet, and then his eyes dart away with a shy grin on his lips and a tint of red on his cheeks.
“How's the investigation about my bestie in the yard coming along?” I ask in an attempt to bridge the silence. And because I’m curious. “Do you have her real name or do I keep calling her Svetty the skeleton?”
Erik takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s progressing slowly,” he admits with a sigh. “There's nothing really to test so we could, I don't know, get a DNA image or something. We’ve got a forensic sketch artist coming in, who supposedly can sketch her face from the skull’s features.”
“So it is a she.” I pierce a piece of bacon with my fork and wave it through the air, much to Abby’s interest.
“Yeah, I mean, why wouldn’t it? She was buried in a dress.”
“Listen, I've watched so many true crime documentaries.” I shake my head and pop it in my mouth. “Serial killers do the weirdest shit. It could have been a guy who was put into a dress and buried. Who knows?”
“Well, not in this case.” He chuckles. “I'm convinced it's a murder, but I can't find any missing person’s report or traces in the bones to support the theory. But why else would a skeleton be buried at a random lake instead of a cemetery?”
“Want to bet on it?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “I say it was a natural death.”
“What makes you think it was?”
“I don't know, I have a hunch.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Call it female intuition.”
“Oh, it's a bet then.” He extends his hand over the table and I shake it. “Cop gut feeling versus female instinct. Who will win?”
“I guess we're going to find out soon enough.” I hide my grin behind my mug as I take a sip of my coffee.
Shortly after our admittedly late breakfast, Erik gets called in. There was a car crash on a highway nearby they’re asking him to secure the scene. After making a quick drive home and changing his clothes, of course. Thankfully, it appears to be a harmless car-meets-crash-barrier kind of accident.
“Let's meet up at Caleb's later,” he proposes, pulling on his jacket. When I nod, he leans in for a quick kiss, afterwards remaining close enough for me to feel his breath feather over my lips. “Great, I’ve got to run. Can't wait to see you later.”
One more peck, and he rushes out the door. It's making me giddier than I have felt any time in the past ten years. If ever.
Because I can't wait to see him later too.
He never really specified a time, probably because he doesn’t know how long it will take, but it's the weekend. I don't have anything else planned. So, I clip Abby into her leash and we drive to town.
How eerie. Nobody is around. No car in the road, nobody on the sidewalks, even the main square is completely empty. Remainders of the autumn fair line the main square, loose hay blowing all around the streets.
I bet they’re all still sleeping off their hangovers.
My phone buzzes as I climb out of my car. With a sigh, I pull it out of my pocket. Is it my mom again? I’m not in the mood for a lecture or to fight with her.
Zach.
I stare at my screen until the phone stops buzzing, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, slowly pushing my car door closed.
Zach? What does he want from me?
I haven't heard from him since we signed the divorce papers. And I can't say I've missed him, considering we had what felt like maybe five conversations over the past year of our marriage.
I doubt he misses me either.
It can't be a family emergency. If anything were going on with my parents, I'm sure one of my aunts would be the one to a call, and not my ex-husband.
The more I wonder, the angrier I become.
Especially when he doesn’t follow up with a message to at least tell me what’s going on.
My confidence is finally returning, I’m settling in nice, Erik and I are dating and now, out of nowhere my ex feels the need to disturb the peaceful life I’m building for myself?
After years of being ignored or my existence forgotten, now he remembers me?
He can fuck right off with that.
And the fact it still manages to anger me is the most ridiculous part about it. Which in turn makes me even angrier.
Anyway, time for a delicious pastry.
Abby jumps out as soon as I open the car door for her. Since nobody is around, I don’t bother picking her leash off the ground and let her run ahead to the door to Caleb’s, where she waits for me, tail wagging.
As soon as I open it for her, she darts inside and finds Dick and Shadow, and joins them for a nap.
It's unusually quiet here. Once I spot Kieran, I understand why.
“Is someone a little hungover today?” I ask cheerily and take a seat next to him with, grin as wide and voice as annoying as I can make them.
His head is on the table, eyes closed. He groans, and blindly pats the air, trying to find me. “I'm dying.”
“Oh, you shut up.” Nic flicks a cookie crumb my way.
“No hangover?” Lauren sounds as though she's about to cry. “Tell me your secret. Pronto.”
“Good genes, I guess. Sorry, y'all.”
“Don't be sorry. Suffer with us.” Kieran shoots me a glare. The poor guy. He’s paler than the milk Caleb is pouring into my coffee right about now.
“Hey, Caleb.”
My head shoots up. That's Harry. What timing! I almost didn’t recognize him without a clipboard in his hands. Maybe he knows a more about who owned my plot of land a hundred years ago. Because a theory is forming in my head.
I need to gather some information, before I share it with anyone, though. So I jump up.
“Hi, Harry.” I approach him with a friendly grin and extended hand. “I'm Kylie. I bought the fourth house on the lakeshore. So good to officially meet you.”
“Ah yes, Kylie. Welcome to Wayward Hollow.” He shakes my hand.
“Listen, Harry, I'm a curious gal. Is there some kind of archive in Wayward Hollow with old land records?”
“Yes, sure.” He draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “What are you trying to find?”
“Oh, nothing in particular, I’m only curious.” I lean in closer and lower my voice. “I think my house is haunted, so I want to see what used to be on my plot of land.”
“Okay.” He stares at me as though I just grew a second head. “Give me five minutes and we can go right over there.”
“You're the best, Harry.”
“So these are all the records from 1850 to 1900.” He points at a giant shelf to our left. “And these are what we have from 1900 to 1950.” He points to the right. “Is that about the time frame you were looking for?”
“Yes,” I say and clap excitedly.
“Now for your plot of land.” He stares at the piles, ducks to read the ones on the lower shelves, then gets on his tiptoes to grab one from the very top. “This might be it.” He flips through a few pages. “Yes, right here,” he mumbles and hands it over.
“Thank you so much, Harry.”
Without hesitation, I open it and flip through a few more pages. It's a little hard to read, so old it's still handwritten in a cursive font that hurts my eyes. But one name catches my eye.
“O'Brien.”