Chapter Nectar
NECTAR
Harper
AFTER THE EXCITING START WITH Tylor Knightsbridge’s near-demise, the rest of the Taste of Terror food festival continued without a hitch—at least, as far as I heard.
I excused myself from helping Lukas at the distillery booth, and I’ve spent the last three days tinkering in the garden and preparing the Lancaster estate for a tropical storm that’s supposed to strike Cape Carnage next week.
And I guess that’s been marginally more exciting than my other hermity activities lately—at least I have something to occupy me while sitting out one of my favorite events of the year.
But there’s one final celebration I can’t bear to miss.
And this is one I really want to do with the killer casually sitting in my living room.
Thing is, I have to work up the nerve to ask him, and I’m not sure why it’s suddenly so intimidating.
For all my ribbing of Lukas for not asking Max to the dance, here I am, in the same boat—afraid of being rejected.
Oh god. I’m in the same boat as Lukas Lancaster.
I take a deep breath and clear my throat.
“So . . . uhh . . . ”
Fuck. I’m off to a great start. Super eloquent.
Nolan lowers his book and looks at me where I stand next to the dining table, my fingers twisting as I struggle to keep my bottom lip from sliding between my teeth. I fail. The moment he sees the familiar motion, his brows furrow.
Damn it.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“No, no. Not . . . wrong. I just . . . I was wondering what you’re doing tonight?”
His gaze pans across the living room as though a secret might emerge from its corners. He lifts the paperback and flaps it in the air. “You’re looking at it.”
“Ha . . . yeah.” I glance at the clock that seems to mock me from the wall. It’s already just after six o’clock. “Makes sense. Totally.”
“Okay.” Nolan splays the book across his lap and levels me with a serious stare. “Tell me what the hell is going on. You’re starting to worry me. Like, more than normal, and that’s saying something.”
Tell him to forget about it, the pessimistic voice in my head says from the cavern I keep trying to cage her in.
Nolan is probably tired—he’s obviously happy just reading his book and relaxing on the couch.
You don’t even know if he’d have fun. You should just wave it off and forget this whole dumbass idea.
But I don’t want to.
I draw in a deep lungful of air, and finally manage to spit out.
“Do you want to go to a dance with me? Tonight . . . ?” The words seem to hang in the air as Nolan’s expression remains completely stoic.
I swallow and shift on my feet. “It’s the Murder Mash Barn Dance.
Only for Cape Carnage residents, top secret.
It’s how we celebrate the end of the Taste of Terror festival. ”
His face is still unchanged.
“Admittedly, I realize the Murder Mash Barn Dance does sound a little fucked up, even by Cape Carnage standards,” I say.
“It’s not like we’re actually murdering anyone.
There are just a couple of weird cocktails and a little shindig with the discarded corpses from the gravity race and the food festival.
And there’s a severed toe thing . . . but it’s better to just go with it rather than for me to explain. ”
That’s it—I’ve hit the threshold of weirdness. He’s probably ready to get the fuck out of town and run back to Tennessee. Maybe I’m catastrophizing a little, but it’s hard not to when he doesn’t even blink.
Jesus Christ, I might have broken him.
I’m about to open my mouth to dig my way out of this grave I’ve just created when Nolan finally lets out a whoosh of a held breath, dragging both hands down his face as he tilts his head back.
Yep, he’s definitely broken.
Told you this was a dumbass idea.
“Fucksakes, Harper,” Nolan says when he straightens, a spark of mischief brightening in his eyes. “I thought you were never going to ask me.”
“You knew about that?”
“I’ve been asked six times already.”
I cross my arms, my eyes narrowing. I’m not exactly thrilled to be back in the Lukas Lancaster boat so quickly. “Who? I need names. I’ll cut a bitch.”
“I know you will. That’s why I’m not giving you any.”
“I’m not talking about murdering anyone—just slicing off a few fingers with the garden shears. They’ll survive. Probably.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t see that escalating at all.
” Nolan feigns interest in his book, picking it back up and turning the page.
“First it’ll be the fingers, and then suddenly you’ll have Cookie Monster fired up and Morpheus will be chewing on some poor woman’s eyeballs while he’s chattering about murder cookies. So, no dice, Meatball.”
“You’re not even from around here,” I say. “Some thirsty Carnivore hussy isn’t supposed to just ask a random hot tourist to the Murder Mash. That’s not how this works.”
Nolan snorts.
“And we went to Nightfog. It’s common knowledge that we’re in a”—I wave a hand between us—“a thing.”
Nolan’s dimples appear despite his best attempts at suppressing a smile. “I believe it’s typically called a ‘relationship.’”
My cheeks heat as I fire off a dead-eyed glare to the corner of the room.
When my focus returns to Nolan, those dimples are even deeper.
“Yeah,” I say. “That thing.” A huff of a laugh escapes him, and he makes a half-hearted attempt to cover it with a cough before reaching for his Earl Grey and taking a sip.
“So, if you knew about it, why didn’t you ask me? ”
“I thought it would be more fun this way,” Nolan says as he shrugs. “I was right.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan, pivoting toward the stairs. “Well, I’m going to go get ready.”
“Okay . . . but I didn’t actually say ‘yes.’”
My pivot turns into a full circle. A breath later, I’m launching over the end of the couch and onto the wall of muscle that is Nolan Rhodes.
His rare laugh fills the room as I poke my fingers into his ribs.
And oh my god, he’s ticklish as fuck. I’ve almost completely subdued him within a matter of seconds, and I relish every moment of his brief incapacitation.
“You’re such a dick, you know that, Rhodes? ”
“And you’re so adorable when you’re vicious,” he says through a fit of boyish giggles. He finally manages to capture one of my wrists and wraps a leg across my hips. In a flash of motion, I’m on my back, pinned down by his weight.
If I could capture a single moment in time and live in it forever, I would choose this one.
Nolan stares down at me. The rays of the evening sun that slip through the window brighten the streaks of sun-kissed blond within his brown hair.
His cheeks are flushed, his full lips curved in a carefree smile.
I try to take in every detail—the shades of green and brown in his eyes, the tiny freckles on his skin.
The pace of his pulse where it surges in his neck.
His scent of cedar and sandalwood. But most of all, the feeling that radiates from him.
I am loved in a way I’ve never been before.
I’m cherished. Adored. He fits between my broken pieces and dulls the sharp edges of guilt and grief.
And all I want is to do the same for him.
To fill his empty spaces with something bright, something beautiful. Something that will never tarnish.
The words I want to say are right there, choking up my throat. But I just can’t let them go.
Nolan leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s not a caress of heat, but one of sweetness. Just a gentle touch, like a stamp to seal this moment into memory. And then it’s gone.
“Let’s get ready,” he says, lifting his weight from my body. He offers me a hand to rise, and I take it. “I don’t want to be late for some murder mashing. Am I supposed to wear a costume? Maybe the flayed-off face of an enemy or something?”
“The temptation to say yes is quite high.”
I lead the way upstairs to the bedroom, and Nolan gathers some clothes before heading back to the bathroom to shower while I get changed into a short dress with a sweetheart neckline and a print of skulls and vines and dark yellow dahlias.
I’m sitting at the vanity, my nose nearly touching the mirror as I try to salvage an errant wing of black eyeliner, my string of curses fogging the glass.
When I sit back on my low stool in defeat, Nolan is in the reflection.
He leans against the doorframe, exuding all kinds of murdery hotness with his tailored black shirt and matching dress pants.
“Stalk much?” I say with a grin as I take a makeup wipe to smear off the black line.
“Hunt, not stalk,” he says, reaching up to grip the top of the doorframe. I don’t know why that’s so fucking sexy. But it is. “Having technical difficulties?”
I force my focus away, applying a fresh coat of eye shadow.
“Liner is such a bitch,” I say. “One side is always perfect. The other looks like I was drawing with my left hand during a fucking earthquake.” I sigh, gliding the gilded bronze over my skin.
“Maybe eyeliner is a ridiculous thing to worry about, considering Yates could suddenly connect some brain cells and show up at the door with a set of handcuffs and an arrest warrant.”
“The option to run is still available, you know,” Nolan says, and I shoot him a sharp glance in the mirror. “Didn’t think so. Will Yates be at the dance tonight?”
I shrug, a little knot of unease twisting in my chest. “I don’t know. He isn’t usually. But other officers from the station often attend. I can’t say I ever look forward to the ‘socializing with the enemy’ aspect of the evening, but maybe it’d raise more questions if I didn’t go, you know?”
Nolan doesn’t answer as I set my eyeshadow brush down in exchange for the thinner, more precise liner brush. I’m about to dip it into the pot of black gel when he says, “Want help?”
I meet his eyes in the mirror, questions and menace sharpening my stare. “If you’re going to tell me your ex Gisèle taught makeup tricks, I’ll take a pass.”
Nolan laughs and saunters toward me, all his dark charisma on full display. “No, not Gisèle. But the scrapbooking did give me a lot of practice with a steady hand.”
Nolan kneels next to me, his palm open and waiting.
I hesitate. I haven’t had someone else do my makeup since the night I had a sleepover at my friend Caroline’s house when I was a kid.
We stayed up late, laughing in the dark, swiping color after color on each other’s eyelids.
The next morning, my whole world was torn apart, the blue glitter still clinging to my skin from the night before when the police told me I’d lost my parents.
I can remember every detail. The sound of Caroline’s laughter as we raced to the door when the bell rang.
The first crack in my chest when the police officer removed his hat and asked for me by name.
The pressure of Mrs. Janssen’s hand on my shoulder when she came to the door.
The scent of vanilla that rose from the spatula when Mrs. Janssen dropped it on the floor as the officer gave us the news. The salt of tears on my tongue.
I blink away the memories and lay the eyeliner brush onto Nolan’s palm with a tentative hand, then slide the pot of eyeliner gel toward him.
“Now stay still,” he says as he swivels my stool to center me. “You wouldn’t want me to draw a dick on your face by accident, would you?”
“That wouldn’t be an accident.”
Nolan grins, his eyes sparkling as he tilts my chin up with just a hint of pressure from his thumb. “Fair point.” He loads the brush with black gel, then pauses with it held close to my lashes. “Look straight ahead and relax.”
Maybe this is stupid, wanting to look good for a dance when every beat of time feels like a countdown that neither of us can control.
But I do as he asks, and his gentle brushstroke glides along the corner of my eye.
“How long did it take you?” I ask. His attention shifts from the work of his brush to lock with my watchful gaze.
“To learn how to write again after the accident?”
Nolan blinks as though the question had been unexpected, then refocuses on the brush, laying down another line.
“It was about a month afterward when I started trying to use a fork and a pen. Both had mixed results.” Nolan swipes the brush through the gel before returning to my eye.
“It was a few weeks before my handwriting started to look more familiar and less like a kindergarten craft. True precision and stability took several months.”
I watch every tiny shift in Nolan’s expression as he focuses on drawing a straight line. When he asks me to close my eyes, I savor his gentle touch and his familiar scent. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The brush lifts from my skin, but I don’t move, not when his featherlight touch coasts across my cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I do,” I say as I open my eyes. “And I am.” I wrap my hand around his wrist, stopping him before he can resume his work.
“Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed by your side the night of the crash?
Maybe in that version of our story, we still would have wound up together. ”
“Or maybe we wouldn’t.” His bittersweet smile fades just as quickly as it appears.
“Maybe I needed you to leave so I could have something to strive for. And maybe you needed this place and these people to heal. So, if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything.
I wouldn’t take the risk of not being here now. ”
I swallow a sudden knot and nod, tears welling at my lash line.
Because I feel the same way, and maybe I needed to hear it.
No matter how many times I’ve imagined a different scenario and an easier life, I wouldn’t change the one we have now.
I wouldn’t risk this chance to be loved no matter how deep my darkness goes. To love so profoundly in return.
“Don’t cry,” Nolan says, planting a light kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’ll ruin my work.”
With a deep breath, I let go of his wrist and close my eyes, and in a few moments, his work is done. Nolan swivels my stool to face the mirror, and when I see my reflection, a perfect winged line matches the one on the other side.
“Not even a dick,” I say. “I’m so impressed.”
“You’d look beautiful with one. There’s still time.” Nolan rises, squeezing my shoulder before heading to the bed to wait as I finish the last of my makeup. With a final check of the raven barrettes holding my hair back from my face, I stand.
“Voilà,” I say, giving him a little spin.
“You look gorgeous, Harper.” There’s not just heat in Nolan’s gaze when he stands and offers me a hand. There’s longing there too, buried beneath his teasing smile. “Now let’s go party with some corpses.”